Fire Hydrant of Freedom
Politics, Religion, Science, Culture and Humanities => Science, Culture, & Humanities => Topic started by: Crafty_Dog on June 29, 2007, 05:27:14 AM
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The Power of Word
by Crafty Dog
Scientific Progress is achieved by REDUCING the number of principles
necessary to explain the physical world. Spiritual Progress is this process
applied to the discernment of the essential principles by which to live.
Taking an understanding taken from The Church of Religious Science
and putting it into my own words: To the extent that a religion is true,
it can be reduced to a body of principles/rules which can be applied
scientifically. An interesting thought this!
Of course, these principles/rules are never the exclusive purview of any one
group or discipline-- quite the contrary-- so it is no surprise that the
Pope should recently have stated that the God must be a god of Reason.
The Church of Religious Science and the Catholic Church may come from
different parts of the religious spectrum, but it seems they seek the same
essence.
In the story of my people, at the time of the creation of the Covenant, God
gave us the 10 Commandments. Seems reasonable to think that the our God
thought these rules real important, as did later on the God of the
Christians.
And, as time goes by, I begin to realize that I am still working on them.
So lets look at one of them, the one that speaks of not taking the Lord's
name in vain:
In Genesis, before the beginning there was nothing. Into that nothingness
came the word of God. On each of the first six days, this is what happened:
"And God SAID let there be , , , , and it was so." To create, God had only
to speak-- the Power of Word, the Crystallization of Thought. Using his
word, he made us in his image and breathed the breath of life into us and
told us, once fruitful, to multiply. By receiving the breath of life from
the Creator, we become part of the Creator.
In other words, WE SPEAK WITH THE CREATIVE POWER OF WORD
GIVEN US BY GOD.
This I think is the true meaning of the Commandment commonly translated
from the original ancient Hebrew though the Greek, the Latin, the various
permutations of English into "Thou shall not take God's name in vain." It
is not that God cares whether we cuss, it is that we should take care to
what
we put the Power of our Word.
I would add an additional point: THIS WORD MUST BE EXPRESSED
IN POSITIVES, NOT NEGATIVES. For example, God does not say
"No more darkness". He says what he DOES want: "Let there be , , ,"
Similarly in our lives the idea is to express ourselves positively. For
example, to say "Remember to , , ," instead of "Don't forget to , , ,"
To apply this to everything in one's life is a transformational experience.
One example of the creative power of word is Prayer. Many people doubt
prayer. They are good people; they pray for something; and then it doesn't
happen.
There is an old Jewish parable about this of the man who follows all the
detailed rules of the Torah. He's a good man. For many years he regularly
prays to God to win the lottery. No lottery. Finally he gets mad and
demands of God why, after his good life and his respect for God's rules,
does not God grant his prayer to win the lottery.
God answers, "Help me out. Buy a ticket."
We note in passing the idea that in this parable Man can and does argue
with God, but that is a discussion for another day. For our purpose here,
the moral of this tale is that "Our Action must be Aligned with
our Prayer and our Word to Create its Reality".
copyright 2007 Dog Brothers Inc.
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Luk 6:45 NASB "The good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth what is good; and the evil man out of the evil treasure brings forth what is evil; for his mouth speaks from that which fills his heart.
Truly, our words have power, the question is: to what use will that power go?
Rusty
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Buddhism - Right Word , Right Thought , Right Deed
Cheers, Thomas :roll: :roll: :roll:
BWA - Buddhist With Attitude
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http://www.jewfaq.org/10.htm
"According to Jewish tradition, G-d gave the Jewish people 613 mitzvot (commandments). All 613 of those mitzvot are equally sacred, equally binding and equally the word of G-d. All of these mitzvot are treated as equally important, because human beings, with our limited understanding of the universe, have no way of knowing which mitzvot are more important in the eyes of the Creator. Pirkei Avot, a book of the Mishnah, teaches "Be as meticulous in performing a 'minor' mitzvah as you are with a 'major' one, because you don't know what kind of reward you'll get for various mitzvot. It also says, "Run after the most 'minor' mitzvah as you would after the most 'important' and flee from transgression, because doing one mitzvah draws you into doing another, and doing one transgression draws you into doing another, and because the reward for a mitzvah is a mitzvah and the punishment for a transgression is a transgression." In other words, every mitzvah is important, because even the most seemingly trivial mitzvot draw you into a pattern of leading your life in accordance with the Creator's wishes, rather than in accordance with your own.
But what about the so-called "Ten Commandments," the words recorded in Exodus 20, the words that the Creator Himself wrote on the two stone tablets that Moses brought down from Mount Sinai (Ex. 31:18), which Moses smashed upon seeing the idolatry of the golden calf (Ex. 32:19)? In the Torah, these words are never referred to as the Ten Commandments. In the Torah, they are called Aseret ha-D'varim (Ex. 34:28, Deut. 4:13 and Deut. 10:4). In rabbinical texts, they are referred to as Aseret ha-Dibrot. The words d'varim and dibrot come from the Hebrew root Dalet-Beit-Reish, meaning word, speak or thing; thus, the phrase is accurately translated as the Ten Sayings, the Ten Statements, the Ten Declarations, the Ten Words or even the Ten Things, but not as the Ten Commandments, which would be Aseret ha-Mitzvot.
The Aseret ha-Dibrot are not understood as individual mitzvot; rather, they are categories or classifications of mitzvot. Each of the 613 mitzvot can be subsumed under one of these ten categories, some in more obvious ways than others. "
I don't mean to disagree with anything you said but I felt like it was missing some context.
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"Whoever does not increase his Torah (could be read as the whole of Jewish though ) knowledge , decreases it" Hillel Pirket Avot
You always either growing or shrinking physically, intellectually, and spiritually. You are either getting stronger or weaker.
Even the economy if you don't have inflation you have deflation
"If I am not for myself who will be for me? Yet, if I am for myself only, what am I? And if not now, when?"Hillel Pirket Avot
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Rachel:
Ignorant Jew that I am I somehow have found my path to be one of focusing on the Ten "Sayings" :wink: (I wonder if anyone other that you and similarly educated people will undertand the intending meaning here)-- and so I find your post quite interesting and pertinent to my personal path. If you have the time and inclination to post further on the themes of the Ten Sayings and the 613 Mitzvots I would be very glad of it.
Thank you,
Marc
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Marc,
I need to do some thinking and reading on this topic . I will respond in few days.
Rachel
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http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20081012085520AAqVEBd
A" Hebrew word for 'sin' is CHET.
'chet' actually means: missing the mark
So if we sin, it means we are not quite doing what we should. Maybe we are not being all that we can be, maybe we are not paying enough attention and care to our loved ones. Maybe we are not putting any effort into our relationship with G-d.
There is no 'original sin' in Judaism; we believe that all humans are born pure and innocent. Nor do we focus on sin in quite the same way that Christians seem to often. In Judaism nobody is expected to be 'perfect'. Only G-d can ever achieve 'perfection'.
We are just meant to try our best, to learn from our mistakes, and to be genuine and compassionate and fair in our dealings with our fellow human beings.
And of course, we try to uphold G-d's laws."
Judaism has a lot of laws for proper speach and something that I work on frequently is Lashron Hara.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lashon_hara
Lashon hara (or Loshon hora) (Hebrew לשון הרע; "evil tongue") is the prohibition in Jewish Law of telling gossip – negative disparaging but truthful remarks about a person or party.... It should not be confused with the prohibition of Motzei Shem Rah, slander, untrue remarks.
The main prohibition against lashon hara is derived from Leviticus 19:16: [1] "Thou shalt not go up and down as a talebearer among thy people; neither shalt thou stand idly by the blood of thy neighbour: I am the LORD."
There are cases where you are required to speak negatively in order to project others.
Psalm 34:14 My God, guard my tongue from evil and my lips from speaking deceitfully is recited regularly in Jewish prayers and I find it really helpful.
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My education continues-- thank you. Looking forward to the next installment.
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A very brief answer about my experience with Chabad.
One of the things I love about Chabad is that they make you feel the magic of Judaism. They are scholarly but with an emphasis on the mystical spiritual side of Judaism.
Chabad is extremely friendly. If you attend something at their place they make you feel like a part of the family. When I grow up I want to be that kind host/friend.
I also got some excellent advice on the nature of Love from a Chabad Rabbi.
Love between a brother and a a siters is like water-- it flows
Love between man and woman is like fire -- it burns sometimes higher and sometimes lower. You have to be careful and put G-d in your relationship that you don't burn each other up or that your fire does not go out.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/774032/jewish/What-is-our-response-to-the-massacre.htm
What is our response to the massacre?
A response to the question "why?"
By Tzvi Freeman
Dear Rabbi Freeman,
I can't handle this. Here's a young couple with a small child who left their families to live in a strange land, just for the sake of helping build the Jewish community there. You know how many kids they saved from drugs and from prison? This is their reward? This is the protection G‑d gives them?
--S
Dear S,
We're all in pain. We're all stunned. But you are asking questions you know you cannot answer. Why? How will that help anyone? What we need now is strength and courage. What we need now is to regather our forces and to rebuild.
We knew beforehand that we are at war with an enemy. We knew that the world needs to be healed, that it oozes with a venomous darkness, and that darkness will not sit passively as we steal away its dominion. We knew that the more we fight this darkness, the harder it will fight back. We didn't fool ourselves. We decided we will fight and we will win. That is why Gavriel and Rivky went where they went. They went not as tourists, but as fearless soldiers.
Once you are at war, you don't stop to ponder all over again—can we win? Is this worth it? Maybe they're worse than we thought? That's deadly. If you would rather stay home and enjoy comfort while the rest of the world sits out in the cold, you should have decided that a long time ago. Now you are out there on the field of battle, you have already awakened the bear from its den, now there is no turning back.
They are darkness. We are light. They storm the shores with death in their eyes. We come to teach compassion and acts of beauty. They carry assault rifles and grenades. We carry candles for Friday night, a Torah of wisdom, joy and beauty.
Are we to surrender before them? Are we to stop and cry and ask, "maybe we're fighting the wrong battle"?
On the Shabbat that we confirmed our worst fears, Chabad held a Shabbaton for over 40 people in Mumbai. A Chabad rabbi of another city in India came to host the event. We will not abandon the 5,000 Jews of Mumbai, nor the constant flow of Israeli backpackers needing guidance on their journey--we will work even harder now on their behalf. We will revenge the work of violence by doubling and quadrupling our works of peace and love. We will fill the world with light and wisdom and the spirit of darkness in men's hearts shall forever perish. They come with their guns and their might, with a god of destruction and terror, but we come in the name of the Eternal, the source of all life and healing. They and all memory of them will vanish from the face of the earth and our lamp will burn forever.
May the Almighty G‑d hear the cry of their blood from the earth and put an end to all sorrow. May it be very soon, sooner than we can imagine.
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(The Rebbe spoke about the suffering in the world, and when he came to these words, began to choke and sob:)
If He is truly capable of anything,
then why can't He provide good without the bad?
And if His Torah contains the answers for all questions, why does it not answer this one?
There could be only one answer:
He does not wish us to know,
because if we knew
we might consent.
To love is to sigh at another's sorrow, to rejoice at another's good fortune.
To love is the deepest of all pleasures.
All this universe was made only for your journey. And all this universe was made only for the other guy’s journey. And for mine as well.
In our mind it is impossible. We are finite. When we put our minds to one idea, there is no room for any other. If one point is at the center, there is no center left for any other.
G-d is infinite. He can have as many points of focus as He wishes without diminishing the centrality of any of them in the slightest.
Each one of us is absolutely the most important thing in the universe.
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Thank you for that Rachel.
Here's this from the NYTimes today (Monday)
Chabad Movement Vows to Continue Work of Couple Killed in Attack
By CARA BUCKLEY
Published: November 30, 2008
For many Jews, they are homes away from home: Chabad Houses, welcoming outposts in foreign lands or across the United States, places to drop in to celebrate Hanukkah, Passover or weekly Shabbat dinners.
Almost always, the Chabad Houses are run by young couples, emissaries of the Chabad-Lubavitch denomination, a Hasidic faith with its headquarters in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, whose adherents believe that secular Jews ought to become more observant.
Two of those emissaries were killed when their Chabad House was among the buildings attacked by terrorists in Mumbai last week. In their deaths, the couple, Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg, 29, and his wife Rivka, 28, drew a spotlight on the Chabad faith (the terms Chabad and Lubavitch are used interchangeably) — and to the emissaries’ growing presence around the world.
The number of Chabad Houses has mushroomed in the last decade, and now more than 4,000 husband-and-wife couples run them in 73 countries.
In 2003, the Holtzbergs, newly married, opened the first Chabad House in Mumbai.
Chabad leaders are quick to stress that the emissaries, called shluchim in Hebrew, are not missionaries. They do not try to convert non-Jews to Judaism. Instead, their mandate is to act as “lamplighters” by reaching out to secular Jews, often stopping people on city sidewalks and asking, “Are you Jewish?,” and trying to persuade them to deepen their faith.
The Chabad faith emerged 250 years in Russia ago as a branch of Hasidism. In 1951, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson became the spiritual leader, or rebbe, and under him, outreach bloomed.
“They pioneered Jewish outreach, and they developed techniques now used by other Jewish denominations,” said Sue Fishkoff, a journalist and author of the book “The Rebbe’s Army: Inside the World of Chabad-Lubavitch.”
The Holtzbergs moved to Mumbai in August 2003. Mr. Holtzberg, who was born in Israel and had moved to Brooklyn in his teens, had nursed a dream of becoming a shliach emissary. He spent time as a student in the Chabad House in Bangkok, and helped open a house in south Thailand, according to Rabbi Yosef Kantor, who oversees new branches in Southeast Asia.
The region sees great numbers of Israeli and Jewish travelers, and the Chabad movement wanted to expand its presence there. The Holtzbergs, it was decided, were perfect for the Mumbai job. As a student, Mr. Holtzberg was noted as a nimble thinker and, according to Rabbi Zalman Shmotkin, a spokesman for the Chabad movement in New York, for advancing Talmudic concepts. Mrs. Holtzberg seemed at once endlessly calm and energetic, said people who knew her.
Jewish groups are often wary when a Chabad House opens in a new city, but the Holtzbergs forged harmonious relationships in Mumbai, Ms. Fishkoff said. The couple’s home in the Colaba neighborhood, a popular destination for tourists, quickly became a favorite among Jewish backpackers, who were attracted to its welcoming air, Jewish art and the shelves lined with row after row of religious books.
“We talked and argued politics, discussed economics, shared our personal stories,” Olga Daniella Bakayeva, a recent guest, wrote in a post on Chabad.org after the Holtzbergs’ deaths were reported.
A week before the terrorists attacked, the 25th annual International Conference of the Chabad-Lubavitch Emissaries began in New York. Mr. Holtzberg chose not to attend: his eldest son, who was gravely ill with a congenital disease, was in an Israeli hospital, and Mr. Holtzberg wanted to stay close to home.
On Thursday morning, hours after the terrorist siege began, the Holtzbergs’ Indian nanny managed to escape with the couple’s other child, Moshe, who turned 2 on Saturday. It was not until Saturday night that terrible images from the Chabad House, known as Nariman House, began to trickle out: photos of a blood-soaked floor of a library strewn with red-stained pages of holy books.
Some of the dead, including Mrs. Holtzberg, were found wrapped in prayer shawls. Witnesses speculated that the rabbi had managed to cover the bodies before he was killed.
The Chabad community was seized with horror and shock. They had not been so maliciously singled out in at least 50 years, Mr. Shmotkin said.
“You think about those who were so selfless, they had no other life than spreading love and goodness,” Mr. Shmotkin said. “To have them cut down in this kind of way is really unfathomable.”
Yet within hours after the news broke about the Holtzbergs’ deaths, young Chabad couples from around the world stepped forward, offering to move to Mumbai and continue the movement’s work.
Chabad leaders said the Mumbai house would be certain to reopen.
Isabel Kershner contributed reporting from Jerusalem.
More Articles in World » A version of this article appeared in print on December 1, 2008, on page A11 of the New York edition.
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I post this here even though it is not on point to the subject of the thread because of the thread's discussion of the Chabad.
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NYTimes
Jews of Mumbai, a Tiny and Eclectic Group, Suddenly Reconsider Their Serene Existence
By JEREMY KAHN
Published: December 2, 2008
MUMBAI, India — The peeling turquoise facade of the colonial-era Keneseth Eliyahoo Synagogue in the heart of the city’s financial district has long been a tourist attraction, a reminder of the centuries of Jewish influence that have helped shape Mumbai and of the acceptance Jews have enjoyed here.
But after the terrorist attacks last week, Mumbai’s Jews are dismayed to find another building suddenly vying with the 124-year-old synagogue as a symbol of their presence: the charred remains of Nariman House, where gunmen killed Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg, his wife, Rivka, and four other Jews.
Although none of the Jews killed in the terrorists’ assault on Nariman House, the community center run by the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, were Indian citizens, the attacks have badly shaken Jews in India. Mumbai has about 4,000 Jewish residents, accounting for a vast majority of India’s Jewish population.
“This is the first time when a Jew has been targeted in India because he is a Jew,” said Jonathon Solomon, a Mumbai lawyer and president of the Indian Jewish Federation. “The tradition of the last thousand years has been breached.”
The origins of India’s Jews remain uncertain, but according to some accounts they may have come as emissaries from the court of King Solomon. They established communities and lived peacefully with Hindus, Jains, Buddhists and, later, Muslims. The absence of anti-Semitism throughout this history has been a source of pride in India.
“This is one of the few countries where Jews never faced discrimination and persecution,” said Ezekiel Isaac Malekar, a leader of the Jewish community in New Delhi.
Jews played a prominent role in several coastal cities, but nowhere more so than in Mumbai. Jewish merchants from Iraq, Syria and other Middle Eastern countries arrived in the late 18th century in what was then British Bombay and quickly established themselves as leading businessmen, opening textile mills and international trading companies.
Only about 200 of these so-called Baghdadi Jews remain in Mumbai, with the rest having immigrated to Israel, Britain and the United States. But their legacy endures: synagogues, libraries and schools, many of which serve Jews and non-Jews. They also financed the construction of several city landmarks, including the Flora Fountain and the Sassoon docks.
Today, most of Mumbai’s Jews have roots in a group known as the Bene Israel community, which claims to be descended from seven Jewish families who were shipwrecked on India’s shore while fleeing persecution in the Galilee during the second century B.C. Over the centuries, they adopted Indian language, dress and cuisine. Since India became independent, these Jews have often played influential roles in Indian society, including in government and Bollywood.
“We always felt we were Indians first and Jews second,” said Mr. Malekar, a Bene Israel Jew.
That sensibility has been shattered by the siege of Nariman House. “This attack has really shaken us up,” said a Jewish educator in Mumbai who spoke on condition of anonymity out of fear for his safety. “If with such ease they could finish off the whole Chabad House — the property and the people — now we have to have a fresh look at our own security.”
Many Jewish institutions have remained closed this week as a security precaution. Jewish leaders said they might have to begin restricting access to synagogues and community centers. “Jewish institutions in India are soft targets,” Mr. Solomon said. “After being used to living fearless for so long we are going through a phase where we are debating with ourselves about being careful and whether we need to change our mode of existence.”
Heightening anxieties is the location of many of Mumbai’s synagogues, which are now in predominantly Muslim neighborhoods. Historically, relations between the two religious groups in Mumbai have been good.
“They live with us as brothers and in brotherhood we also live with them,” said Solomon Sopher, chairman and managing trustee of the Sir Jacob Sassoon and Allied Trusts, which manages several Jewish institutions, including a high school that was founded as a Jewish school but now enrolls mostly Muslims.
After the terrorist assaults, some Mumbai Jews said they were increasingly apprehensive about their Muslim neighbors.
Page 2 of 2)
Mr. Solomon said the attack convinced him of the need for India’s Jews to seek official recognition as a minority group. Such status confers privileges, including reserved places for admission to universities and for government jobs. More important, Mr. Solomon said, it would require the Indian government to protect the Jewish community from persecution. In the past, the Indian government has argued that there are too few Jews in the country to grant minority status.
Many Mumbai Jews said they had limited interaction with Rabbi Holtzberg and Chabad House, whose activities were focused on Orthodox Jews visiting from abroad and encouraging greater religious observance among young Israeli backpackers. Few Jews live in the Colaba neighborhood where Nariman House is, having moved to more affluent areas in northern and western parts of the city.
In addition, the Lubavitchers’ ultra-Orthodox practices are much stricter than the observance of most Mumbai Jews.
But Rabbi Holtzberg did preside over Sabbath services every Friday at the Keneseth Eliyahoo Synagogue. He also conducted religious study classes and helped supply the city’s more religious Jews with kosher meat.
Some Jews said the attacks were likely to foster closer ties within the city’s Jewish population, which in the past had been deeply divided between the Baghdadi community and the Bene Israel group, although those tensions were easing as the city’s Jewish population dwindled. Representatives from both Indian Jewish communities, as well as Chabad, mourned the Holtzbergs and the other Jewish victims from Nariman House at a memorial service on Monday.
Mr. Solomon, who described himself as a secular Jew, said he would be sure to visit the Chabad House when it reopens. A new rabbi, Dov Goldberg, has already been selected.
“Next time it opens, I will make it a point of going to show my solidarity with them,” Mr. Solomon said. “I suppose the same will go for many members of our community.”
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" It was the third day, in the morning, that there was thunder and lightning. A heavy cloud was on the mountain and there was a very loud sound of the shofar. All the people in the camp trembled. Moses brought the people toward God out of the camp. They stood at the foot of the mountain. The entire Mount Sinai was enveloped with smoke, for God had descended upon it in fire. Its smoke rose like the smoke of a furnace and the entire mountain trembled violently ... (Exodus 19:16-18)
God begins to give the Ten Commandments, but the Jews panic and beg Moses to ascend the mountain and accept the teachings on their behalf.
Moses came and told the people all the words of God. The people responded with one voice and said, 'All the words that God has spoken, we will do.' Moses wrote down all the words of God. He arose early in the morning and built an altar beneath the mountain, and also twelve pillars for the twelve tribes of Israel. He sent youths of the Sons of Israel and they offered burnt-offerings, and sacrificed oxen as peace offerings to God. Moses ... then took the Book of the Covenant and read it in the ears of the people. They said, 'All that God has spoken, we will do and we will hear.' (Exodus 24:3-7)"
Translation form
http://www.aish.com/shavuotsinai/shavuotsinaidefault/We_Will_Do_and_We_Will_Hear.asp
We will do and we will hear. The Jewish people (Jewish tradition has it that all Jewish souls were at Sinai) agreed to obey the Torah before they heard it or understood it. In Judaism your thoughts play a role but it is more important what you do that than what you think. Action breeds understanding.
If I want be charitable I don't need to sit around thinking charitable thoughts. I should just give charity even if I would much rather spend the money on myself. If you give enough charity you will become a charitable person. If I want to be a kind person , loving spouse etc, I should act the way you want to be.
Actually my first martial arts class ( I am not currently studying) the instructor said fake it till you make it and it was very helpful advice.
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Thank you for continuing my education once again Rachel.
This in particular caught my attention:
"The Jewish people (Jewish tradition has it that all Jewish souls were at Sinai) agreed to obey the Torah before they heard it or understood it."
VERY interesting.
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Chanukah starts tomorrow night!
"Our sages advised... that a little bit of light banishes a lot of darkness, and that it takes only one small flame to kindle many others"
http://www.jewishsource.com/learnmore.asp
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/98951/jewish/What-Is-Chanukah.htm
What Is Chanukah?
By Tzvi Freeman
"Did Chanukah happen years ago? Or is it happening now? Was there ever a time when it was not happening? The story of a little candle pushing away the monster of frightening darkness is ever-alive within each of us -- and in the world outside of us.
You might call it the cosmic mega-drama. Watch it happen at the dawn of each day and at every winter solstice, with every breath of life, every cry of a newborn child, every blade of grass that breaks out from under the soil, every flash of genius, every stroke of beauty, every decision to do good in the face of evil, to build where others destroy, to move humanity forward when others pull us toward chaos. All those and more are Chanukah.
Some History
You would have thought the Jewish people and the ancient Greeks would get along. After all, they had so much in common. Both valued wisdom and beauty. Many Greek philosophers even acknowledged a single, great Mind behind all the cosmos, similar to Jewish monotheism.
Well, they did manage somewhat -- at first. The Jews tolerated Greek rule from the time of Alexander of Macedonia. Many Jews studied Hellenist philosophy and King Ptolemy had the Jewish Torah translated into Greek. But when King Antiochus attempted to force Hellenism down our throats, we rebelled.
Antiochus forbade ritual circumcision. Mothers openly circumcised their infant boys in defiance. Antiochus forbade the keeping of the Sabbath. Jews were forced to leave Jerusalem so they could keep the day of rest holy. Antiochus forbade the study of Torah as a sacred text. Jews found ways to teach classes of children and adults in secret. When the Greeks raised up idols in the cities and towns and demanded that the Jews worship them, all-out war ensued.
It was the first time in history that a people had fought not for their country or their lives, but for their beliefs and their right to religious freedoms.
Problem was, the Syrian-Greek army was the most powerful in the world. Their soldiers marched in a compact formation of overlapping shields and long spears, almost invincible in those times. They had advanced weapons, were highly trained and even brought elephants to the battlefield. The Jewish resistance, on the other hand, began with a handful of brothers of the priestly class, calling themselves the Maccabees.
There were many acts of courage, but the Maccabees firmly believed that their victory came from Above. Eventually, they received a sign that it was so: When they took back Jerusalem and the Temple, they searched and found a single flask of undefiled olive oil -- just what was needed to light the sacred menorah. Although the flask held only enough for a single day, the light of the menorah miraculously burned for eight complete days, providing just enough time to prepare new oil. To the Jewish people, this was like a nod from Above, that, yes, He was with us all along.
Chanukah Insights:
Miracles
Without miracles, we might come to believe that the laws of physics define reality. Once we witness the inexplicable, we see that there is a higher reality. And then we look back at physics and say, "This too is a miracle." The miracle of a small flask of oil burning for eight days was this sort of miracle.
Then there are those small miracles that occur every day. Those acts of synchronicity we call 'coincidence' because, in them, G-d prefers to remain anonymous. But when we open our eyes and hearts, we see there is truly no place void of this wondrous, unlimited G-d. These were the sort of miracles the Maccabees saw in their battles against the mighty Greek army.
The Power of the Individual
Chanukah was a victory of few over many. Each Maccabee was a hero, essential to the victory.
One could think that, in those days, when the population of the world was so much smaller, a single individual would have more power to change the world. In fact, just the opposite is true. Technology and information has put enormous power in the hands of whoever wants it.
Just over fifty years ago, one madman came to the verge of destroying the world. His failure to develop atomic weapons on time is still inexplicable -- it can only be attributed to the great mercies of the One Above who takes care of His world and promised it would always stand. Today we have seen that not even an army is needed, nor warheads or missiles -- but only an obsessive will to destroy.
Such is the power of darkness.
A thousand times over is the power of light, of any one of us to transform the entire world to good. A small child kissing the mezuzah on the door of her house, an act of kindness asking nothing in return, a sacrifice of convenience to benefit another-each of these things are as bursts of light in the nighttime sky. True, they make less noise. Rarely are they reported in the daily news. But while darkness passes as the shadows of clouds on a windy day, this light endures, accumulating until it leaves no room for evil to remain.
The Mind and Beyond
Today's Western society is built on the foundations of these two cultures: the Jewish and the Greek. Both treasured the human mind. The Greeks reached the pinnacle of intellect at their time. But the experience of Mount Sinai had taught the Jew that there is something greater than the human mind. There is a G-d, indescribable and inexplicable. And, therefore, a world could not be built on human reason alone.
The idea annoyed the Greeks to no end. While they appreciated the wisdom of the Torah, they demanded that the Jews abandon the notion that it was something Divine.
Ethics, to an ancient Greek, meant that which is right in the eyes of society. To a Jew, it means that which is right in the eyes of G-d. The difference is crucial: Ethics built solely on the convenience of the time can produce a society where human beings are treated as numbers in a computer or where the central value is the accumulation of wealth. At its extreme, it can produce a Stalinist Russia or a Nazi Germany.
A healthy mind is one that recognizes that there will always be wonder, because G-d is beyond the human mind. And a healthy society is a balanced one, whose soil nurtures human accomplishment but whose bedrock is the ethical standard of an Eternal Being.
Last Word
Some people are waiting for a final, apocalyptic war. But the final war is not fought on battlefields, nor at sea, nor in the skies above. Neither is it a war between leaders or nations. The final war is fought in the heart of each human being, with the armies of his or her deeds in this world. The final war is the battle of Chanukah and the miracle of light."
Here is one of my favorite Chanukah songs
Light One Candle
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXdYzl-1_-A&feature=related
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXdYzl-1_-A&feature=related[/youtube]
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Rachel:
That touched me. Thank you.
Marc
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Marc-- You are welcome One of the things I love about Chabad is their ability to make you see the magic in everyday life.
http://www.aish.com/chanukahstories/chanukahstoriesdefault/Chanukah_in_the_Soviet_Gulag1.asp
"Natan (Anatoli) Sharansky was arrested in 1977 for his Zionist activism, his insistence on the right of Russian Jews to make aliyah to Israel. However he was accused of the much more serious crime of treason, for spying for the United States. He sat in prison from 1977 to 1986 including eight years in a Soviet prison camp in Siberia. After continuous public protest in the West, spear-headed by his wife Avital, Natan Sharansky was released in a spy exchange between the US and the USSR in 1986. After making aliyah and establishing a Russian immigrant party in 1996, he became Israeli Minister of Industry and Trade and later of the Interior.
His memoirs of the Soviet period are filled with sparkling anecdotes about the power of the few against the many -- the power that derives from "fearing no evil" and laughing in the face of oppression. The phrase, "fear no evil," is taken from the little book of Psalms, which he carried with him through his long imprisonment.
The holiday of Chanukah was approaching. At the time, I was the only Jew in the prison zone, but when I explained that Chanukah was a holiday of national freedom, of returning to one's own culture in the face of forced assimilation, my friends in our "kibbutz" decided to celebrate it with me. They even made me a wooden menorah, decorated it, and found some candles.
In the evening I lit the first candle and recited a prayer that I had composed for this occasion. Tea was poured, and I began to describe the heroic struggle of the Maccabees to save their people from slavery. For each zek [a prisoner in the Soviet Gulag] who was listening, this story had its own personal meaning. At one point the duty officer appeared in the barracks. He made a list of all those present, but did not interfere.
On each of the subsequent evenings of Chanukah I took out my menorah, lit the candles, and recited the appropriate blessing. Then I blew out the candles, as I didn't have any extras. Gavriliuk, the collaborator whose bunk was across from mine, watched and occasionally grumbled, "Look at him, he made himself a synagogue. And what if there's a fire?"
On the sixth night of Chanukah the authorities confiscated my menorah with all my candles. I ran to the duty officer to find out what had happened.
"The candlesticks were made from state materials; this is illegal. You could be punished for this alone and the other prisoners are complaining. They¹re afraid you'll start a fire."
I began to insist. "In two days Chanukah will be over and then I'll return this 'state property' to you. Now, however, this looks like an attempt to deny me the opportunity of celebrating Jewish holidays."
"A camp is not a synagogue. We won't permit Sharansky to pray here."
The duty officer began hesitating. Then he phoned his superior and got his answer: "A camp is not a synagogue. We won't permit Sharansky to pray here."
I was surprised by the bluntness of that remark, and immediately declared a hunger strike. In a statement to the procurator general I protested against the violation of my national and religious rights, and against KGB interference in my personal life.
When you begin an unlimited hunger strike, you never know when or how it will end. Are the authorities interested at that moment in putting a swift end to it, or don't they give a damn? In a few weeks a commission from Moscow was due to arrive in the camp. I didn't know this at the time, but the authorities, presumably, were very aware of it, which probably explains why I was summoned to Major Osin's office two days later, in the evening.
Osin was an enormous, flabby man of around 50, with small eyes and puffy eyelids, who seemed to have long ago lost interest in everything but food. But he was a master of intrigue who had successfully overtaken many of his colleagues on the road to advancement. During my brief time in the camp he had weathered several scandals and had always managed to pass the buck to his subordinates. I could see that he had enjoyed his power over the zeks and liked to see them suffer. But he never forgot that the zeks were, above all, a means for advancing his career, and he knew how to back off in a crisis.
Osin pulled a benevolent smile over his face as he tried to talk me out of my hunger strike. Osin promised to see to it personally that in the future nobody would hinder me from praying, and that this should not be a concern of the KGB.
"Then what's the problem?" I said. "Give me back the menorah, as tonight is the last evening of Chanukah. Let me celebrate it now, and taking into account your assurances for the future, I shall end the hunger strike."
"What's a menorah?"
"Candlesticks."
But a protocol for its confiscation had already been drawn up, and Osin couldn't back down in front of the entire camp. As I looked at this predator, sitting at an elegant polished table and wearing a benevolent smile, I was seized by an amusing idea.
"Listen," I said, "I'm sure you have the menorah somewhere. It's very important to me to celebrate the last night of Chanukah. Why not let me do it here and now, together with you? You'll give me the menorah, I'll light the candles and say the prayer, and if all goes well I'll end the hunger strike."
Osin thought it over and promptly the confiscated menorah appeared from his desk. He summoned Gavriliuk, who was on duty in the office, to bring in a large candle.
"I need eight candles," I said. (In fact I needed nine, but when it came to Jewish rituals I was still a novice.) Gavriliuk took out a knife and began to cut the candle into several smaller ones. But it didn't come out right; apparently the knife was too dull. Then Osin took out a handsome inlaid pocketknife and deftly cut me eight candles.
"During the prayer you must stand with your head covered and at the end say 'Amen.'" He put on his major's hat and stood.
"Go, I'll call you later," he said to Gavriliuk. Gavriliuk simply obeyed orders. He was a fierce, gloomy man, and this sight must have infuriated him.
I arranged the candles and went to the coat rack for my hat, explaining to Osin that "during the prayer you must stand with your head covered and at the end say 'Amen.'" He put on his major's hat and stood. I lit the candles and recited my own prayer in Hebrew, which went something like this: "Blessed are You, God, for allowing me to rejoice on this day of Chanukah, the holiday of our liberation, the holiday of our return to the way of our fathers. Blessed are You, God, for allowing me to light these candles. May you allow me to light the Chanukah candles many times in your city, Jerusalem, with my wife, Avital, and my family and friends."
This time, however, inspired by the sight of Osin standing meekly at attention, I added in Hebrew: "And may the day come when all our enemies, who today are planning our destruction, will stand before us and hear our prayers and say 'Amen.'"
"Amen," Osin echoed back. He sighed with relief, sat down and removed his hat. For some time we looked silently at the burning candles. They quickly melted, and the hot wax was spread pleasantly over the glass surface of the table. Then Osin caught himself, summoned Gavriliuk, and brusquely ordered him to clean it up.
I returned to the barracks in a state of elation, and our kibbutz made tea and merrily celebrated the end of Chanukah. Naturally, I told them about Osin's "conversion," and it soon became the talk of the camp. I realized that revenge was inevitable, but I also knew they had plenty of other reasons to punish me.
Excerpted from Mr. Sharansky's book, Fear No Evil."
The first night of Chanukah is tonight!
Pass The Candle
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsBbTyak59I
I really like Michelle Citrin
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsBbTyak59I[/youtube]
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http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/103019/jewish/Yehudit.htm
It is not clearly known when the story which we are about to tell actually took place. The story first appeared in a very ancient book named after the heroine, Yehudit (Judith), and it was written in Hebrew. However, the original text was lost, and only a Greek translation remained, and not a very accurate one at that.
The story was retold in different versions. According to one version, it happened during the time of the Maccabean revolt against Syrian oppression, and Yehudit was a daughter of Yochanan the High Priest, father of the Hasmonean family.
At any rate, the heroic deed of Yehudit has inspired faith and courage in the hearts of Jews throughout the ages.
The town of Bethulia, in the land of Judea, came under siege by Holofernes, a mighty Syrian-Greek general, at the head of a huge army.
Holofernes was notorious for his cruelty in suppressing rebellions. When he captured a rebel stronghold, he showed no mercy to the men, women, and children sheltered there.
Now he was determined to crush the rebellion of the town of Bethulia, whose inhabitants refused to recognize the oppressive rule of the Syrians.
The men of the beleaguered town fought bravely and desperately to repulse the repeated assaults by the superior enemy forces. Seeing that he couldn't take the fortified town by force, Holofernes decided to starve the inhabitants into submission. He cut off the food and water supply, and before long the town was indeed brought to the verge of surrender.
Hungry and thirsty and in utter despair, the townspeople gathered in the marketplace and demanded that, rather than die of hunger and thirst, they should surrender to the enemy.
Uzzia, the commander of the defense forces, and the elders of the town, tried to calm the populace without success. Finally they pleaded, "Give us five more days. If no salvation comes by the end of five days, we will surrender. Just five more days..."
Reluctantly the people agreed, and slowly they dispersed. Only one person, a woman, remained in her place, as if riveted to it, and she addressed Uzzia and the elders, who had also turned to go. Her voice was clear and firm.
"Why do you test G-d, giving Him only five days in which to send us His help? If you truly have faith in G-d, you must never give up your trust in Him. Besides, don't you know that surrender to Holofernes is worse than death?!"
So spoke Yehudit, the noble daughter of Yochanan the High Priest. She was a young widow. It was several years since she had lost her beloved husband Menashe, and had devoted all her time to prayer and acts of charity ever since.
Yehudit was blessed with extraordinary charm, grace, and beauty, but she was particularly respected and admired for her devoutness, modesty, and loving kindness.
Yehudit's words made a deep impression on Uzzia and the Elders.
"You are quite right, daughter," they admitted, "but what can we do? Only a downpour of rain that would fill our empty cisterns could save our people, but it is not the rainy season. We are all suffering the pangs of hunger and thirst. Pray for us, Yehudit, and maybe G-d will accept your prayers..."
"We must all continue to pray, and never despair of G-d's help," Yehudit said. "But I have also thought of a plan. I ask your permission to leave town together with my maid. I want to go to Holofernes..."
Uzzia and the Elders were shocked and dismayed. "Do you know what you are saying, Yehudit? Would you sacrifice your life and honor on the slim chance that you might soften Holofernes's heart? We cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice for us."
But Yehudit persisted. "It had happened before that G-d sent His salvation through a woman. Yael, the wife of Heber, was her name, as you well know. It was in her hands that G-d delivered the cruel Sissera..."
Uzzia and the Elders attempted to discourage Yehudit from such a dangerous mission, but she insisted that she be allowed to try. Finally, they agreed.
Yehudit passed through the gates of Bethulia, dressed in her best clothes, which she had not worn since her husband passed away. A delicate veil all but hid her beautiful face. She was accompanied by her faithful maid, who carried on her head a basket filled with rolls, cheese, and several bottles of old wine.
The sun had already begun to hide behind the green mountains when Yehudit and her maid wound their way toward the enemy's camp, their lips whispering a prayer to G-d. Presently they were stopped by sentries, who demanded to know who they were and who sent them.
"We have an important message for your commander, the brave Holofernes," Yehudit said. "Take us to him at once."
"Who are you, and why are you here?" Holofernes asked, his eyes feasting on his unexpected, charming visitor.
"I am but a plain widow from Bethulia. Yehudit is my name. I came to tell you how to capture the town, in the hope that you will deal mercifully with its inhabitants..."
Yehudit then told Holofernes that life in the beleaguered town had become unbearable for her, and she bribed the watchmen to let her and her maid out. She went on to say that she had heard of Holofernes's bravery and mighty deeds in battle, and wished to make his acquaintance. Finally she told Holofernes, what he already knew, that the situation in the besieged town was desperate, that the inhabitants have very little food and water left. Yet, she said, their faith in G-d remained strong, and so long as they had faith, they would not surrender. On the other hand, she added, before long, every scrap of kosher food would be gone, and in desperation they will begin to eat the flesh of unclean animals, and then G-d's anger will be turned against them, and the town will fall....
"But how will I know when the defenders of the citadel will begin to eat unkosher food, as you say, so that I can then storm the walls and capture the city?" the commander of the besieging army asked.
"I had thought of that," Yehudit answered confidently. "I have arranged with the watchmen at the city's gates that I would come to the gate every evening to exchange information: I will tell them what's doing here, and they will tell me what's doing there."
Holofernes was completely captivated by the charming young Jewish widow who had so unexpectedly entered his life and was now offering him the key to the city. "If you are telling me the truth, and will indeed help me capture the city, you will be my wife!" Holofernes promised. Then he gave orders that Yehudit and her maid were to have complete freedom to walk through the camp, and anyone attempting to molest them in any way would be put to death immediately. A comfortable tent was prepared for the two women, next to his.
The two women, veiled and wrapped in their shawls, could now be seen walking leisurely through the armed camp at any time during the day and evening. Fearful of the commander's strict orders, everyone gave them a wide berth. Soon they attracted little, if any, attention. Yehudit could now walk up to the city's gates after dark, where she was met by a watchman.
"Tell Uzzia that, thank G-d, everything is shaping up according to plan. With G-d's help we shall prevail over our enemy. Keep your trust strong in G-d; do not lose hope for a moment!"
Having delivered this message for the commander of the defense force of the city, Yehudit departed as quietly as she had appeared.
The following evening she came again to the city's gate and repeated the same message, adding that she had won Holofernes' complete confidence.
In the meantime, Holofernes, having nothing special to do, spent most of his time drinking, with and without his aides. When he was not completely drunk, he would send for Yehudit. She always came to his tent in the company of her maid. On the third day he was already getting impatient.
"Well, gracious Yehudit, what intelligence do you bring me today? My men are getting impatient and demoralized doing nothing; they cannot wait to capture the city and have their fun..."
"I have very good news, general. There is not a scrap of kosher food left in the city now. In a day or two, famine will drive them to eat their cats and dogs and mules. Then G-d will deliver them into your hands!"
"Wonderful, wonderful! This surely calls for a celebration. Tonight we'll have a party, just you and I. I shall expect you as my honored guest."
"Thank you, sir," Yehudit said.
That evening, when Yehudit entered Holofernes' tent, the table was laden with various delicacies. The general was delighted to welcome her and bade her partake of the feast. But Yehudit told him she brought her own food and wine that she had prepared especially for that occasion.
"My goat cheese is famous in all of Bethulia," Yehudit said. "I'm sure you'll like it, General."
He did. And he also liked the strong, undiluted wine she had brought. She fed him the cheese, chunk after chunk, and he washed it down with wine. Before long he was sprawled on the ground, dead drunk.
Yehudit propped a pillow under his head and rolled him over on his face. Then she uttered a silent prayer.
"Answer me, O L-rd, as You answered Yael, the wife of Heber the Kenite, when you delivered the wicked general Sissera into her hands. Strengthen me this once that I may bring Your deliverance to my people whom this cruel man vowed to destroy, and let the nations know that You have not forsaken us..."
Now Yehudit unsheathed Holofernes' heavy sword, and taking aim at his neck, she brought the sword down on it with all her might.
For a moment she sat down to compose herself. Then she wrapped up the general's head in rags, concealed it under her shawl, and calmly walked out and into her own tent.
"Come quickly," she said to her maid, "but let's not arouse suspicion."
The two veiled women walked leisurely, as usual, until they reached the gates of the city. "Take me to Uzzia at once," she said to the sentry.
Uzzia could not believe his eyes as he stared at the gruesome prize Yehudit had brought him.
"There is no time to lose," she told the commander. "Prepare your men for a surprise attack at dawn. The enemy's camp is not prepared for it. When they run to their commander's tent, they will find his headless body, and they will flee for their lives..."
This is precisely what happened.
The enemy fled in confusion and terror, leaving much booty behind. It was a wonderful victory, and it was the G-d-fearing and brave daughter of Yochanan the High Priest, the father of the Hasmonean family, that saved the city of Bethulia and all its inhabitants.
PS22 Chorus MAOZ TSUR Chanukah Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gMTvGmpVbI&feature=related
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gMTvGmpVbI&feature=related[/youtube]
A longer more traditional version
Maoz Tzur Medley - miami boys choir - hanukkah
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4i4OZBlP80&feature=related
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4i4OZBlP80&feature=related[/youtube]
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This article was written in 2004
http://www.aish.com/SSI/articleToPrint.asp?an=5270&PageURL=/chanukahstories/chanukahstoriesdefault/Chanukah_in_Baghdad.xml&torahportion=&teaser=An+American+Jewish+soldier+of+Iraqi+descent+lights+the+Menorah+in+Saddam+Hussein%26%2339%3Bs+palace.
An American Jewish soldier of Iraqi descent lights the Menorah in Saddam Hussein's palace.
Banu hoshekh legharesh -- "We have come to banish darkness." Thus begins a famous Chanukah song, and no phrase better encapsulates the holiday's deeper meanings. This year, as a United States soldier serving in Iraq, I and several of my colleagues lit a Chanukah lamp and uttered those words in a place that had never before heard them: the former presidential palace of Saddam Hussein, in the capital city of a new and free Iraq.
One is hard-pressed to imagine a holiday whose themes are more resonant with the events unfolding here: A spectacular military victory, the defeat of a despot, the re-sanctification of what had been desecrated. Truly, the banishment of darkness.
Chanukah commemorates the rededication of Jerusalem's Temple in 165 BCE. Israel was then ruled by Syria's Hellenist king, Antiochus IV, a brutal megalomaniac who gave himself the title Epiphanes -- "god manifested." In a campaign of merciless persecution, he murdered members of the priesthood, outlawed Jewish rituals, and desecrated the Holy Temple.
The priestly Maccabee family led a daring revolt and defeated the Hellenist armies. After recapturing the Temple, Jewish partisans rededicated the place by kindling its sacred Menorah. To this day, Jews celebrate the relighting of that ancient Menorah, to remember the victorious freedom fighters whose courage stemmed from an abiding faith that God will cause good to triumph over evil, and light to banish even the darkest of hours.
For too many years, the people of Iraq have suffered horrors that defy imagination. Like Antiochus, Saddam thought himself to be like a god, or at least like those demigods of Mesopotamian history, Nebuchadnezzar and Hammurabi, with whom his boundless vanity inclined him regularly to equate himself. "Epiphanes" indeed -- Saddam dispensed licentious pleasure and horrible pain, life and death, with the nonchalance of one who thought himself above humanity itself.
I myself have seen some of the evidence of his horrors, and I am sickened by them. I have met Iraqis who lost their closest relatives to Saddam's killing machines. I have walked the halls of the decadent monuments he built for himself while his people wasted away for want of food and freedom. I have visited Saddam's execution chambers at the notorious Abu Ghreib prison. I saw the ceiling hooks that were used to torture prisoners. I saw the prison's infamous "medical wing," used for human experimentation. And most shattering of all, I saw the desperate messages scratched on the walls of hideous cells next to the death chambers. Some of those messages appear to have been scribbled in excrement.
I shuddered as I imagined the suffering endured by the forgotten victims of that terrible place -- the excruciating physical pain, the agony over loved ones left behind, the devastating sounds of executions conducted only a few feet from their cells. I could almost hear the screams of torture and soft whimpers of despair echo along the walls' unforgiving concrete.
GRANDFATHER IN PRISON
Perhaps I am especially prone to feel empathy for Iraq's prisoners of conscience, for my grandfather was one of them. He and other leaders of the once large Iraqi Jewish community were arrested, paraded through the streets in leg irons, and summarily jailed. But my grandfather was comparatively fortunate, for he was imprisoned many years before Saddam took the country to new depths of depravity. And after serving the prison sentence given him, my grandfather was released.
Many of Saddam's prisoners were not so lucky. Many Iraqis unfortunate enough to be deemed ethnically or religiously undesirable, or who displayed the intolerable audacity of free thought, entered Saddam's prisons with the knowledge that they would never again see their loved ones. And in the twisted reality of the former Iraq, they may well have hoped never again to see their loved ones, for Saddam's regime was known to torture children in front of their parents. Whereas my grandfather was able to assuage his suffering by rejoining the people he loved most in this world, the victims of Saddam's apparatus of death could only console themselves by scrawling desperate messages on the walls of their cells.
LIGHT IN THE PALACE
It is the defeat of this sort of profanity that Chanukah celebrates. It was Antiochus' consummate ungodliness -- all the more so when contrasted with the sacred Temple worship that he prevented and defiled -- that the Jews succeeded in vanquishing. But what can be more ungodly, what more profane, than torture, mass murder, and genocide? Such evil had been a staple of life in Iraq. But not any more. We have come to banish darkness.
This Chanukah in Baghdad, in a large and lavish building, the gentle glow of a Chanukah lamp shimmered throughout a cavernous room. One of the objects caught in its radiance is a gilded chair that used to serve as the tyrant's throne, and the palace in which it sits used to be the capital building of his reign of terror. Today, the chair is empty, and the palace houses the apparatus of Iraqi reconstruction.
As my colleagues and I remember the Maccabee bravery of yesteryear and the re-sanctification of the Temple, we pray also for the brave and indefatigable people of Iraq, who day by day are rekindling their flames of hope and re-sanctifying their great land. They are banishing the darkness, and we wish them Godspeed.
A version of this article originally appeared in The Miami Herald.
Author Biography:
Elan S. Carr, an attorney, is a first lieutenant in the U.S. Army Reserve. He led the Chanukah observance in Baghdad using a lamp donated by a Jewish Iraqi artist.
(http://www.aish.com/aishint/graphics/8Hanukkah16.jpg)
This video is about a different group of soldiers and took place in 2006
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XHPwFjXGo8
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XHPwFjXGo8[/youtube]
This article is from 2007
http://jta.org/news/article/2007/12/07/105758/chanukahtaji
Celebrating Chanukah in Baghdad
By · December 7, 2007
BAGHDAD (JTA) – In some ways, this year’s Chanukah in Baghdad seemed just like Chanukah any other year.
Everyone gathered around the menorah outside. I spoke about the meaning of the holiday for us, in Baghdad today.
A few people laughed as I pointed out some of the parallels between the Maccabees of old fighting for their just cause and the work the United States is engaged in every day here in Iraq.
Just like my other Chanukahs in Iraq, I couldn’t help but notice that most of those gathered for the menorah lighting were well armed. Each was in uniform and carrying an M-16, M-4 or M-9, all with ammunition, ready for action if needed.
We said the blessings over the lights and sang together under the inky night sky.
People lingered over “Maoz Tsur,” singing “Rock of Ages” in English. Lighting took a while, as one soldier worked at getting a kerosene lantern filled with olive oil to light because kerosene wasn’t available. The clear flame burned brightly, and we each admired it before going inside for latkes, dreidels and more festivities.
I had spoken in part about the cause of religious freedom and how the values of pluralism in America mean that we, as soldiers, are allowed to practice our own religion even while fighting halfway around the world.
I also spoke of how our sages teach that even a small candle can push away a great deal of darkness. Each one of those soldiers gathered around the menorah is a candle, and it is the light of loving kindness that they can show each other, even in difficult circumstances, which will carry them through their deployment here. The light they bring into the world will make a difference wherever they are.
Inside the dining facility, everyone loaded up on latkes with applesauce and drank eggnog. Small groups formed around the tables, and we listened to music and talked.
One officer told me there was a $40,000 cash bounty on his head, as well as on those of everyone on his team. In order to keep the bounty from going higher, he tries not to advertise his Jewishness.
A young soldier told me proudly that he originally is from Israel and was only in Baghdad for a few days. Fortuitously he had seen the Chanukah flyers we had posted all over Camp Taji.
Another soldier told me how glad his mother was that a rabbi was in Baghdad now, even though he would be heading home in a month.
Others talked about the meaning Chanukah held for them or of memories from back home. Holiday cheer seemed to improve even the taste of the latkes.
After the evening’s program ended and the decorations were taken down, a small group stayed behind singing “I have a little dreidel.” Somehow, amid all the celebration, we had forgotten this Chanukah standard.
Before drifting off in twos or threes, many of those who came exchanged e-mail addresses, and we all promised to try and meet again before the end of the holiday.
Most Jewish soldiers spend their holidays on their own, with little around them to remind them of home or their Jewish identity.
The “local” paper, Stars and Stripes, carried a picture on the front page I had taken earlier in the day of the 12-foot menorah as it was being set up. Later, a soldier wrote to the paper from his remote outpost in Iraq to say how much it meant to be reminded of Chanukah.
The opportunity for Jewish soldiers to gather together, just as they might back home, is valued very highly here in this distant land.
A small community of Jews has been meeting here all year long thanks to the efforts of Capt. Stephen Schwab, who led a weekly Friday-night service and organized holiday gatherings with the help of a small group of regulars.
Schwab remarked that this Chanukah was the largest gathering of Jewish soldiers he had seen in his 14 months deployed.
While each of us can bring light into the world, the light we bring seems so much brighter when we can come together. For our group of soldiers serving at Camp Taji in Baghdad, the lights this Chanukah burn bright.
Rabbi David Goldstrom is a U.S. Army chaplain stationed in Iraq.
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I find most Hanukkah albums are either sweet or kitschy or a little of both but somewhat lacking. I really like this album it has power to it.
Joy to the world
http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1229868823502&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull
"Many have remarked in the past about the dearth of decent Hanukka songs, in contrast to the abundance of Christmas songs. This year, Erran Baron Cohen, in conjunction with New Line Records, has released a CD that he hopes will rectify this situation, entitled Songs In The Key Of Hanukkah.
"I remember as a child listening to some recording of Israeli children singing; it was slightly difficult to listen to," explains Baron Cohen. "I thought it would be an interesting challenge to try to make a record that was worth listening to, especially for adults."
The project took off at a party for the release of the Borat film (for which Baron Cohen had written the score) when Baron Cohen met the president of New Line Records, Jason Linn, who had recently sought in vain for a Hanukka record that was not kitsch in nature.
The disc features both original material, written specifically for this release by artists such as Israeli star Idan Raichel, and reworkings of old favorites. "Total transformations" is how Baron Cohen, who acted as cowriter, producer, instrumentalist and backing singer, labels them.
Regarding the reworkings, he says that he "loves to bring new and old together, and take the tradition somewhere else," but he still found it a "challenge."
He gives the example of "Dreidel," and even offers a short, almost sarcastic rendition. "You know, 'Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made you out of clay?' I thought it was one of the most depressing, awful pieces of music I'd ever heard. It seemed to have absolutely no scope."
With Jules Brookes's assistance, however, he feels that he has succeeded in "making it into something great."
Another testament to Baron Cohen's ability to adapt the traditional songs is the fact that "Maoz Tzur" (which he dubs "the anthem of Hanukka") and "Rock of Ages," which have a common melody, emerge as "completely different songs."
He was keen to include the latter, whose lyrics, written by Marcus Jastrow in the 19th Century, are a loose translation of the Hebrew hymn Maoz Tzur. This is because he felt that "its words are very powerful. They examine the heavier issues, such as the oppression and tyranny that feature in the story of Hanukka."
Meanwhile, it was very important to him to represent more than just the Western, Ashkenazi tradition. So he researched other communities' traditions in order to represent their music on the CD, but not always with success. "I was desperately trying to find Moroccan Hanukka music, until I discovered that there was none, as they had left Israel before the story actually happened."
There are, however, two songs hailing from the Ladino tradition ("Ocho Kandelikas" and "A La Luz De La Vela"), performed by Yasmin Levy, who, in Baron Cohen's opinion, possesses "one of the great voices around: we were very lucky to work with her."
INTERMINGLED WITH these recognizable songs are the originals, which comprise songs in both English and Hebrew. Some of these are based on the traditional tunes, such as "Spin It Up," which is based on "Sevivon," and "Hanukkah Oh Hanukkah," which combines a klezmer treatment of the familiar melody with a Yiddish rap from American artist Y-Love.
"This really is a new concept in Jewish music. We set out to create a great album which we can all enjoy, instead of feeling slightly embarrassed."
Originally intended for a grown-up audience, Baron Cohen reports that it gained popularity among younger listeners: notably his three children, who are "loving it. We realized that it is also a family album, for a lovely family festival."
The wide variety of styles and artists represented on the record resulted in a recording process that was somewhat out of the ordinary. Baron Cohen met with Brooklyn-based Y-Love in Berlin for convenience's sake, and in August flew out to Israel to record "Relics Of Love & Light" with Idan Raichel and Avivit Caspi.
He speaks positively of his time recording in Tel Aviv, and despite a hectic schedule "still managed to have a good time; there's some great food over there."
He looks forward to the next time he has a chance to work in Israel.
The eclecticism that permeates the compilation is reflected in Baron Cohen's own musical background. After attaining a music degree in London, he joined a klezmer band, and more recently has been touring with his band Zemer, which "fuses Jewish, Arabic and drum and bass influences."
He was recently involved in writing the score for the movie, Borat, in which his brother Sacha Baron Cohen starred and which brought him some awards and a heightened profile. In addition, he is "imminently" to begin work on his brother's next movie, to be based on the fictional character Bruno. "I enjoy lots of different things," shrugs Erran.
Meanwhile, Sacha has been quoted as saying, "Even if he wasn't related to me, this album is so damn good that I'd want to make him my brother."
The brothers seem to be in agreement on this point: "[This record] is a great present," declares Erran. "Every family should have at least one copy, if not more."
I like this song but it is not my favorite of the album it is just the only one on youtube.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzGsO0D3KBo
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzGsO0D3KBo[/youtube]
You can listen to part of the rest of the songs at amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Erran-Baron-Cohen-Presents-Hanukkah/dp/B001KVXIJ8/ref=dmusic_cd_album?ie=UTF8&qid=1230079124&sr=8-1
One of my favorite songs on the album is Ocho Kandelikas. Rock of ages and Maox Tzur were excellent.
Here is a different version of Ocho Kandelikas.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djnn2GMJL4w[/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djnn2GMJL4w
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http://www.aish.com/chanukahstories/chanukahstoriesdefault/Chanukah_Lights_Dancing.asp
Chanukah Lights Dancing
by Dr. Jackie Yaris
Chanukah's tiny lights brazenly face the night's bitter challenge, transforming fear into a soft caress of hope.
There is perhaps nothing as cold and terrifying as a midwinter night. Even the moon, usually low and welcoming, takes its retreat. It and its minion of stars glare angrily in the distance, the white light offering no respite. I think it is because of the intensity of the darkness that I have always found the candles of Chanukah so intriguing. Their tiny lights brazenly face the night's bitter challenge, and victorious, transform the harsh edge of fear into a soft caress of hope. Bathed in the candles' magical hue of triumph, the eight nights of Chanukah have always been a special time for me.
Oddly enough, none was more special than the one I spent as an intern on the oncology ward. It was December, six months into my internship, and I was bleary with exhaustion and staggering toward January -- my much awaited vacation. I remember thinking how apropos it was that during the darkest month of the year, I would be seeing patients dealing with probably the bleakest time of their lives. To alleviate some of the inherent gravity of the ward, the staff had attempted to infuse it with holiday cheer -- but the fluorescent lights had jaundiced even the brightest Xmas tree and Chanukah menorah, and all appeared sickly greenish.
After a few weeks of seeing so many tragic cases, and so much suffering, and now completely convinced that everyone I knew had an as-of-yet undiagnosed cancer lurking within them, my outlook became morose and depressed.
Until I met Claire.
A 57-year-old woman, she had been admitted for a two week course of chemo. Cancer has a nasty habit of revisiting its previous victims -- often with a far more lethal type, and two months earlier Claire had been diagnosed with a rare, aggressive blood cancer, just eight years after successful treatment for bone cancer.
These stark facts defined her medically, but they did not at all describe the whirlwind that was Claire.
When I walked in to her room, I was heartily greeted by a bright-eyed woman, wearing an orange turban, gigantic hoop earrings, and a huge smile.
"Hello! My new doctor!" she exclaimed and proceeded to fill me in on all the medical details she knew I would be asking. Clearly, she had been through this before.
"But now, tell me about you," she smiled.
I was surprised. Understandably, patients in similar situations are typically reeling, and by necessity focus inward. But not Claire; she radiated outward with such genuine interest that I started talking. As I did, I noticed the myriad of photos that had already begun to fill her walls -- of old people, young people but always with Claire, grinning widely, lighting up the center. Somehow, in such a short time, she had managed to transform the drab, antiseptic hospital room to a place of color and warmth.
Over the next few weeks, I gravitated to her room. I met her husband of 35 years. A successful law partner, he was her perfect foil -- serious where she was light, reserved where she was effervescent -- always the straight man to her joke. But his devotion sparked in his eyes, and it was obvious how much he needed her. His taut jaw only slackened when he spoke to her, the warm loving tones reserved only for her.
Her large group of friends was also very involved. I especially related to her two grown kids -- both in fledgling careers, her daughter with a young family back east, their drawn faces made it clear how torn they were between their many responsibilities and their hearts that were breaking.
When I became a doctor, I did it to give. I think Claire was the first patient to make me realize how much I would receive, and also, how much I would care. I marveled how even through pain and fear, she seized life vehemently. She lit up her bleak circumstances, and in so doing challenged me to assess my own. Her strength, wisdom and poise, and many others since her, has forever humbled me to the incredible radiance of the human spirit.
I will never forget my last night on call that month -- it happened to be the first night of Chanukah. When I went to visit Clare, she sat in a darkened room, transfixed by the plastic bulbs on the hospital's sterile menorah, sitting on the windowsill. "What a pathetic imitation," I thought as I glanced at the menorah.
But Claire was thrilled. "I've always loved Chanukah candles. They are so hopeful."
Only then did I notice how even the dim bulbs reflected on the window and seemed to glitter with the city lights beyond. She continued in a low voice, "You know, I wasn't supposed to make it last time..."
I did know that. Her oncologist told me that it was practically a miracle she had survived the first cancer, and that he was shocked at how well she was responding to this treatment. "These past eight years have been such a gift. We've traveled ... I've gotten to know two grandkids..." Her voice wavered a bit. "I'll make it again, I know it."
My throat caught, so all I could do was nod.
"Come look at these new pictures," she brightened as she picked them up from her bedside. "Can you believe it? My husband planned a 35th wedding anniversary party -- he bought everyone these wigs so I wouldn't be alone."
I looked and saw many of the people I recognized -- all laughing and wearing rainbow clown wigs. "A bunch of old, serious people in these silly wigs... We danced until one in the morning!" Claire shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "It was so ridiculous! But, oh, how we danced ..." her voice trailed off.
And there we sat, into the night, looking at pictures of dancing clowns, lit by the weird orange blush of a plastic menorah.
The next day was the start of my vacation month. Claire was scheduled to leave as soon as her infection-fighting white blood cells had risen.
Four weeks later, after my vacation, I walked into the ICU for my next rotation. I blanched when I saw Claire's name on the board.
With dread, I looked through her chart -- my worst fears were realized. Her white blood cells had never rebounded, and left susceptible, she contracted one of the most deadly infections: fungal pneumonia. She had been in the ICU for three and a half weeks, in a coma for the past two, and was now on full life support. Fluid filled both her lungs, her kidneys had failed, and her liver was beginning to deteriorate.
I glanced over at her room and saw her husband, crumpled against the doorway for support. His clenched jaw and gaunt grey face made evident the horror of the past month, as he watched her, biting his lip. When I went to her room, he barely looked up, and shook his head. As I looked in, even I was shocked. Her room which once reverberated with laughter and light was now eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic wheeze of the ventilator. Bloated, bald and pale, she was completely still except for the forced ventilations. I gulped when my eyes fixed on the one bit of color in the room -- a picture of the laughing, rainbow-wigged dancers, taped to an IV pole.
Her husband whispered, "It's not working... the next time her heart stops, we're not going to resuscitate her. It's... it's time..."
I knew that with multi-organ failure like she had, it wouldn't take long, and it didn't. The next day her heart started to fail. When it gets into trouble, the heart sends out electrical signals of distress and the heart monitor's once dependable heartbeat line quivers uncertainly. After I saw that on the screen, I went in to tell the family it was happening, but they already knew and surrounded her bed telling her how much they loved her. I went back to the monitor. As a physician, there is nothing more surreal than watching a monitor as a patient dies. It is at once completely detached, yet also startlingly personal. As it gets more fatigued, the heart's line quivers more and more frequently, until, spent, the heart fibrillates its final goodbye, the line twitches furiously and then nothing ... the line goes flat and that's it.
I went in to her room to pronounce her dead. Even before I put my stethoscope on her silent chest and felt her cool pulseless wrist, I knew the spirit was out of her body. I shivered, however, when I realized I could feel her sweet essence still lingering around us.
I hugged the family and left.
Even now, over ten years later, on the first night of Chanukah, after the latkes are eaten and the presents are opened, I sit in a darkened room and watch as the candles burn down. I strain to hear the tiny "sss" as the last wisp of smoke fills the air with its sweet burnt essence. The best part, though, is right before the candles succumb and are still lit. I am amazed that as they face the coming darkness, perhaps in spite of it, they glow so brilliantly. And that even as they approach the very end, they continue to flutter and dance. And, oh, how they dance.
<
Author Biography:
Jackie Yaris is a physician practicing internal medicine in Beverly Hills, Ca. She is also a wife and the mother of three young children
Swinging ---Hanukkah, Oh Hanukkah
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgMYkkiz-BA
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgMYkkiz-BA[/youtube]
My Menorah
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4_TSN2GT24&feature=related
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4_TSN2GT24&feature=related[/youtube]
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I thought I would take a brief break from Chanukah today.
http://www.jewfaq.org/readings.htm
"Each week in synagogue, we read (or, more accurately, chant, because it is sung) a passage from the Torah. This passage is referred to as a parshah. The first parshah, for example, is Parshat Bereishit, which covers from the beginning of Genesis to the story of Noah. There are 54 parshahs, one for each week of a leap year, so that in the course of a year, we read the entire Torah (Genesis to Deuteronomy) in our services. During non-leap years, there are 50 weeks, so some of the shorter portions are doubled up. We read the last portion of the Torah right before a holiday called Simchat Torah (Rejoicing in the Law), which occurs in October, a few weeks after Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year). On Simchat Torah, we read the last portion of the Torah, and proceed immediately to the first paragraph of Genesis, showing that the Torah is a circle, and never ends. "
This weeks torah portion is Mikeitz Genesis 41:1-44:17
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/340137/jewish/Josephs-Wisdom.htm
"Joseph's Wisdom
By Yosef Y. Jacobson
Pharaoh, the king of Egypt, has two dreams, we learn in this week's Torah portion. In the first, Pharaoh sees himself standing over the Nile River,
And, behold, there came up out of the River seven cows, handsome and fat of flesh and they fed in the reed grass. And, behold, seven other cows came up after them out of the River, ugly and lean of flesh and stood by the other cows upon the bank of the River. And the ugly and lean cows ate up the seven handsome and fat cows. (Genesis 41:1-4)
In the second dream, Pharaoh sees seven thin, shriveled ears of grain swallow seven fat ears of grain.
None of the wise men of Egypt can offer Pharaoh a satisfactory interpretation of his dreams. Then, the "young Hebrew slave," Joseph, is summoned from the dungeon to the palace. Joseph interprets the dreams to mean that seven years of plenty, symbolized by the fat cows and fat grain, will be followed by seven years of hunger, reflected by the lean cows and the shriveled ears. The seven years of famine will be so powerful that they will "swallow up" and obliterate any trace of the years of plenty.
Joseph then advises Pharaoh how to deal with the situation: "Now Pharaoh must seek out a man with insight and wisdom and place him in charge of Egypt. A rationing system will have to be set up over Egypt during the seven years of surplus," Joseph explains, "in which grain will be stored for the upcoming years of famine."
Pharaoh is blown away by Joseph's vision. "Can there be another person who has G-d's spirit in him as this man does?" Pharaoh asks his advisors. "There is none as understanding and wise as you," he says to Joseph. "You shall be over my house, and according to your word shall all my people be ruled; only by the throne will I outrank you."
Joseph is thus appointed viceroy of Egypt. The rest is history.
Three questions
The Biblical commentators struggle with three major questions concerning this remarkable story.
A) It is difficult to understand how following his interpretation of the dreams, Joseph proceeded to give Pharaoh advice on how to deal with the impending famine. How is a newly liberated slave not afraid to offer the king of Egypt, the monarch who ruled a superpower, unsolicited advice? Pharaoh summoned Joseph from the dungeon to interpret his dreams, not to become an advisor to the king!
B) It is obvious from the narrative that Pharaoh was actually awestruck by Joseph's solution to the problem. But one need not be a rocket scientist to suggest that if you have seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine, you should store food during the time of plenty for the time of hunger. What's the genius in Joseph's advice?
C) Pharaoh also was amazed by Joseph's interpretation of the dreams themselves, which none of his own wise men could conceive. But Joseph's interpretation seems simple and obvious: When are cows fat? When there is lots of food. When are they lean? When there's no food. When is grain fat? When there is a plentiful harvest. When is grain lean? During a time of famine. So why was Pharaoh astonished by Joseph's rendition of his dreams? And why could no one else conceive of the same interpretation?
Uniting the Cows
During a Shabbat address in 1973, the Lubavitcher Rebbe presented the following explanation:
The dream experts of Egypt did indeed conceive of Joseph's interpretation to Pharaoh's dreams -- namely, that seven years of hunger would follow seven years of plenty. Yet they dismissed this interpretation from their mind because it did not account for one important detail of the dream.
In Pharaoh's first dream, he saw how the seven ugly and lean cows that came up after the seven handsome cows "stood near the other [fat] cows upon the bank of the River." In other words, there was a moment during which both sets of cows coexisted simultaneously, and only afterward did the lean cows proceed to swallow the fat cows.
It was this detail of the dream that caused the wise men of Egypt to reject the interpretation that Joseph would later offer to Pharaoh and compelled them to present all types of farfetched explanations.
For how is it possible that plenty and famine should coexist? Either you have fat cows alone or you have lean cows alone, but you can't have them both together! The seven years of famine cannot be present during the seven years of surplus.
This is where Joseph's brilliance was dazzlingly displayed. When Joseph proceeded to tell Pharaoh how to prepare for the coming famine, he was not offering him unwelcome advice on how to run his country; rather, the advice was part of the dream's interpretation.
Joseph understood that the coexistence of the two sets of cows contained the solution to the approaching famine: During the years of plenty Egypt must "live" with the years of famine as well as though they were already present. Even while enjoying the abundance of the years of plenty, Egypt must experience in its imagination the reality of the upcoming famine, and each and every day store away food for it. The seven lean cows ought to be very much present and alive in people's minds and in their behavior during the era of the seven fat cows.
Conversely, if this system was implemented in Egypt, then even during the years of famine the nation would continue enjoying the abundance of the years of plenty. The seven fat cows would be very much present and alive even during the era of the seven lean cows.
This is what impressed Pharaoh so deeply about Joseph's interpretation. To begin with, Pharaoh was struck by Joseph's ingenious accounting for that one detail of the dream that had evaded all of the wise men of Egypt.
But what thrilled him even more was Joseph's demonstration of the fact that Pharaoh's dreams not only contained a prediction of future events, but also offered instructions on how to deal with those events. The dreams did not only portend problems, but also proffered solutions.
Do you need G-d? Do you have a real friend?
The wisdom of Joseph's presentation to Pharaoh becomes strikingly clear when we reflect upon the spiritual message behind the story. For as we have noted a number of times, the stories of the Torah describe not only physical events that took place at a certain point in history, but also detail metaphysical and timeless tales occurring continuously within the human heart.
All of us experience cycles of plenty and cycles of famine in our lives. There are times when things are going very well: We are healthy, successful and comfortable. Often during such times we fail to invest time and energy to cultivate genuine emotional intimacy with our spouse, to develop real relationships with friends and to create a sincere bond with G-d. We feel self-sufficient and don't need anybody in our lives.
Yet when a time of famine arrives, when a serious crisis erupts (heaven forbid) in our lives, we suddenly feel the need to reach out beyond ourselves and connect with our loved ones and with G-d.
But we don't know how. Because when we do not nurture our relationships and our spirituality during our years of plenty, when the years of famine confront us, we lack the tools we so desperately need to survive the crisis.
This is the essence of Joseph's wisdom: You must never detach the years of plenty from the years of famine. When you experience plenty, do not let it blind your vision and desensitize you from what is truly important in life.
The priorities you cultivate during your "good times" should be of the kind that will sustain you during your "bad times" as well."
I really like this interpretation because it so much harder to grow and and change when things are going well but so necessary.
Poor Poor Pharoah/Song of the King from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat with Donny Osmond.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vIpSHJWWes&NR=1
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vIpSHJWWes&NR=1[/youtube]
Chinese Food On Christmas
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1uZ_W7atDE
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1uZ_W7atDE[/youtube]
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http://www.aish.com/chanukahstories/chanukahstoriesdefault/Hope_in_Hell_.asp
Hope in Hell_
by S. B. Unsdorfer
We had been helped by God, even in this forsaken little camp at Nieder-Orschel.
Excerpted from The Yellow Star by S. B. Unsdorfer
After having survived the horrors of Auschwitz, Simche Unsdorfer was transported to Nieder-Orschel and put to work making aeroplane wings for the German Luftwaffe. It is in this camp that the following story took place.
When writing the little diary in which I entered the Hebrew dates and Festivals, I discovered with great delight that Chanukah, the Festival of Lights, the festival on which we commemorate the recapture of the Temple from the mighty Greeks by a handful of faithful Jews, was only a few days ahead. I decided that we should light a little Chanukah lamp even in Nieder-Orschel, and that this would go a long way towards restoring our morale.
Benzi was immediately consulted because he had become the most reliable and trusted person in the block. Even those at the other two tables came to Benzi to settle their quarrels, which were mostly about the distribution of their rations. Benzi would stand no arguments at his own table. He cut every loaf into eight portions and shared it out indiscriminately. He who complained, received the smallest portion. "If you are dissatisfied," Benzi would shout angrily, "go and join another table, where they have scales and judges." Nobody ever left our table.
Benzi was enthusiastic about my idea. "Yes, we should get a Chanukah light burning," he said. "It will boost our morale and lighten the atmosphere. Work on a plan, but be careful."
Two problems had to be overcome: oil had to be "organised" and a place had to be found where the lighted wick would not be seen. The was no lack of oil in the factory, but how could we smuggle even a few drops into our barrack in time for Monday evening, December 11, the first night of Chanukah?
We knew, of course, that Jewish law did not compel us to risk our lives for the sake of fulfilling a commandment. But there was an urge in many of us to reveal the spirit of sacrifice implanted in our ancestors throughout the ages. We who were in such great spiritual as well as physical distress felt that a little Chanukah light would warm our starving souls and inspire us with hope, faith and courage to keep us going through this long, grim and icy winter.
Benzi, Grunwald, Stern, Fischof and I were in the plot. We decided to draw lots. The first name drawn would have to steal the oil; the third would be responsible for it and hide it until Monday evening; the fifth would have to light it under his bunk. I was drawn fifth.
Grunwald, who was to "organise" the oil, did his part magnificently. He persuaded the hated Meister Meyer that his machine would work better if oiled regularly every morning, and that his could best be arranged if a small can of fine machine oil was allotted to us to be kept in our toolbox. Meister Meyer agreed, so there was no longer the problem of having to hide it.
On Monday evening after Appell, everyone else sat down to his much awaited portion of tasteless but hot soup, while I busied myself under the bunk to prepare my Menorah. I put the oil in the empty half of a shoe-polish tin, took a few threads from my thin blanket and made them into a wick. When everything was ready I hastily joined the table to eat my dinner before I invited all our friends to the Chanukah Light Kindling ceremony. Suddenly, as I was eating my soup, I remembered we had forgotten about matches. I whispered to Benzi. "Everyone must leave a little soup," Benzi ordered his hungry table guests, and told them why. Within five minutes, five portions of soup were exchanged in the next room for a cigarette. The cigarette was "presented" to the chef, Joseph, for lending us a box of matches without questions.
And so, as soon as dinner was over I made the three traditional blessings, and a little Chanukah light flickered away slowly under my bunk. Not only my friends were there with us, but also many others from the room joined us in humming the traditional Chanukah songs. These songs carried us into the past. As if on a panoramic screen, we saw our homes, with our parents, brothers, sisters, wives, and children gathered round the beautiful silver candelabras, singing happily the Maoz Tzur. That tiny little light under my bunk set our hearts ablaze. Tears poured down our haggard cheeks. By now, every single inmate in the room sat silently on his bunk, or near mine, deeply meditating. For a moment, nothing else mattered. We were celebrating the first night of Chanukah as we had done in all the years previous to our imprisonment and torture. We were a group of Jewish people fulfilling our religious duties, and dreaming of home and of bygone years.
But alas! Our dream ended much too soon. A roar of "Achtung" brought our minds back to reality, and our legs to stiff attention. "The Dog" - that skinny little Unterschaarfuehrer - stood silently at the door, as he so often did on his surprise visits, looking anxiously for some excuse, even the slightest, to wield his dog-whip. Suddenly he sniffed as loudly as his Alsatian and yelled "Hier stinkts ja von Oehl!" ("It stinks of oil in here!").
My heart missed a few beats as I stared down at the little Chanukah light flickering away, while "The Dog" and his Alsatian began to parade along the bunks in search of the burning oil.
The Unterschaarfuehrer silently began his search. I did not dare bend down or stamp out the light with my shoes for fear the Alsatian would notice my movements and leap at me. I gave a quick glance at the death-pale faces round me, and so indeed did "The Dog". Within a minute or two he would reach our row of bunks. Nothing could save us...but suddenly...
Suddenly a roar of sirens, sounding an air raid, brought "The Dog" to a stop and within seconds all lights in the entire camp were switched off from outside. "Fliegeralarm! Fliegeralarm!" echoed throughout the camp! Like lightning I snuffed out the light with my shoes and following a strict camp rule, we all ran to the open ground, brushing "The Dog" contemptuously aside. "There will be an investigation...There will be an investigation," he screamed above the clatter of rushing prisoners who fled out into the Appell ground. But I did not worry. In delight I grabbed my little Menorah and ran out with it. This was the sign, the miracle of Chanukah, the recognition of our struggle against the temptations of our affliction. We had been helped by God, even in this forsaken little camp at Nieder-Orschel.
Outside, in the ice-cold, star-studded night, with the heavy drone of Allied bombers over our heads, I kept on muttering the traditional blessing to the God who wrought miracles for His people in past days and in our own time. The bombers seemed to be spreading these words over the host of heaven.
This was of my favorite songs as a child
The Latke Song by Debbie Friedman
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwb1PnLcchw
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwb1PnLcchw[/youtube]
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The Night the Rebbe Danced the Kazatsky
http://www.aish.com/chanukahstories/chanukahstoriesdefault/the_night_the_rebbe_danced_the_kazatsky.asp
My Zayde was a storyteller, especially on Chanukah. High on the list of "Zayde's Ten Biggest Hits" was The Tzadik of Zomzach. "Tell us the story of the Tzadik," we grandchildren chorused.
He couldn't resist. Although the tale had many variations, it always began the same: "Once there was a peasant and a Rebbe in the village of Zomzach. The peasant was only a peasant and I'll tell you about him later, but the Rebbe -- he was the Tzadik of Zomzach. That's what they called him. Visitors, petitioners, followers from the entire district paraded through his court. Infertility? Halachic questions? No job? A sour stomach? An unmarried daughter? Go tell it to the Sage of Zomzach. We Jews, you know, don't really need an intermediary. But if your Malka was unmarried, thirty-nine, and had a small wart on her forehead, why not let the Rebbe offer a short prayer so Zalman, the tailor, might suddenly be captivated by small warts. It couldn't hurt.
Now in this same village of Zomzach, that was glorified by the presence of the Rebbe and Zalman the tailor, lived Mendel the peasant, his wife, and a seven-year-old daughter. As poor and hungry they were as the crows who pecked in the winter fields of dried corn stalks. Their total possessions would have fit on a one-horse wagon. They were drowned in poverty because Mendel, believe it or not, was a kazatzky dancer. That's what he did. He had a nature, shall we say, like the butterfly, not the industrious honeybee. For weddings, bar mitzvahs, birthdays, anniversary parties, he danced the Cossack kazatzky. His pay was a sack of flour, maybe a chicken, a handful of copper coins.
And as though their life wasn't bleak enough, their only child -- the seven-year-old Miriam, a beautiful child with vivid red hair -- was bedridden. She hadn't walked since her 5th birthday. And it was this misfortune that provoked the strange, unexplained, events at Zomzach.
"But why am I telling you this?" suddenly blurted out Zayde. "You've heard it a dozen times. You know what happened." He turned away to light his pipe.
He knew we would plead. And we knew because he loved to tell the story that he would continue.
"So, on Chanukah," he went on, "the wife said to Mendel, 'Go to the Rebbe -- ask for a blessing for Miriam. It's Chanukah, the Rabbi won't deny you. It couldn't hurt, you know. And God knows we can't send for the doctor in Cracow'.
'But I have no gift,' said the kazatzky dancer. 'And you know everyone who asks the Tzadik of Zomzach for a prayer on Chanukah brings something. A token that the Rebbe gives to his students.'
'Go!' said the wife. 'Pick some flowers from the fields. Find a colored stone. Anything. Just go!'
Soon, there he was at the Holy man's holiday court shouldering his way through a crowd of admirers and petitioners. He stood in front of the Tzadik of Zomzach - who listened attentively to his plea: that he should pray for the sick child who hadn't walked in many months.
Here, Zayde paused. "You know what happened. Why should I continue? Let me drink my tea." But a roar of protest from us kids reinspired the storyteller.
So he continued, "As Mendel humbly stood at the Rebbe's table, he thought, I have no gifts; but nobody, nothing, including a whirling Chanukah dreidle, can spin like me. I'll bet the Rebbe would enjoy my Cossack kazatzky -- the one where I hop on one foot, kick straight out with the other with my arms folded tightly across my chest.
And that's what he did. And the onlookers picked up the beat of his flying feet. They clapped, they roared with approval. Who could do the kazatzky like Mendel? No one, including the Cossacks who guarded the Czar himself.
The Rabbi clapped, too. As he clapped he looked heavenward and his lips moved as though in prayer. And before you could say "Judah Maccabee" the Alte Rebbe had leaped the table, joined hands with the peasant and whirled around the room with him. "God wants the heart," he cried over and over.
The spectators grinned and clapped and whistled with delight. Ah, that was their Rebbe. And what a heart he had. But soon their smiles turned to astonishment. THERE WERE THREE FIGURES in the circle. And one of them was a small red-haired girl!
We listeners screamed, "Zayde, Zayde, tell us how she danced".
"How she danced? How do you think she danced? She had the kazatzky gene in her blood."
She was magnificent. Naturally quicker than the Alte Rebbe, she kept up with her father. But when the dance was completed, only the Tzadik of Zomzach and Mendel the Peasant was seen.
And when the peasant arrived home, Miriam standing erect beside her mother, met him at the door. She smiled at her father. Then quickly, she dropped into the traditional kazatzky position. Three quick spins brought joy to his heart. They hugged."
"It's not true," said my older brother. "It's what they call a 'Zaydemeiser' in Yiddish. Or a 'Tall Tale' in English."
"All I know," said my grandfather, "is that MY Zayde, who was there the night the Rebbe did the kazatzky, told me the story every Chanukah.
Adam Sandler Chanukah Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vrd9p47MPHg&feature=related
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vrd9p47MPHg&feature=related[/youtube]
South Park Dreidel Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8u_N1cQHzbw
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8u_N1cQHzbw[/youtube]
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Tonight is the last night of Chanukah and tomorrow is the last day.
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/450035/jewish/Women-at-War.htm
Women at War
A Chanukah Lesson
By Chana Kroll
The hall was packed. This was no ordinary wedding, but the wedding of the daughter of one of Jerusalem's most prominent families. Leaders in the still quiet, non-violent rebellion against the Greeks, they were respected and loved by Jews throughout the Land of Israel. Not to mention, as priests in the Temple, the family had been looked up to for generations.
Amidst the elegant flowers, soft music, and the conversations of the guests, the bride suddenly stood up, walked to the center of the room, placed her hand on her chest, and tore open her gown.
Shocked, angry, and embarrassed, her brothers rose to drag her from the room. But she stood firmly in place and addressed the room: You who are so zealous that you would kill me, are not zealous enough to protect me from the hands of the Greek governor who will come here to assault me tonight.
Did you not learn from Shimon and Levi, the brothers of Dina who, though only two men, killed the entire city of Shechem for her sake? Place your faith in the One Above, and He will help you."
Her five brothers declared their willingness to go to war, and were answered by a voice descending from the Holy of Holies promising victory.
In her eyes, it was a story of the struggle for political freedom The story of the Maccabees' brave revolt is a familiar one not only to Jews but to most non-Jews as well. I can still remember my second grade music teacher in public school giving a brief account of the miracle of the oil before teaching the whole class "Rock of Ages.” What was left out of her account were all the details about what the Jews were really fighting for. In her eyes, it was a story of the struggle for political freedom and fit in quite nicely with news accounts of Sakharov, Mandela, and others struggling for personal and national liberty.
As I grew older, and became more involved with Judaism and the Jewish community, details seeped in. Initially, the Greeks treated the Jews with greater respect than they had treated other peoples they conquered. Alexander the Great had seen the High Priest, Shimon the Righteous, in a dream and when Shimon went out to meet his approaching army, Alexander knelt before him and pledged never to harm Jerusalem or the Holy Temple.
Years passed. Alexander and Shimon the Righteous both passed away. Some Jews became quite infatuated with Greek culture. But the more they imitated the Greeks, the less respect the Greeks had for us. They began to mock Judaism and enact laws against it. First, they locked up the synagogues and schools. People prayed and studied in one another’s homes.
Then, the Greeks passed a law that all Jews had to write a sentence stating they had no portion in the G-d of Israel on the horns of their livestock and on their doors. The Jews sold their livestock and removed the doors from their homes.
The Greeks passed a law outlawing circumcision. The Jews made up secret signs through which they announced circumcision ceremonies, and guests risked their lives to go wish the new parents Mazal Tov.
The Greek soldiers started assaulting Jewish women The Greeks outlawed Shabbos, the celebration of the New Moon, and Torah study. Jews hid in caves and continued to observe all three. The Greeks found hundreds of ways to try to stamp out Judaism. Jews found hundreds of ways to quietly rebel and to remain what they had always been. Then the Greek soldiers started assaulting Jewish women. The governor made a decree - unfortunately a common one in ancient cultures - called prima nostra, "first rights." The governor would kidnap and assault every bride on her wedding night.
And then the Jews went to war.
The victory we celebrate on Chanukah is a victory on many levels. It is a victory of the few over the many, of light over darkness, of Jewish continuity in the face all those who had sought or would seek to wipe out Judaism and Jewish history.
The Jewish people - men and women - defied every Greek law with enormous self-sacrifice, yet it was largely by and for the sake of Jewish women that the Maccabees were led to declare war.
The decisive moment occurred when one Jewish woman looked her brothers in the eye and told them, "You cannot let this happen to me." It was a war, first and foremost, for sanctity - the sanctity of the Temple, the sanctity of Torah, and the sanctity of every human being.
Among the many miracles we acknowledge and commemorate as we kindle the lights of the menorah, we also acknowledge the simple truth of every woman's sanctity and her right to personal safety and dignity.
It's a detail well-worth remembering.
The Madoff Madness
http://www.aish.com/jewishissues/jewishsociety/The_Madoff_Madness.asp
Honor and dishonor in the Jewish community.
It's very hard for many people to have a happy Chanukah this year.
It's not just because the world economy is in meltdown and we are frightened more and more by our dwindling bank accounts and impoverished pension plans. It's because the very meaning of Chanukah today seems to be in jeopardy.
The Maccabees may have won a long time ago, but in the age of Bernie Madoff madness the spiritual victory of the Jewish people over the values of Hellenism and Greek culture remains highly doubtful.
Chanukah, unlike Purim, doesn't celebrate the physical survival of Jews in the wake of a genocidal threat. It commemorates our ability to preserve Judaism at a time when the world around us worshiped totally different ideals. The symbol of the holiday is oil because unlike other liquids, oil does not mix with water but maintains its own identity and rises to the top. So too, the Jewish people did not assimilate.
When confronted with a culture that worshiped the holiness of beauty, the heroes of Chanukah maintained their allegiance to the beauty of holiness. The Greeks claimed that beauty is truth. The Jews insisted that only truth is beauty. The Greeks glorified the physical. The Jews insisted the spiritual has greater importance. The Greeks sanctified the gymnasium and the marketplace. The Jews worshiped the Temple and the house of study. The Greeks idolized wealth. The Jews venerated values.
To those who ask how could the Bernie Madoff scandal have happened, the answer can only be that for far too many Jews today the Maccabees were wrong and the Greeks were right. Given a choice between assimilating with a conspicuous consumption culture that proclaims "he who dies with the most toys wins," or a more modest lifestyle circumscribed by Torah and mitzvoth, the tragedy is that so many Jews opted for the former.
It wasn't too many years ago that Michael Douglas won an Oscar for best actor in the movie Wall Street. In the film Douglas played the role of a fiendishly avaricious stock market speculator. To thunderous applause, in one of the climactic scenes of the film, Douglas tells his adoring audience, "There's a new law of evolution in corporate America. Greed is good." Strangely enough, that seemed to strike a chord among some of the very people who gave the world the Ten Commandments that concluded with the powerful divine edict, "Thou shalt not covet."
Due Diligence?
To understand the Bernie Madoff scandal, it completely misses the mark if we focus our attention solely on the one man who engineered this incredible Ponzi scheme. It isn't shocking, after all, to discover that con men can still be found in our midst. What needs to be analyzed is how it was possible for so many financially astute businessmen, as well as organizations committed to prudent investment policies, to fall victim to the seductive lure of a phony who promised returns that the investors themselves recognized as "too good to be true."
Why were they all willing to assume a level of risk that simply didn't make sense? The answer undoubtedly is because our society was making it clear that it was far more risky not to make outrageous returns on your money, not to have a billion dollars if you only had half a billion, not to be super super wealthy if you are only in the to be pitied category of just the super wealthy.
When being just rich isn't enough, the rich have to risk everything to maintain their social standing.
So where does the real blame lie? Bernie Madoff was taking advantage of a social reality created by us, by our organizations, and yes even by our charities. Honor in Jewish life has all too often been meted out only by the measure of financial, rather than personal, worth. Only the millionaire could become a macher, and only the close-to-billionaire could dream of becoming a major Jewish leader or honoree.
Tell me who your heroes are and I will tell you what you worship, goes the old adage. When scholars are given positions of prominence we can conclude that study represents a prime value. When the wealthy are the only ones allowed on the dais of communal leadership we are making clear what we hold dear as our priority.
Ask our young people today what they want to be when they grow up. If they respond, "to be successful," probe a little further and ask what they mean by that. More often than not they will smile and say, "That's simple; I want to make a lot of money." And why are they so materialistic? There is no wonder about that. It is because we have shown them that that is the ultimate way in which we will evaluate their success. Just look at the role models we offer them as the ones worthy of our respect and admiration.
So our best and our brightest have been going off to Wall Street instead of to professions of communal service, to the banks instead of to the rabbinate, to the marketplace instead of to the meeting places of teachers and scholars. And when they make their first big bundle they'll realize it isn't enough by far. And that's when they will become fair game for the next Bernie Madoff.
Catalyst for Change
Every crisis, it's been said, has within it a seed of blessing. The Madoff scandal, with its 50 billion dollar immediate loss and its ripple effect that may well be equally cataclysmic, must serve as a catalyst for change if we are to imbue it with any meaning. The Madoffs of the world must be deprived of their greatest strength -- the power given to them by a Jewish world that has succumbed to values foreign to our faith and antithetical to our tradition.
We must relearn the powerful lesson captured in the story told by the Dubner Magid, one of our most famous storytellers. He described a father in a little shtetl taking his child to the cheder to learn. It's 6:30 in the morning, bitter cold outside. Father and son are huddled together for warmth. All of a sudden they hear music, a loud fanfare, the sounds of a procession in the distance. People are coming to look, leaving their homes, shouting, "The poretz [the Polish nobleman] is coming!" Suddenly from a distance they see a beautiful carriage approaching pulled by a team of magnificent horses. Right near them the carriage stops. No sooner does the servant open the door than out steps the poretz, dressed in all his finery, oozing of opulence, bedecked in jewelry and the costliest of garments. And the Jewish father, seeing this, gives his child a little tug and says, "Take a good look my child. Because in case you don't learn Torah, that's what you're going to look like!"
As we conclude the festival of Chanukah, we have to identify again with Matisyahu and the Maccabees. It was they who looked at a world tempted by the materialistic visions of Hellenism and warned their fellow Jews that if they traded their holiness for the empty rewards of hedonism, that's what they would look like. And we too, if we make the mistake of choosing gold over God as priority, will be easy victims lying in wait, doomed yet again to Madoff mania.
Ma Oz Tzur by Pharoah's Daughter
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrpXTVNZEFU
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrpXTVNZEFU[/youtube]
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http://www.maniacworld.com/are-you-going-to-finish-strong.html
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Marc-- I really liked that video it was very powerful
If you have questions about what some of the words mean--- the original article has hyperlinks to translation.
This week Torah Portion is Vayigash Genesis 44:18-47:27
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/2742.jpg)
Do You Have a Father?
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveichik
Related by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveichik in a lecture at the Lincoln Square Synagogue, New York, May 28, 1975.
"I recall an experience from my early youth. Let me give you the background of that experience.
I was then about seven or eight years old. I attended a cheder (Jewish School for small children) in a small town on the border of White Russia and Russia proper. The town was called Khaslavichy; you certainly have never heard of it. My father was the rabbi in the town. I, like every other Jewish boy, attended the cheder. My teacher was not a great scholar but he was a Chassid, a Chabadnik.
The episode I am about to relate to you took place on a murky winter day in January. I still remember the day; it was cloudy and overcast. It was just after the Chanukah festival, and the Torah portion of the week was Vayigash (Genesis 44:18-47:27). With the end of Hanukah ended the little bit of serenity and yomtovkeit (holiday spirit) that the festival brought into the monotonous life of the town's Jews.
As far as the boys from the cheder were concerned, a long desolate winter lay ahead. It was a period in which we had to get up while it was still dark and return home from the cheder with a lantern in the hand of each boy, because nightfall was so early.
On that particular day, the whole cheder, all the boys, were in a depressed mood -- listless, lazy, and sad. We recited, or I should say chanted mechanically, the first verses of Vayigash in a dull monotone. We were simply droning the words in Hebrew and in Yiddish. So we kept on reading mechanically: Then Judah approached him [Joseph].... My lord has asked his servants, saying: "Have you a father, or a brother?" And we said to my lord: "We have an old father, and a young child of his old age..." Permit me to use the interpretation of the Targum Yerushalmi of the words yeled zekunim ("a young child of his old age"), namely a talented boy, a capable, talented, bright child. "We have an old father, and we also have a talented little child."
The boy, reading mechanically, finished reciting the question: Ha-yesh lachem av? Do you have a father? and the reply: Yesh lanu av zaken ve-yeled zekunim katan, We have an old father, and a young child of his old age. Then something strange happened. The melamed (teacher), who was half-asleep while the boy was droning on the words in Hebrew and Yiddish, rose, jumped to his feet and with a strange, enigmatic gleam in his eyes, motioned to the reader to stop. Then the melamed turned to me and addressed me with the Russian word meaning "assistant to the rabbi," podrabin. Whenever he was excited he used to address me with this title, "assistant to the rabbi." There was a tinge of sarcasm and cynicism in his using the term, because this Chabad chassid could never forgive me for having been born into the house of Brisk which represented the elite of the opposition to Chassidism. Although I must say that I cannot accept responsibility for this fact because it was an accident of birth.
Then he said to me: "What kind of question did Joseph ask his brothers, Ha-yesh lachem av? Do you have a father? Of course they had a father, everybody has a father! The only person who had no father was the first man of creation, Adam. But anyone who is born into this world has a father. What kind of a question was it?"
I began, "Joseph . . ." I tried to answer, but he did not let me. Joseph, I finally said, meant to find out whether the father was still alive. "Do you still have a father," meaning, is he alive, not dead?
If so, the melamed thundered back at me, he should have phrased the question differently: "Is your father still alive?"
To argue with the melamed was useless. He began to speak. He was no longer addressing the boys. The impression he gave was that he was speaking to some mysterious visitor, a guest who had come into the cheder, into that cold room. And he kept on talking. Joseph did not intend to ask his brothers about avot d'isgalyim. I later discovered that this was a Chabad term for parenthood which is open, visible. He was asking them about avot d'iscasin, about the mysterious parenthood, the hidden and invisible parenthood. In modern idiom, I would say he meant to express the idea that Joseph was inquiring about existential parenthood, not biological parenthood. Joseph, the melamed concluded, was anxious to know whether they felt themselves committed to their roots, to their origins. Were they origin conscious? Are you, Joseph asked the brothers, rooted in your father? Do you look upon him the way the branches, or the blossoms, look upon the roots of the tree? Do you look upon your father as the feeder, as the foundation of your existence? Do you look upon him as the provider and sustainer of your existence? Or are you a band of rootless shepherds who forget their origin, and travel and wander from place to place, from pasture to pasture?
Suddenly, he stopped addressing the strange visitor and began to talk to us. Raising his voice, he asked: "Are you modest and humble? Do you admit that the old father represents an old tradition?
"Do you believe that the father is capable of telling you something new, something exciting? Something challenging? Something you did not know before? Or are you insolent, arrogant, and vain, and deny your dependence upon your father, upon your source?"
"Ha-yesh lachem av?! Do you have a father?!" exclaimed the melamed, pointing at my study-mate. I had a study-mate who was considered a child prodigy in the town. He was the prodigy and I had the reputation of being slow. His name was Isaac. The melamed turned to him and said: "Who knows more? Do you know more because you are well versed in the Talmud, or does your father, Jacob the blacksmith, know more even though he can barely read Hebrew? Are you proud of your father? If a Jew admits to the supremacy of his father, then, ipso facto, he admits to the supremacy of the Universal Father, the ancient Creator of the world who is called Atik Yomim ('He of Ancient Days')."
That is the experience I had with the melamed. I have never forgotten it."
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Coalition Forces
http://www.aish.com/spirituality/prayer/Prayer_for_the_Soldiers.asp
Almighty God on High, omnipotent King, look down from Your Sanctified Abode, and bless the valiant soldiers of the Coalition Forces who risk their lives to protect the welfare of all Your creation.
Benevolent God, be their shelter and fortress, and to not allow them to falter. May harmony dwell in their ranks, victory in their battalion. Fill their hearts with faith and courage to thwart the evil schemes of our enemies and to abolish every rule of evil.
Protect them on land, in the air and in the sea, and destroy their adversaries. Guide them in peace, lead them toward peace, and return them speedily to their families alive and unharmed.
Grant us true peace in fulfillment of the prophecy: "Nation shall not lift up sword against another nation, nor shall they learn war any more."
Let all the inhabitants of the world know that Dominion is Yours, and Your name inspires awe upon all that You have created. May this be Your will, and let us say, Amen.
Israeli Soldiers
http://www.aish.com/spirituality/prayer/Prayer_for_Israeli_Soldiers.asp
He Who blessed our forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob -- may He bless the fighters of the Israel Defense Forces, who stand guard over our land and the cities of our God, from the border of the Lebanon to the desert of Egypt, and from the Great Sea unto the approach of the Aravah, on the land, in the air, and on the sea.
May the Almighty cause the enemies who rise up against us to be struck down before them. May the Holy One, Blessed is He, preserve and rescue our fighters from every trouble and distress and from every plague and illness, and may He send blessing and success in their every endeavor.
May He lead our enemies under our soldiers' sway and may He grant them salvation and crown them with victory. And may there be fulfilled for them the verse: For it is the Lord your God, Who goes with you to battle your enemies for you to save you.
Now let us respond: Amen.
Text courtesy of OU.org
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This weeks Torah portion is Parshah Vayechi Genesis 47:28-50:26
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/345975/jewish/Spirituality-vs.-Leadership.htm
A little long but I thought the comments on leadership were really interesting.
Spirituality vs. Leadership
By Yosef Y. Jacobson
One dark night outside a small town, a fire started inside the local chemical plant and in a blink it exploded into flames. The alarm went out to the fire departments from miles around. When the volunteer fire fighters appeared on the scene, the chemical company president rushed to the fire chief and said, "All of our secret formulas are in the vault in the center of the plant. They must be saved. I will give $50,000 to the fire department that brings them out intact."
But the roaring flames held the firefighters off. More fire departments were called in as the situation became desperate. As the firemen arrived, the president shouted out that the offer was now $100,000 to the fire department who could bring out the company's secret files.
From the distance, a lone siren was heard as another fire truck came into sight. It was the nearby Jewish rural township volunteer fire company composed entirely of menchen over the age of 65. To everyone's amazement, the little run-down fire engine passed all the newer sleek engines parked outside the plant... and drove straight into the middle of the inferno.
Outside the other firemen watched as the old timers jumped off and began to fight the fire with a performance and effort never seen before. Within a short time, they had extinguished the fire and saved the secret formulas.
The grateful president joyfully announced that feat he was upping the reward to $200,000, and walked over to personally thank each of the brave, though elderly, fire fighters.
The local TV news reporters rushed in after capturing the event on film asking, "What are you going to do with all that money?"
"Well," said Morris Goldberg, the 70-year-old fire chief, "The first thing we are going to do is fix the brakes on that lousy truck!"
The Final Conversation
This week's Torah reading tells the story of Jacob's final conversation with his children. With profound vision, moving prose and astonishing candidness Jacob speaks to each of his sons, heart-to-heart, just moments before he is about to pass on to the next world.
"Come and listen, sons of Jacob; listen to your father Israel," Jacob begins. Then he addresses Reuben, his oldest son, with razor-sharp words:
"Reuben, you are my firstborn, my power and the beginning of my might, foremost in rank and foremost in power. Water-like impetuosity -- you will not be preeminent, for you went up onto your father's bed; onto my couch and defiled it."1
Reuben the firstborn, the rabbis explain, should have been entitled to priesthood ("foremost in rank") and kingship ("foremost in power"). The Jewish priests and kings should have emerged from Reuben. But Reuben forfeited these privileges and they went instead to his brothers Levi and Judah, respectively. (Aaron's family of priests came from Levi; the Davidic dynasty of kings came from Judah). Reuben remained the firstborn, "my firstborn," with many of the privileges conferred by Jewish law on a firstborn (3), but he lost the priesthood and kingship.2
Reuben's Error
What was Jacob referring to when he spoke of Reuben "ascending on his bed"? The midrashic tradition3 offers two interpretations.
This first takes us back to a disturbing scene that transpired after Rachel's death, some 47 years earlier.
"So Rachel died and was buried on the way to Ephrath, that is, Bethlehem. Over her tomb Jacob set up a pillar, and to this day that pillar marks Rachel's tomb. Israel moved on again and pitched his tent beyond Migdal Eder.
"While Israel was living in that region, Reuben went and lay with his father's concubine Bilhah, and Israel heard of it."4
Rashi, following Talmudic tradition, insists that this passage is not to be understood literally and illuminates the backdrop behind this incident. When Rachel died, Jacob, who usually resided in her tent, moved his bed to the tent of Bilhah, her handmaid. For Reuben, Leah's oldest son, this was an unbearable provocation and a slap in his sensitive mother's face. It was bad enough that Jacob preferred Rachel to her sister Leah, but intolerable that he should prefer a handmaid to his mother. He therefore removed Jacob's bed from Bilhah's tent to Leah's.5
Almost a jubilee later, in his final moments, Jacob reminds Reuben of this episode and attributes his firstborn's loss of potential greatness to it. "Water-like impetuosity," Jacob declares, "you will not be preeminent, for you went up onto your father's bed; onto my couch and defiled it."
Reuben's Mandrakes
The midrash presents yet another meaning to Jacob's words, "For you went up onto your father's bed; onto my couch and defiled it." It takes us a back to another dramatic incident that occurred around ten years before the one just discussed.
"During wheat harvest," the Bible relates, "Reuben went out into the fields and found some mandrake plants, which he brought to his mother Leah (the commentators6 explain that mandrakes were considered both an aphrodisiac and fertility drug). Rachel said to Leah, 'Please give me some of your son's mandrakes.' But she said to her, 'wasn't it enough that you took away my husband? Will you take my son's mandrakes too?' Rachel said, 'Therefore, he shall lie with you tonight in return for your son's mandrakes.'" Indeed, Jacob spent the night with Leah instead of Rachel.7
Reuben, in other words, was the indirect cause for a relocation of his father's bed for one night.
A Child's Sensitivity
What is fascinating about both of these tales is that they sketch a portrait of a remarkably sensitive and noble child. Reuben's heart goes out for his mother's plight. As the firstborn son of Leah, he seems to carry alone the burden of his mother's relative lack of appeal in Jacob's eyes. In fact, his very name, Reuben, meaning, "see, a son," was bestowed upon him by his mother, "because G-d has discerned my humiliation, for now my husband will love me."8
In the earlier episode, Reuben, as a young lad out in the field, is thinking of his mother's anguish and hoping that, with the aid of the mandrakes, Leah will be able to win Jacob's complete affection. In the latter episode following Rachel's death, Reuben can't bear the pain caused to his mother by Jacob's placing his bed in Bilaha's tent.
It is indeed true that in both of these instances Reuben's hastiness and impetuosity had negative consequences. In the incident with the mandrakes, had he waited until Rachel left Leah's tent, his gift to Leah might have prevented the bitter row that erupted between the two sisters--the only feud between them recorded in the Bible--and would have not created confusion in Jacob's sleeping arrangements. In the second instance, too, had Reuben broached the issue directly with his father or with Bilhah, instead of taking the matter into his own hands and moving his father's bed, the issue may have been resolved in a more dignified manner.
Still, it is clear that the motivation--in contrast to the end result--of both of these actions was pure and reflected profound moral concern. Why did he deserve to forfeit the priesthood and royalty?
Judah the King
Our dilemma becomes more disturbing upon considering who, of the eleven other sons of Jacob, received the gift of royalty in lieu of Reuben. It was the fourth son, Judah.
Here are Jacob's final words to Judah:
"A lion cub is Judah; from the prey, my son, you elevated yourself. He [Judah] crouches, lies down like a lion, like an awesome lion, who will dare rouse him? The scepter shall not depart from Judah; nations will submit to him until the final tranquility comes."9
The message is clear. Just as the lion is the "king of the beasts,"10 Judah is destined to be the king of the nations. Indeed, Judah became the ancestor of Israel's greatest king, David. Since David, royalty among the Jewish people belonged to Judah's tribe.11 The messiah himself, we are told, will be a descendent of Judah.12 Even our very name, "Jews" or, in Hebrew Yehudim, or in Yiddish, Yidden, is derived from the name Judah, or Yehudah. It was Judah who conferred his identity on the people.13
Why Judah? Jacob presents the reason in eight words: "From the prey, my son, you elevated yourself." Judah was potentially a man of prey, a lion, a devourer; yet he succeeded in elevating himself from this terrible characteristic. Judah transformed himself.
Why did Jacob view Judah as a potential man of prey? Rashi, quoting the midrashic tradition, focuses our attention to two rather unforgettable incidents about Judah that transpired nearly four decades earlier.14
The Joseph Drama
The first, of course, is when Joseph, on instruction of his father, pays a visit to his brothers, who are shepherding Jacob's flock in the city of Shechem.
The brothers, who despised Joseph deeply, see him approaching from afar. They realize that with no one to see them, they can kill Joseph and concoct a tale that will be impossible to refute. Only Reuben protests. The biblical text states:
"Reuben heard and saved him [Joseph] from their hands. He said, 'Let's not take his life'. Reuben said to them: 'Don't shed any blood. Throw him into this cistern here in the desert, but don't lay a hand on him' -- intending to rescue Joseph from his brothers and bring him back to his father."15
It is interesting to note that the Torah rarely described people's inner drives. In this instance, however, the Torah makes an exception, revealing to us Reuben's true motivations: He wished to save Joseph.
As the story continues, the brothers agree to Reuben's suggestion. They throw Joseph into an empty well and they sit down to eat a meal. In the midst of the meal they see an Arab caravan traveling to Egypt. Here, for the first time, we encounter Judah's voice:
"Judah said to his brothers, 'What will we gain if we kill our brother and cover his blood? Let's sell him to the Arabs and not harm him with our own hands. After all -- he is our brother, our own flesh and blood.'"16
The brothers consent. Joseph is sold and brought to Egypt as a slave, where, 13 years later, he will rise to become the viceroy of Egypt.
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Reuben's Fasting
Reuben was not present during the sale. "When Reuben returned to the cistern," the Torah relates, "and saw that Joseph was not there, he tore his clothes. He went back to his brothers and said, 'The boy is gone! And I, where can I go?'" The brothers dipped Joseph's tunic in blood, and presented the tunic to Jacob, who exclaimed: "My son's tunic! A savage beast devoured him! Joseph has surely been torn to bits!"17
Where was Reuben during the sale of Joseph? The text is obscure, but it does offer a glimpse: The brothers sold Joseph while in the midst of a meal. The Torah, perhaps, shared with us this irrelevant detail in order to hint to us the reason for Reuben's absence. Reuben left the scene because he could not eat with his brothers. Why?
Rashi, again quoting the midrashic tradition, says that Reuben had been dressing himself in sackcloth and fasting ever since he rearranged his father's beds after Rachel's death. Although the incident with the bed occurred nine years earlier, Reuben was still seeking ways to repent. Therefore, he did not join his brothers in their meal and was not present during Joseph's sale.18
A Tale of Two Personas
Now, we come to understand Jacob's final words to Judah: "From the prey, my son, you elevated yourself." Rashi explains, that when Jacob stated, upon discovering Joseph's blood-drenched tunic decades earlier, "a savage beast devoured him [Joseph]," he suspected that Joseph fell prey to Judah's hands. When Jacob learned the truth, that instead of letting Joseph die in the well Judah actually persuaded his brothers to sell him into slavery, Jacob, in appreciation, conferred upon Judah the crown of royalty, assuming the position taken from Reuben.
This is a deeply disturbing comment. Reuben is the only older brother of Joseph who attempts to save him and return him to his father. The Torah, as mentioned above, is unusually clear about Reuben's virtuous intentions. "His plan," states the Torah, "was to rescue Joseph from his brothers and bring him back to his father." Judah, in stark contrast, merely substitutes Joseph's death from starvation with a life sentence of slavery. Judah does not even consider liberating Joseph!
The moral contrast between Reuben and Judah is even more striking when we reflect on the wording employed by Judah to persuade his brothers to sell Joseph. "Judah said to his brothers, 'What will we gain if we kill our brother and cover his blood? Let's sell him to the Arabs and not harm him with our own hands. After all--he is our brother, our own flesh and blood.'"
This, let's face it, is a speech of monstrous callousness. There is no word about the evil of murder, merely pragmatic calculation ("what will we gain"). At the very moment he calls Joseph "our own flesh and blood" he is proposing selling him as a slave!
The moral paradox embodied by Jacob in his final moments, as he moves the gift of kingship from Reuben to Judah, is nothing less than astonishing. In the very episode for which Judah is rewarded the gift of royalty (because he "elevated himself from prey"), Reuben stands head and shoulders above Judah in his nobility, compassion and sensitivity. Yet it is Reuben who loses the crown to Judah!
The Tamar Drama
As we recall, in addition to the Joseph drama, the Midrash and Rashi present a second meaning in Jacob's final words to Judah, "From the prey, my son, you elevated yourself." According to this interpretation, Jacob was alluding to the event that took place between Judah and his daughter-in-law, Tamar.
Tamar, we recall, had married, in succession, Judah's two elder sons, both of whom had died, leaving her a childless widow. Judah, fearing that his third son would share their fate, withheld him from her, thus leaving her unable to remarry and have children, since the levirate laws of marriage at the time held that when a husband died and left a childless widow, she was bound in marriage to either her brother-in-law or her father-in-law.19
Once she understands her situation, Tamar disguises herself as a prostitute. Judah encounters her and they are intimate with each other. She becomes pregnant. Judah, unaware of the disguise, concludes that she must have had a forbidden relationship and orders her to be put to death by burning. At this point, Tamar, who, while disguised, had taken Judah's seal, cord and staff as a pledge, sends them to Judah with a message: "The father of my child is the man to whom these belong." Judah now understands the whole story. Not only has he placed Tamar in an impossible situation of grass widowhood, and not only is he the father of her child, but he also realizes that she has behaved with extraordinary discretion in revealing the truth without shaming him. (It is from this act of Tamar's that we derive the rule that "one should rather throw oneself into a fiery furnace than shame someone else in public."20)
Judah admits he was wrong. "She is right!" he exclaims. "It is from me [that she has become pregnant]." Tamar's life, of course, is spared. She soon gives birth to twins, Peretz and Zerach, the former becoming the ancestor of King David.
This, then, explains the meaning behind Jacob's words, "From the prey, my son, you elevated yourself." Judah was a "man of prey" who sentenced Tamar to death. Yet at the last moment he confessed his guilt and rescued Tamar and her unborn twins from death. Because of this he was conferred with the power of kingship.
One Moment vs. Nine Years
This interpretation, too, is disturbing. Both Reuben and Judah commit serious wrongdoings. Reuben intervenes in his father's intimacy; Judah sentences an innocent pregnant woman to death. Both confess their guilt and take full responsibility for their wrong actions. But in this instance again, it is Reuben who surpasses Judah on two counts.
Firstly, Judah almost caused the destruction of three innocent lives, while Reuben merely relocated intimate furniture. Secondly, Judah admitted his guilt and that was it. Reuben, on the other hand, for at least nine years after his sin, was fasting every day in repentance!
We encounter here what appears as cruel cynicism at its finest. The act for which Judah receives the endowment of royalty--his readiness to confront his wrongdoing and acknowledge his guilt--is performed by his brother Reuben with far more depth and diligence. Yet it is Reuben who loses his potential greatness to Judah.
Furthermore, if Reuben has been fasting and repenting all this time for his mistake in tampering with his father's bed, why did this not suffice in having the royalty restored to him?
Reuben: A Spiritual Profile
Yet upon deeper reflection, it is precisely in this entire complex tale that we may encounter Judaism's perspective on the function and meaning of genuine royalty and leadership.
Reuben, throughout Genesis, displays moral dignity, sensitivity and gracefulness that surpasses Judah. Reuben, obviously, is a person who works on himself. He challenges his instincts, habits and emotions. He seems to possess a frail ego. We do not notice a tinge of pompousness or arrogance in this human being. He is always thinking about somebody else. When he is in the field, his thoughts are with his mother and her plight. When Rachel dies, his thoughts, again, are with his mother. When Joseph is kidnapped, his heart is with his younger brother and father. Finally, for nine years he fasts and dons sackcloth in order to cleanse his ego, his sins, his faults.
Yet, Reuben's greatness is also his flaw.
If we examine every single episode recorded about Reuben we discover an astonishing commonality. In each of them, his noble intentions come across in delightful splendor; his sensitivity to injustice is nothing short of remarkable; his willingness to work on himself and his faults is legendary. Yet in all of them, the other person--the outsider, the victim--never ends up actually gaining from Reuben's kind intentions.
Leah, instead of enjoying her mandrakes, ends up in a bitter row with her sister. By moving Jacob's bed, instead of creating a more affectionate ambiance between Jacob and Leah, Reuben ends up offending his father deeply and not helping his mother's situation in the slightest. In the Joseph story, Reuben's actions have Joseph placed in an empty well, where he can easily die from starvation or venomous serpents.
Finally, Reuben's fasting and repenting for nine years is what actually causes him to be absent while his brother's sell Joseph into Egyptian slavery. While Joseph lay helpless in a well, Reuben went off to pray, meditate and repent. Had he remained, he might have actually rescued Joseph before he was sold.
The Contrast
At last, a pattern emerges. Reuben is consumed with his personal daily battle for transcendence. Reuben is a great man, but he is not a leader. He is a spiritual giant, but he is not a rebbe, a king, a shepherd to his people. Reuben ought to remain the firstborn son, with all the great status involved, since he might be morally superior to his brothers. But he has not proven worthy of become a genuine leader.
Now, let us draw the contrast with Judah's profile.
In both episodes--the sale of Joseph and the relationship with Tamar--Judah does not display the dignity or sincerity of his brother Reuben. Judah's actions leave him personally wanting, but they produce concrete and tangible benefits to the victims in need of help. As a result of Judah's words to his brothers, Joseph is not allowed to die in the well and is left to live as a slave. As a consequence of Judah's confession, Tamar and her unborn children are saved from death. Judah does not reside in the richness of his own inner space; he is present in the flames of the outsider. Reuben's intentions were greater; but Judah made a real impact on people's lives.
Of course, Judah must learn from his errors and grow to become a deeper and finer human being, which he does. Years later, when Joseph's younger brother Benjamin is about to be taken as a slave, Judah offers himself instead. Judah experiences a metamorphosis.
Reuben too, learns from his errors, rectifies them and discovers deeper and greater horizons of truth. But in the final analysis, Reuben is a great, moral spirit; Judah is a king. The difference? Reuben sees his spiritual work as the epicenter of his universe; Judah knows that the bottom line of life is not who you are, but how your decisions and behavior affect the fate of other people. For Reuben, even at his highest moments, the zenith of life consists of man's confrontation with his own tension and darkness. Judah, in contrast, even at his lowest moments, knows that life in its ultimate expression is about touching and embracing the otherness of a stranger.
And that is what it means to be leader.21
FOOTNOTES
1. Genesis 49:3-4.
2. Rashi to Genesis 49:3-4; Midrash Tanchumah (Buber edition) Vayeizei 13; Agadas Berieshis section 48. Cf. Rashi to Genesis 35:23; 29:32. This does not contradict Chronicles 1 5:1, see Rashi ibid. and Likkutei Sichot vol. 15 p. 444 and references noted there. Other sources are of the opinion that Reuben also forfeited his firstborn status, see Midrash Rabbah Berieshit 98:4; 99:6; Tanchumah Vayechi 9; Targum Unkelus, Targum Yonatan and Targum Yonatan Ben Uzeiel to Genesis 49:3-4; Agadat Bereishit section 82.
3. Midrash Rabah, Bereishit 98:4.
4. Genesis 35:19-22.
5. Rashi on verse; Talmud, Shabbat 55b.
6. See The Living Torah (by Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan) in footnote to Genesis 30:14 for a detailed commentary and references on the subject.
7. Genesis 30: 14-16.
8. Genesis 29:32.
9. Genesis 49:9-10.
10. Talmud Chagigah 13b.
11. See Maimonides' Laws of Torah Study 3:1; Laws of Kings 1:7-8. Cf. Maimonides' fascinating commentary to Genesis ibid.
12. Maimonides' Laws of Torah Study 3:1; Laws of Kings 11:4.
13. See Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 98:6.
14. Rashi to Genesis ibid. from Midrash Rabbah Bereishis 98:7.
15. Genesis 37:21-22.
16. Ibid. verses 26-27.
17. Ibid. verses 29-33.
18. Rashi on Genesis 37:29, from Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 84:19.
19. Genesis 38; see Nachmanides' commentery to verse 8.
20. Talmud Sotah 10b; quoted in Rashi to Genesis 38: 25
21. This essay is based on an address by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, delivered on Shabbat Vayechi 5730 (December. 27, 1969) and published in Sichot Kodesh 5730 vol. 1 pp. 322-332; Likkutei Sichot vol. 15 pp. 439-446. A number of the ideas and rendition of biblical narratives presented in this essay were culled from Rabbi Jonathan Sacks' Covenant and Conversation, Vayigash 5763 and Vayeishev 5764.
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Each person has his own animal inside. The point is not just to quieten that animal, but to take advantage of its power.
A goat, for example, is easily domesticated and doesn't care to hurt anyone. But did you ever see a goat plow a field?
An ox, on the other hand, may kick and gore -- but that is only a sign of the tremendous labor it is capable of.
Each person has his own animal inside. The point is not just to quieten that animal, but to take advantage of its power.
A goat, for example, is easily domesticated and doesn't care to hurt anyone. But did you ever see a goat plow a field?
An ox, on the other hand, may kick and gore -- but that is only a sign of the tremendous labor it is capable of.
From the wisdom of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Schneerson, of righteous memory; words and condensation by Tzvi Freeman.
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The first creation was Time. It began and it will end and then it will be no more. Each breath, each tick, each beat of the heart comes only once. None will ever repeat itself precisely. Every instant of life is a raw but precious stone, beckoning, saying, "Unleash my potential, unlock my secret, do with me something to reveal my purpose of being! For I am here only this one time, and then never again."
And so that is our primary mission: To elevate time and make it holy.
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/58069/jewish/Time-is-Sacred.htm#comment
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Does Judaism Have an Essense?
God's First Questions
In the hour when an individual is brought before the heavenly court for judgment, the person is asked:
# Did you conduct your [business] affairs honestly?
# Did you set aside regular time for Torah study?
# Did you work at having children?
# Did you look forward to the world's redemption?
— Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a
Note that the first question asked in heaven is not "Did you believe in God?" or "Did you observe all the rituals?" but "Were you honest in business?" Unfortunately, despite many texts that insist on the primacy of ethics, most Jews associate being religious solely with observing rituals. Throughout the Jewish community, when one asks, "Is so-and-so a religious Jew?" the response invariably is based on the person's observance of ritual laws: "He (or she) keeps kosher, and observes the Sabbath; he is religious" or "She does not keep kosher or observe the Sabbath; she is not religious."
From such responses, one could easily conclude that Judaism regards ethical behavior as an "extracurricular activity," something desirable but not essential.
The above passage unequivocally asserts that ethics is at Judaism's core; God's first concern is with a person's decency.
The second question concerns Torah study, for Judaism teaches that through studying Torah, a person learns how to be fully moral (see Chapter 50), and how to be a part of the Jewish people.
Third comes having children (those who are childless can adopt). Rabbi Irving Greenberg notes that raising a family fulfills the "covenantal obligation to pass onthe dream and work of perfecting the world for another generation."
Fourth is hoping for and working toward this very perfection. The first three questions address "micro issues," matters that would be sufficient were Judaism exclusively addressed to the individual. But Jews also are part of a people and a broader world, and Judaism imposes upon the Jewish people the obligation to help bring about tikkun olam, the repair (or perfection) of the world. In a frequently quoted passage in the Ethics of the Fathers (2:21), Rabbi Tarfon teaches: "It is not your obligation to complete the task [of perfecting the world], but neither are you free to desist [from doing all you can]."
One final thought about this talmudic passage: When a Jewish baby is born, the prayer offered expresses the hope that the child will be able to respond affirmatively to the first three questions:
May the parents rear this child [son or daughter] to adulthood imbued with love of Torah and the performance of good deeds, and may they escort him [or her] to the wedding canopy.
This prayer is recited in the synagogue (or at another naming ceremony) for a girl, and at the boy's circumcision. My friend Rabbi Irwin Kula notes that the fourth question is alluded to through the kisei eliyahu, the chair of Elijah, that is set up at every circumcision. In Jewish tradition, Elijah is the prophet who will usher in the world's redemption.
Other Biblical and Rabbinic views of what matters most to God
Both the Bible's prophets and the greatest figures of talmudic Judaism have also expressed the view that ethical behavior is God's central demand of human beings:
He has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you:
1. Only to do justice,
2. to love goodness,
3. and to walk modestly with your God.
— Micah 6-8 (eighth century B.C.E.)
Thus said the Lord: Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom; Let not the strong man glory in his strength; Let not the rich man glory in his riches. But only in this should one glory: In his earnest devotion to Me. For I the Lord act with kindness, justice and equity in the world; For in these I delight.
— Jeremiah 9:22-23 (sixth century B.C.E.)
Jeremiah, like Micah, enumerates three types of behavior that give God pleasure: in his case, kindness, justice, and equity.
It happened that a certain heathen came before Shammai [he and Hiltel were the two leading rabbis of their age] and said to him, "Convert me to Judaism on condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot." Shammai chased him away with the builder's rod in his hand. When he came before Hillel, Hillel converted him and said, "What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor: this is the whole Torah. The rest is commentary; now go and study."
— Babylonian Talmud, Sbabbat 31a (shortly before the beginning of the Common Era)
That Hillel, one of the greatest figures of talmudic Judaism, was willing to convert a non-Jew on the basis of his accepting this ethical principle surely proves that ethical behavior constitutes Judaism's essence (in the same way that Protestant fundamentalists would insist on a would-be convert's acceptance of what they see as Christianity's essence, that Jesus Christ was the son of God who died to atone for mankind's sins). As Hillel remarks of this ethical principle, "this is the whole Torah." Significantly, Hillel instructs the man to start learning Torah, for only by studying this "commentary" will he be able to carry out Judaism's teachings.
A century after Hillel, Rabbi Akiva, the greatest scholar and teacher of his age, reiterated the primacy of ethics in Judaism:
"Love your neighbor as yourself" (Leviticus 19:18)-this is the major principle of the Torah.
— Palestinian Talmud, Nedarim 9:4 (second century C.E.)
Jewish Wisdom: Ethical, Spiritual, and Historical Lessons from the Great Works and Thinkers by Joseph Telushkin
http://74.125.95.132/search?q=cache:auQzPtiyGBAJ:search.barnesandnoble.com/Jewish-Wisdom/Joseph-Telushkin/e/9780688129583/%3Ftabname%3Dcustreview+(Babylonian+Talmud,+Shabbat+31a+business&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=21&gl=us&client=firefox-a
I find this interesting and fighting because consistent ethical behavior is so much harder than checking off items on a spiritual to do this.
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Thank you Rachel. I like this one too.
Reminds me of a Jewish joke about an old man who has spent his life following all the little rules as specified in the Torah. Every he prays morning and evening for God's assistance, but his life his for excrement. His wife a shrew, his sons bums, the daughters unmarried etc etc. Imagine a good Jewish joke well told here.
His neighbor is everything he is not. Follows virtually none of the rules, never prays, etc and his life is great. A beautiful wife who loves him, many children and grandchildren, all of them happy and productive, etc etc.
Finally one day as the old man is praying once again asking for help, he gets mad and angrily demands an explanation from God for all this. He runs through the list of what he has done and how much he has prayed to God and contrasts his neighbor and their respective results. In conclusion he shouts "God! I want to know why!"
God answers him. He says "Because you noodge (sp?) too much."
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Real Gain
Nothing you have acquired is real unless you worked for it. If you were born a nice guy, the niceness isn't yours. If you started off not so nice, and now you do a little better, that's Divine.
The Aura
By Tzvi Freeman
Each of us builds our own prison or our own palace.
Every conscious thought, every utterance of our lips, every interaction of ours with the world leaves its imprint upon an aura that surrounds each of us and stays with us wherever we go. All life, all blessing, all that is transmitted from Above must pass through that aura. Even if it be the greatest of blessings, the aura may distort it into ugly noise. Or it may resonate and amplify it even more.
An aura of beauty attracts beauty. An aura of love attracts love. An aura of life and joy attracts unbounded light.
Only you are the master of that aura. Only you have the permission and the power at any moment to transform your thoughts from the ugly to the beautiful, your words from bitter to sweet, your deeds from death to life.
And so too, your entire world.
Focusing Your World ( This really reminded me of the post that started this thread)
By Tzvi Freeman
Our advantage as human beings lies in our power to speak, to articulate a nebulous world into meaningful words and phrases. G–d spoke and the world came into being. We speak and bring it into focus.
Our words are the camera that determines reality: According to how we focus, so our world will be. With a small breath of air, we determine whether it is beauty that sprouts from the earth, or monsters growing as large as our imagination.
True, there is a time for all things--even a time to speak in negative terms, to make clear that something is wrong and needs correcting. But there is a caveat to negative words. For if they do not reach their goal, their bitterness still remains.
Speak good words, kind words, words of wisdom, words of encouragement. Like gentle rain upon a dormant field. Eventually, they will coax the seeds beneath the soil to life.
Life in Words
By Tzvi Freeman
Plants live in a world of earth, water, air and sunshine. Animals live in a world of the body and its senses. Human beings live within a world of their own words.
The sages called us "the speaking being," saying our soul is filled with words. When our words leave us, our very being goes out within them. We conquer with them. We declare our mastery over Creation with them. Our words tell us that we exist.
For us, nothing truly exists until we find a word for it. All our thoughts of every object and every event are thoughts of words. Our world is a world not of sensations and stimuli, but of words.
Build your world with precious words. Fillyour days with words that live and give life.
Memorize words of Torah and of the sages. Have them ready forany break in your day. Wherever you go, provide that place an atmosphere of those powerful words.
edited to fix a bad cut and paste job.
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Many of the posts in this thread are from Chabad's daily dose which I receive by email so it is slightly harder to properly give credit. If you want to sign up for daily dose here is the link http://www.chabad.org/tools/subscribe/default_cdo/jewish/Subscribe.htm or they located on chabad.org.
This is a little bit different from the posts I normally put here. It is from Gretchen Rubin's blog --The Happiness Project. It has a lot of very practical advice about how to be happy/ a better person.
http://www.happiness-project.com/happiness_project/2009/03/happiness-myth-no-8-youll-be-happy-as-soon-as-you.html
"I’ve studied happiness over the past few years, I’ve learned many things that surprised me. Each day for two weeks, I’ve been debunking one “happiness myth” that I believed before I started my happiness project. Yesterday I wrote about Myth No. 7: Doing "Random Acts of Kindness" Brings Happiness.
Happiness Myth No. 8: You’ll Be Happy As Soon As You…
We often imagine that we’ll be happy as soon as we get a job/make partner/get tenure/get married/get that promotion/have a baby/move. As a writer, I often find myself imagining some happy future: “Once I sell this proposal…” or “Once this book comes out…”
In his book Happier, Tal Ben-Shahar calls this the “arrival fallacy,” the belief that when you arrive at a certain destination, you’ll be happy. (Other fallacies include the “floating world fallacy,” the belief that immediate pleasure, cut off from future purpose, can bring happiness, and the “nihilism fallacy,” the belief that it’s not possible to become happier.) The arrival fallacy is a fallacy because arriving rarely makes you as happy as you expect.
Why? Because usually by the time you’ve arrived at your destination, you’re expecting to reach it, so it has already been incorporated into your happiness. You quickly become adjusted to the new state of affairs. And of course, arriving at one goal usually reveals a new goal. There’s another hill to climb.
In fact, working toward a goal can be a more powerful source of happiness than hitting it – which can sometimes be a letdown. It’s important, therefore, to look for happiness in the present, in the atmosphere of growth afforded by making gradual progress toward a goal (technical name: pre-goal attainment positive affect).
When I find myself focusing overmuch on the anticipated future happiness of arriving at a certain goal (as I often do), I remind myself to “Enjoy now.” If I can enjoy the present, I don’t need to count on the happiness that is -- or isn’t -- waiting for me in the future. The fun part doesn’t come later, now is the fun part.
So the arrival fallacy doesn’t mean that pursuing goals isn’t a route to happiness. To the contrary. The goal is necessary, just as is the process toward the goal. Nietzche explained it: “The end of a melody is not its goal; but nonetheless, if the melody had not reached its end it would not have reached its goal either. A parable.”
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My former boss, Justice Sandra Day O'Connor, has launched a wonderful site, Our Courts, a fantastic new resource about civics for students and teachers. There's a great video of Justice O'Connor explaining the site -- I was laughing as I watched, because it so captures her personality. My favorite line: "The Founders of our Constitution and our government created three equal branches of government. Like super heroes, each branch of government has special powers, but each one also has certain weaknesses." "
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http://www.ourcourts.org/
http://www.ourcourts.org/about-our-courts
http://www.ourcourts.org/about-our-courts
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Rachel:
You clerked for O'Connor?!? :-o
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Rachel:
You clerked for O'Connor?!? :-o
No, not me! -- Gretchen Rubin clerked for O'Connor. I never even went to law school. I am going to add quotes to whole post so it is more clear.
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:-D
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In Your Hands
By Tzvi Freeman
Meditate on a single pool left by the tide and all the life it holds. On a single leaf and all the genius within it. On all the forests of the world, all its seas, and all the life of the skies. Then meditate that all this He has entrusted in our hands. And each person must say to him or herself: "All this He has placed in my hands alone."
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Without End
By Tzvi Freeman
Ask the wise men of many cultures, and they will tell you that all is temporal, all will pass, there is nothing in this world to cling to, only to transcend.
Ask a sage of the Torah and he will tell you it is not true. The vanities of time, the failures of life, they all pass as clouds on a windy day, but truth lives forever.
This is the meaning of the thirteenth of the thirteen principles of our faith, the belief that those who lived true lives will live again, in a real and corporeal way. It is a rejection of temporalism, a confirmation that there are things in the world that really matter, that have endless meaning and absolute purpose.
Whenever a G-dly act is performed, all involved are elevated beyond time. Save a life--you are Noah saving the entire world. Feed weary travelers--they are the angels coming to visit Abraham and Sarah. And Abraham and Sarah are hosting them with you.
In fact, all those who had truth in their lives are here with us today. It is only that we are so much a part of this river of time, we cannot lift our heads to see above it.
Only when the falseness of the world will be ripped away and all is elevated to a place of truth, then we shall all see each other, together once again.
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What Lies Inside
By Tzvi Freeman
Within each thing we behold, the moshiach dwells, like the embryo waiting to break out of its egg. In the rhythm of a dandelion shivering in the breeze, in the eyes of the children we raise, in the goals we make in life, in the machines we use and the art we create, in the air we breathe and the blood rushing through our veins.
When the world was made, the sages say, the moshiach was the wind hovering over all that would be.
Today, those who know to listen can hear his voice beckoning, "Do no let go of me after all these ages! For the fruit of your labor and the labor of your holy mothers and fathers is about to ripen."
The listening alone is enough to crack the shell of the egg.
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The River Up
By Tzvi Freeman
When the Divine Light began its epic descent—a journey that conceived worlds lower and lower for endless worlds, condensing its unbounded state again and again into innumerable finite packages until focused to a fine, crystallized resolution—it did so with purpose: to bring forth a world of continuous ascent. Since that beginning, not a day has passed that does not transcend its yesterday.
Like a mighty river rushing to reach its ocean, no dam can hold it back, no creature can struggle against its current. Even we, its voyageurs, cannot turn back. We must only move on with the river, on in its relentless ascent to the sea.
We may appear to take a wrong turn, to lose a day in failure—it is our delusion, for we have no map to know the river's way. We see from within, but the river knows its path from Above. And to that place Above it is drawn.
We are not masters of that river— not of our ultimate destiny, not of the stops along the way, not even of the direction of our travel. We did not create the river—its flow creates us. It is the blood and soul of our world, its pulse and its very fibers.
Yet of one thing we have been granted mastery: Not of the journey, but of our role within it. How soon will we arrive? How complete? How fulfilled? Will we be the spectators? The props? Or will we be the heroes?
That is all. And that is all that counts.
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By Tzvi Freeman
When the soul awakens, it descends like a fire from heaven. In a moment of surprise, we discover something so powerful, so beyond our persona, we cannot believe it is a part of us. Or, better, that we are a part of it.
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G-d's Question
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By Tzvi Freeman
Before He brought forth the cosmos out of nothingness, He structured in His thought how all things would be. Even then, He struggled with it, pondering, "Should it be? Or should it not?"
Then He created all things according to that thought, and out of all things of that creation He formed Adam. And within Adam He placed this struggle, and Adam became a living being.
Since then, it is in our hands: Should there be a world? Or a desolate chaos? Is G-d's creation worth His making it?
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Half A Redemption
Appreciating the Process
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by Shalvi Weissman
It takes me a while to get into preparing for Passover. It's not that I don't like cleaning. Sometimes I can be a little neurotic about cleanliness and order. I think that on Passover everyone else gets about as nuts as I am the whole year. So why is it that every year as Passover approaches I'm a bit reluctant to get caught up in it? Maybe because Passover is only half a redemption.
I'm not being a heretic. Moses himself felt the same way. When G‑d spoke to Moses at the burning bush and told him that he was to go and redeem the Jewish people, Moses didn't want to go. The Torah commentator, Rashi, says that they argued about it for a full week! 1
If he could not complete the job, why be the one to start it?G‑d told Moses that He would be with him and take care of all of the details, but it would seem that Moses was worried about something else. He responded, "Please my L-rd, send them through whomever you will send."
Moses saw that he wouldn't be the one to bring the Jews into the Promised Land. Not only that, but Moses saw that this would not be the final redemption. Why take them out of this exile just to send them into another? If he could not complete the job, why be the one to start it? Send the guy who can do the whole thing!
Passover is a celebration of what could be considered a moot point. What good does it do me to get out of one prison if I'm in a worse one now? Yes, at the time it was a wonderful thing, but what relevance does it have to me now?
Consider this: in the Holocaust memorial museum in Israel, Yad VaShem, there is a Passover Haggadah that was written on scraps of paper that concentration camp inmates had collected. A group of people sat together and tried to piece it together from memory. They succeeded in writing a complete Haggadah. Imagine the Seder that they had that year. Four cups of wine? Three matzas? Beautiful sparkling silver, china and crystal? Clearly not. Probably most of them would have died if they even attempted to refrain from eating the meager bread that they received for that week. Yet they went to great lengths to celebrate the Seder to the best of their ability. Why? What did they have to celebrate? Their freedom? Hardly. Then what?
The Haggadah itself addresses this. The narrative portion of the Haggadah opens with the statement, "This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt… This year we are slaves, next year we will be free."
What did they have to celebrate? Their freedom? Hardly.How's that for an opening line at the celebration of the festival of freedom? Jewish, eh? From there we go on to speak of our lowly, idol-worshipping roots as a nation. G‑d promised us great things, but first we would have to pay the price of being foreigners and slaves in Egypt. G‑d Himself promised Abraham exile at the same time that He promised he would become a "great nation". Couldn't He have come up with an easier, nicer way? We are told the details of how hard it really was in Egypt, until finally we cried out to G‑d and He redeemed us. The details of the plagues and miracles follow, and we end with praise to our Creator, our Redeemer.
One of these songs of praise is rather strange- Dayeinu:
"If G‑d had led us through the sea on dry land, and not drowned our tormentors, it would have been enough. If G‑d had brought us to Mt. Sinai and not given us the Torah, it would have been enough. If He had given us the Torah and not brought us into the Land of Israel, it would have been enough."
Really? Unusual for a people known to kvetch! What would have happened if we had gotten through the sea and the Egyptians had not been drowned? According to the Midrash,2 we came out of the sea on the same side where we had entered. Indeed, what would have happened if we had come out, only to find ourselves standing face to face with our enemies? Or if we had not received the Torah? We are told that had we not received the Torah, the whole world would have returned to tohu vavohu- void and nothingness.3 Would that really have been enough? If we had received the Torah, which is full of the commandments that can only be fulfilled in the land of Israel, yet had never gotten there, how can we possibly say that it would have been enough?
I like things that are complete, full, finished, accomplished. It is very hard for me to find satisfaction in a job not quite done. Process has always been an issue. As soon as I find out I'm pregnant I want the baby already. Of course, as soon as it's born, I want to see it grown up. Though I haven't gotten to that stage yet, I am sure that once the child grows up I will worry about who s/he will marry, and a few months after the wedding, I will wonder when children will come. Life is about process, and Passover is a celebration of process. Hence my issue with Passover.
I'm not writing this just to kvetch or to procrastinate cleaning my kitchen cabinets. I guess I'm trying to process my issue with process.
Life is about cycles, growth, and change. As much as we constantly try, who can claim to have gotten "there," wherever "there" is? Even when we reach the end of the life cycle, we are in a process. When a soul reaches the next world, it wishes to continue to ascend, either on its own merits, or the merits of students and children left behind. 4
Even after Mashiach comes, even in the next world, we will continue to grow and progress in ways that we can't even imagine in our current state.
Every stage of the game is important, not because it is getting us to completion in the usual sense, but because each step is an opportunity to find completion by connecting to our Creator in that moment.
Passover is a big celebration. We could say that upon leaving Egypt, a nation was born. Without being born one can't grow up, but is the whole goal of birth to grow up? Birth itself, even the birth of a life that will be as filled with pain and struggle as that of the Jewish people, is something to celebrate. It is a huge accomplishment! It is a moment of joy, of coming from constriction to expansiveness. It is an awesome opportunity to connect to G‑d. As long as we see birth only as a means to get to some other goal, we can go through life always wanting to be somewhere else, never feeling gratitude and connection in the present.
Each moment is a success if it is used to build on our past successes in order to reach higher, so that we can connect spiritually in a higher and greater way than we ever have before.
Reb Nosson of Breslov understood this idea well when he explained one of the reasons we say a blessing on two loaves of challah on Shabbat. We have something whole. In order to eat it, we must make it no longer whole. The fact that we cut the challah in order for it to fulfill its purpose does not mean that it is no longer whole in terms of its purpose in creation. So we cut one challah while leaving the other whole before us as a reminder that we haven't lost anything – the wholeness still exists.
Life is about process, and Passover is a celebration of processMany people are disappointed to find that when they try to bring themselves closer to G‑d, their lives get harder. In the physical world, when you graduate from one level to the next you get pomp and circumstance. No one frets too much that it's harder in college than it was in high school. It's a challenge, and it means that you have progressed. In the spiritual world, when a person goes up to the next level, there is no graduation ceremony – not even a pat on the back. So how do you know that you've reached the next level? It's harder! When this happens we often think that we have failed in some way, but when you fail a grade you repeat it. When you succeed spiritually it is bit like the game Tetris- the obstacles start flying at you faster and more furiously, but it's a good sign. Just take it as a spiritual pat on the back.
It seems that we had something whole, and now it's broken, but the lesson is that really now it's just different. What needed to be done was done, and you have moved on.
If G‑d had brought us to Mt. Sinai and not given us the Torah, we would still have been amazing. We stood before the mountain as one person with one heart. What an amazing experience. Three million people were completely united in their desire to come close to each other and to G‑d! The experience was precious! Same thing with the splitting of the sea. When we walked through the water on dry land, it was clear to each and every one of us on a personal level that our Creator was with us, that He could do anything, and wanted to use His power to invest in our relationship. That in and of itself is really something, no matter what comes next.
So this is why we spend so much time talking on Seder night. It's possible to look at all the miracles and still say, "Very nice, but where does this get me now?"
We need to personalize all that happened. G‑d did miracles for me. I was in trouble. I called out. G‑d answered.
After having experienced redemption from Egypt, no matter what our circumstances may be, we know that we are redeemable and that we have a Redeemer who is unstoppable- when He deems the time right. Nothing is keeping Him from taking us out of all of the dark and narrow places of our lives. Until that happens, we know that all of the exile that we are experiencing is just a springboard for the redemption that is to come.
If we come to that realization on Seder night, then we can see that there is no difference between the bread of affliction and the bread of freedom. They are one and the same. It's all part of the process.
So I guess I'll go start my kitchen cabinets now. After all, that too is part of the process.
FOOTNOTES
1. Rashi on Exodus 4:10.
2. Me'am Loez, on the Torah portion Beshalach.
3. Rashi on Genesis 1:31
4. Likkutei Moharan II 7
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second post of the day
Elevation
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By Tzvi Freeman
The entire cosmos climbs upward.
The elements move upward to grow as living things.
Those growing, living things rise upwards, consumed by creatures that swim, run, fly, love and fear.
Animals, too, may be elevated into the realm of a conscious being that acts with enlightened mindfulness.
And this intelligent being, to where can s/he rise?
To the ultimate fulfillment of intellect, a place that existed before Mind was born, a place without constriction or borders.
This is the act of doing good for the sake of good alone.
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http://www.aish.com/holocaust/people/The_Holocaust_Bride.asp
The Holocaust Bride
by Helen Zegerman Schwimmer
(http://image.aish.com/HolocaustBride.jpg)
The true story of a worn-out parachute, resurrected as a magnificent wedding gown.
Lilly Friedman doesn't remember the last name of the woman who designed and sewed the wedding gown she wore when she walked down the aisle over 60 years ago. But the grandmother of seven does recall that when she first told her fiance Ludwig that she had always dreamed of being married in a white gown he realized he had his work cut out for him.
For the tall, lanky 21-year-old who had survived hunger, disease and torture, this was a different kind of challenge. How was he ever going to find such a dress in the Bergen Belsen Displaced Person's camp where they felt grateful for the clothes on their backs?
Fate would intervene in the guise of a former German pilot who walked into the food distribution center where Ludwig worked, eager to make a trade for his worthless parachute. In exchange for two pounds of coffee beans and a couple of packs of cigarettes, Lilly would have her wedding gown.
For two weeks Miriam the seamstress worked under the curious eyes of her fellow DPs, carefully fashioning the six parachute panels into a simple, long-sleeved gown with a rolled collar and a fitted waist that tied in the back with a bow. When the dress was completed she sewed the leftover material into a matching shirt for the groom.
Marked for Extermination
A white wedding gown may have seemed like a frivolous request in the surreal environment of the camps, but for Lilly the dress symbolized the innocent, normal life she and her family had once led before the world descended into madness. Lilly and her siblings were raised in a Torah observant home in the small town of Zarica, Czechoslovakia where her father was a Torah teacher, respected and well-liked by the young students he taught in nearby Irsheva.
He and his two sons were marked for extermination immediately upon arriving at Auschwitz. For Lilly and her sisters it was only their first stop on their long journey of persecution, which included Plashof, Neustadt, Gross Rosen, and finally Bergen Belsen.
Four hundred people marched 15 miles in the snow to the town of Celle on January 27, 1946 to attend Lilly and Ludwig's wedding. The town synagogue, damaged and desecrated, had been lovingly renovated by the DPs with the meager materials available to them. When a Torah scroll arrived from England they converted an old kitchen cabinet into a makeshift ark.
"My sisters and I lost everything -- our parents, our two brothers, our homes. The most important thing was to build a new home." Six months later, Lilly's sister Ilona wore the dress when she married Max Traeger. After that came Cousin Rosie. How many brides wore Lilly's dress? "I stopped counting after 17." With the camps experiencing the highest marriage rate in the world, Lilly's gown was in great demand.
Across the Ocean
In 1948 when President Harry Truman finally permitted the 100,000 Jews who had been languishing in DP camps since the end of the war to emigrate, the gown accompanied Lilly across the ocean to America. Unable to part with her dress, it lay at the bottom of her bedroom closet for the next 50 years, "not even good enough for a garage sale. I was happy when it found such a good home."
Home was the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington D.C. When Lily's niece, a volunteer, told museum officials about her aunt's dress, they immediately recognized its historical significance and displayed the gown in a specially designed showcase, guaranteed to preserve it for 500 years.
But Lilly Friedman's dress had one more journey to make. Bergen Belsen, the museum, opened its doors on October 28, 2007. The German government invited Lilly and her sisters to be their guests for the grand opening. They initially declined, but finally traveled to Hanover the following year with their children, their grandchildren and extended families to view the extraordinary exhibit created for the wedding dress made from a parachute.
Lilly's family, who were all familiar with the stories about the wedding in Celle, were eager to visit the synagogue. They found the building had been completely renovated and modernized. But when they pulled aside the handsome curtain they were astounded to find that the holy ark, made from a kitchen cabinet, had remained untouched as a testament to the profound faith of the survivors. As Lilly stood on the bimah once again, she beckoned to her granddaughter, Jackie, to stand beside her where she was once a bride. "It was an emotional trip. We cried a lot."
Two weeks later, the woman who had once stood trembling before the selective eyes of the infamous Dr. Josef Mengele returned home and witnessed the marriage of her granddaughter.
The three Lax sisters -- Lilly, Ilona and Eva, who together survived Auschwitz, a forced labor camp, a death march and Bergen Belsen -- have remained close and today live within walking distance of each other in Brooklyn. As mere teenagers, they managed to outwit and outlive a monstrous killing machine, then went on to marry, have children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren -- and were ultimately honored by the country that had earmarked them for extinction.
Reprinted with permission of the Jewish Press.
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I thought this was very entertaining.
http://9a4440c5.fb.joyent.us/haggadah/ultraModern2.php
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When the Sun Sings Again
By Lazer Gurkow
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/866780/jewish/When-the-Sun-Sings-Again.htm
On Wednesday morning, April 8, 2009, Jews around the world will recite a blessing over the sun that was last recited twenty-eight years ago. This blessing is recited when the sun returns to its point of origin, where it was when it was first created. Though the sun passes this point every year it only passes this point on the eve of Wednesday, the date of its creation (the sun was created on the fourth of the six days of creation) once in twenty-eight years.
The astronomical calculations that lead to this conclusion are beyond the scope of this essay and have been well presented in the essays and books published in honor of the occasion. In this essay we ask why we chant the blessing only when the sun arrives at its point of origin. Why don't we bless G‑d for the sun every day?
Celestial Silence
To answer this question we go back to an event that occurred around 3,300 years agoTo answer this question we go back to a novel event that occurred a bit less than thirty-three-hundred years ago. Joshua led the Jewish army in battle against the native tribes of Canaan. Once, during a particularly vicious battle in the vicinity of Gibeon, the sun was about to set and Joshua, worried about the chaotic conditions of nighttime battle, prayed that sunset be delayed till the battle could be won. His prayers were answered and remarkably the sun did not set that day till the tide of battle turned and our ancestors emerged triumphant.1
It is interesting to note the precise words of Joshua's prayer. He did not ask G‑d to suspend the sun's pattern of descent, he asked that the sun "be silenced"; a curious choice of words for an otherwise remarkable prayer. What did he mean? Does the sun in fact sing a song?
Melodies of the Zodiac
Maimonides taught that the sun and the celestial bodies are beings of supreme intelligence and passionate souls.2 The frenetic pace of their physical movement is a reflection of their souls' intense passion and excitement.
The Torah declares, "The hosts of heaven bow to you."3 The mystics explained this curious biblical passage by pointing to the continuous voyage of the celestial bodies across the sky. Stars and planets orbit at incredible speeds, argued the mystics, because they are possessed by an innate knowledge of G‑d and are moved by a powerful urge to draw closer to Him. Their headlong rush across the vast tapestries of the skies reflects their deep yearning for a closer, more intimate, connection to G‑d.4
This, the mystics explained, is why the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. The Holy of Holies, the room that housed the Divine Presence in the ancient Temple in Jerusalem, was on the west side of the Temple Mount. The sun's constant movement westward represents its desire to draw closer to the Divine Presence in the west.5 In fact, its descent toward the west is its way of bowing to the Divine presence.6 And as its body bows to G‑d so does its soul. Its soul's devotion is expressed in the stirring melodies that it sings—as Job said, "The morning stars sing together and the angels shout for joy."7
One can almost imagine Joshua's thought process when he asked that the sun be silenced. Joshua needed more daylight to lead the Jews to victory. He knew that if he would ask the sun to arrest its descent the sun might object, citing its need to bow to G‑d over the skies of Israel. Joshua appealed to G‑d asking that the sun's spiritual journey be suspended in favor of the more important objective—the victory of the Jewish people.
On this day the sun begins an entirely new melodyThe sun was created to serve G‑d's purpose, but that Jews conquer the Land of Israel was G‑d's will. Joshua argued that the latter was more important than the former; Jewish victory should outweigh the sun's melody of devotion. He asked that the sun be silenced and his wish was granted.8
A New Song
We might suggest that this is also why we recite the blessing over the sun once in twenty-eight years. The sun's journey across our skies represents a constant melody sung by the sun in praise of G‑d. There is little reason for us to chime in every day, tuning in and out of the sun's twenty-eight year melody.
However, the day that the sun reaches its point of origin and departs on a new cycle around the world is different. This day inaugurates a whole new epoch. As the sun's physical journey begins anew so does its spiritual journey. On this day the sun begins an entirely new melody, which is why it is fitting that we gather to bless its voyage and salute its devotion with a melody of our own.9
This is why we gather in large groups amid great fanfare. It is not only in celebration of a novel blessing, it is a celebration of the sun's devotion; a royal sendoff of G‑d's devoted servant.
Indeed, on this day the heavens speak the glory of G‑d.10
FOOTNOTES
1.
Joshua 10:12-13.
2.
Laws of the Foundations of the Torah 3:9.
3.
Nechemia 9: 6.
4.
Derech Mitzvotecha, Mitzvat Milah, 5a; Siddur Tefilos Mikol Hashanah, Shaar Hamilah, 142a.
5.
This essay is based on a geocentric version of the universe, which has been the traditional position of Jewish scholars. A scholarly debate has sprung up on this issue since modern science adopted Copernicus's heliocentric view of the universe. However, the ideas developed in this essay are not impacted by this debate because its treatment of the sun is relative to our point of view. The reason the sun appears to set in the west is because its soul is indeed anchored in the west. See Igrot Kodesh of the Lubavitcher Rebbe (vol. 18 p. 393; vol. 22 p. 508. For English, see Apologetics, section entitled "When Compromise Backfires") for a fascinating perspective on how this debate is impacted by the Theory of Relativity.
6.
Tanya ch. 42.
7.
Job 38:7.
8.
See Torat Menachem 5745 p. 2367 where it is further explained that the spiritual blessing of the nations is derived from the sun, whose ability to draw Divine blessing to the world is rooted in its absolute devotion and reflected in its pattern of westerly descent. Joshua needed to arrest the sun's descent in order to ensure Jewish victory over the nations.
9.
Though the sun and earth are aligned in their original positions once every year, we do not recite the blessing every year. This is because the sun's circuit around the earth is not only measured in spatial distance, but also in time—possibly because the sun's position determines all forms of time including that of day, season and calendar year. Therefore we do not consider the circuit complete until it reaches its point of origin at its time of origin, which is the beginning of the fourth day of the week.
10.
Psalms 19:2.
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I just came back from Birkat Hahama prayers. I enjoyed it. It is not often that you get to participate in something that only happens 2 to 3 times in the average lifetime.
(http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?blobcol=urlimage&blobheader=image%2Fjpeg&blobheadername1=Cache-Control&blobheadervalue1=max-age%3D420&blobkey=id&blobtable=JPImage&blobwhere=1238562944903&cachecontrol=5%3A0%3A0+*%2F*%2F*&ssbinary=true)
(http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?blobcol=urlimage&blobheader=image%2Fjpeg&blobheadername1=Cache-Control&blobheadervalue1=max-age%3D420&blobkey=id&blobtable=JPImage&blobwhere=1238562944489&cachecontrol=5%3A0%3A0+*%2F*%2F*&ssbinary=true)
Thousands attend special 'sun' prayer
Apr. 8, 2009
ap and jpost.com staff , THE JERUSALEM POST
Over 50,000 people took part in the Birkat Hahama prayers at Jerusalem's Western Wall on Wednesday morning.
The special event, a blessing of thanks for the world's creation, occurs when, the Talmud says, the sun reaches the same spot in the firmament as when it was created. It will not occur again for another 28 years.
Following the event, all roads surrounding Jerusalem's Old City were blocked. Police have requested that those attending the ceremony leave the Old City using public transportation.
In hundreds of places around the world, observant Jews planned to rise before dawn for outdoor prayers and dancing.
In New Zealand's capital, Wellington, Rabbi Haim Dovrat said it was a "re-staging of the heavens as they were at the beginning of time." Dovrat led the rare blessing at the city's Webb Street Synagogue about an hour after sunrise.
It was a "special celebration" as New Zealand's 7,500 Jews were the first in the world to give the blessing, he said.
In Greenwich, Connecticut, Jen Sonenklare said she is taking her children to a beach ceremony in their pajamas.
"This is the first time I've ever heard of this holiday," said Sonenklare, whose husband is Catholic. "If you want to give your kids a religious identity, this'll give them something fun to remember."
In Manhattan, a rabbi was to lead a gathering near the United Nations. Another group was to pray on the deck of a 17th-story penthouse near ground zero, the site of the demolished World Trade Center.
A Birkat Hahama ceremony in 1981 was held on the 107th-story observation deck of the World Trade Center's South Tower, and the rabbi is dedicating Wednesday's blessing to the memory of those who died in the September 11, 2001 attacks.
Organizers of a ceremony on the boardwalk in Long Beach, New York, on Long Island, said they would distribute sunglasses to worshippers. But they might go unused; the forecast was for a cloudy morning.
The Chabad-Lubavitch movement scheduled live Webcasts from seven locations as the sun moves across the Earth, starting at 8 a.m. local time in Christchurch, New Zealand, followed by events in Brisbane, Australia; Jerusalem; London; New York; Colorado Springs, Colo.; and Honolulu.
In Offenbach am Main, near Frankfurt, Germany, some of about 3,500 Jews in the town - mostly immigrants from the former Soviet Union - were to mark Birkat Hachamah in front of their synagogue.
"For some, it'll be the first time - and the last time," said Rabbi Menachem M. Gurewitz of the elderly members of his congregation.
"The blessing is an affirmation of God, not as creator, but as the power that keeps the universe in existence," said Rabbi J. David Bleich, an expert on the holiday who wrote a book on the subject. "God didn't just create the universe, then go on an eternal sabbatical. He's like a generator of electricity: If it doesn't keep on working, the lights go out."
An especially colorful ceremony was reported by The New York Times in 1897, when a rabbi was arrested for presiding over the ritual as hundreds of Jews assembled without a permit in a city park. He and another rabbi tried to explain what they were doing to a police officer.
"The attempt of a foreign citizen to explain to an American Irishman an astronomical situation and a tradition of the Talmud was a dismal failure," the Times reported, adding that the officer, wondering "whether some new infection of lunacy had broken out ... seized the rabbi by the neck and took him to Essex Market Police Court."
This article can also be read at http://www.jpost.com /servlet/Satellite?cid=1238562942983&pagename=JPArticle%2FShowFull
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The Fragility of Freedom
by Rabbi Berel Wein
What it means to be free.
In the measured cadence and soaring beauty of Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address (a speech that American students were once required to commit to memory) there appears a phrase at the end -- "a new birth of freedom." Lincoln hit upon a basic value in Jewish life and in the Torah.
Freedom, rather than being a permanent and expected state of being, is fragile and rather rare in human history. Therefore, because of its very fragility and scarcity, freedom has to be treasured, appreciated and constantly renewed. Every person and every society regularly requires a new birth of freedom to maintain its hard-won liberty.
And this is one of the basic messages of Passover. The Haggada teaches us that "in each and every generation the Jew has to envision himself or herself as though he or she just left Egypt and its bondage." Passover is therefore not merely a commemorative holiday, though it is that as well, but more importantly it is a holiday of constant rebirth and renewal.
In our prayers, we refer to Passover as zman cheruteinu -- the time of our freedom. This implies not only past freedom but current freedom as well. Passover demands from us that we continue to struggle and appreciate our freedom. It is not without dangers and weaknesses. It must therefore be zealously guarded and always renewed.
The question naturally arises: "What is the true definition of freedom?" Where is the line between anarchy and licentiousness on the one hand, and responsible exercise of free rights on the other? All free societies grapple with these questions and issues. Freedom is undoubtedly limited by values, public concerns, other people's rights and a sense of choosing between right and wrong, justice and corruption.
Even if a consensus is reached as to the best definition of responsible freedom, who is to enforce that decision? The police? The courts? Personal conscience alone?
The rabbis of the Talmud defined freedom in conjunction with Torah and its laws and values. The concept of freedom according to the Talmud is engraved on the very stones of the Ten Commandments. But in being so engraved, it is also circumscribed by those commandments and the Torah. "There is no free person without the study and discipline of the Torah," was the motto of the Talmud.
Physical freedom without spiritual strength and its necessary limitations on human behavior becomes narcissism, addiction and dangerous foolishness. Thus supposed freedom can turn into a bitter case of self-tyranny, the worst form of slavery. One of the understandings in interpreting the words of the rabbis of the Mishna -- "a good heart" and "a bad heart" -- is precisely that point. A "good heart" knows limitations and discipline. "A bad heart" is wild, uncontrollable, capricious and ultimately self-destructive. The Torah warns against following the dictates of such a heart.
There is a thread that runs through many of the books of memoirs written by Prisoners of Zion regarding their experiences in the gulag and under Soviet persecution. That thread of similarity relates to their spiritual highs even in jails and punishment cells. The inner serenity of knowing one is right and morally upright ennobles a person to strive to be truly free -- free of one's desires and pressures, and free to view life and one's holy role in it in a clear and unbiased fashion. This is truly a gift of freedom. It is the new birth of freedom that we all crave.
Our evil inclination, our bad habits, our lack of discipline in speech and behavior all combine to make us addicts and slaves. We all know that merely telling an addict to stop does not bear positive results. The addict has to want to stop more than he or she wants to continue his or her addictive behavior. Passover provides the forum for us to stop our addictive behavior and to refashion ourselves for the good. It helps inject within us the new birth of freedom that can alone guarantee our future success in life, family, community and work.
So at the Seder table this Passover, we should truly see ourselves as being newly freed not only from the ancient Pharaoh but from our own modern selves as well. How spiritually uplifting and delightful that feeling of freedom will be.
Author Biography:
Berel Wein, the Founder and Director of The Destiny Foundation has, for over 20 years, been identified with the popularization of Jewish history through lectures worldwide, his more than 1000 audiotapes, books, seminars, educational tours and, most recently dramatic and documentary films.
Rabbi Wein has authored five Jewish History books - Triumph of Survival, The Story of the Jews in the Modern Era, Heralds of Destiny, the Medieval Era, Echoes of Glory, the Classical Era, and Faith and Fate, the story of the Jews in the Twentieth Century - all of which have received popular and critical acclaim. His newest book is The Oral Law of Sinai - An Illustrated History of the Mishnah Logic, Legend & Truth.
Rabbi Wein, a member of the Illinois Bar Association, is the recipient of the Educator of the Year Award from the Covenant Foundation in 1993. Most recently, Rabbi Wein received the Torah Prize Award from Machon Harav Frank in Jerusalem for his achievements in teaching Torah and spreading Judaism around the world. Rabbi Wein lives and teaches in Jerusalem. Visit his site at http://www.rabbiwein.com
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/passthought/passthoughtdefault/The_Fragility_of_Freedom.asp
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http://www.aish.com/passthought/passthoughtdefault/The_Catapult1.asp
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDnrLv6z-mM&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.aish.com%2Fpassthought%2Fpassthoughtdefault%2FThe_Catapult1.asp&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDnrLv6z-mM&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.aish.com%2Fpassthought%2Fpassthoughtdefault%2FThe_Catapult1.asp&feature=player_embedded
The Catapult
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
Passover: Why redemptive things happen to good people.
One day in 1962, something terrible happened to Dick and Judy Hoyt. After nine months of joyful anticipation of the birth of their first child, something went terribly wrong. During the delivery, the umbilical cord coiled around the baby's neck, cutting off oxygen to his brain. The baby was born brain-damaged and quadriplegic, coupled with cerebral palsy. The doctors said that the child would be a vegetable all his life, and recommended putting him into an institution.
Dick and Judy refused. They brought their son Rick home, determined to make the best of the situation. Six years later, when the local public school refused Rick as a student, Dick and Judy themselves taught him the alphabet.
Although Rick could neither talk nor move, Dick and Judy were convinced that he comprehended what was going on around him and that he was as intelligent as his two younger brothers. Rick was 11 years old when his parents raised $5,000 and approached computer engineers at Tufts University to build a computer that would allow Rick to communicate using the only motion he controlled, slight lateral head movements. The engineers refused, saying that the boy had nothing to communicate because nothing was happening inside his brain.
"It's not true," Dick insisted. "Tell him a joke." One engineer told a joke, and Rick laughed heartily. A few months later, the computer arrived at the Hoyt household in Holland, Massachusetts. By pressing a switch at the side of his head, Rick typed out the words, "Go Bruins."
At the age of 13, Rick was finally admitted to public school. Two years later a lacrosse player in the school suffered an accident that left him paralyzed. The school arranged a five-mile run to benefit him, and Rick wrote on his computer, "I want to do that."
Although Dick Hoyt, an ex-Marine who served in the Air National Guard, was out of shape, he agreed to push his son's wheelchair in the race. When they crossed the finish line, Rick was grinning from ear to ear. At home he wrote on his computer, "When I'm running, I feel like my disability disappears."
That was all Dick Hoyt needed to hear. In the three decades since then, Dick has pushed his son's wheelchair through 65 marathons (including 25 Boston Marathons) and 224 triathlons, including 6 Ironman competitions. For the bicycling segments, Rick sits in a seat in front of his father's bike; for the swimming segments, Rick lies in a life raft tied by a rope to his father's waist. None of this came easily to Dick. Before the first triathlon, he had to learn how to swim. "I sank like a stone at first," Dick recalls, "and I hadn't been on a bike since I was six years old." In 1992, the father and son duo, called "Team Hoyt," biked and ran across the USA-a 3,735 mile journey that took them 45 days.
In 1992, Dick founded the Hoyt Foundation, "to enhance the lives and mobility of people with disabilities, and to integrate the physically challenged into everyday life."
The video on youtube shows a middle-aged Dick Hoyt, his tattooed arms stretching forward in the water, swimming as he pulls a raft in which lies his immobile, grinning 35-year-old son. At the dock, Dick bends and, with visible difficulty, lifts Rick out of the raft. As he carries his son in his arms some 20 meters to a waiting wheelchair, the several dozen people lining the pier give Dick Hoyt a standing ovation.
Every time I watch the video, I am overcome by twin responses. First I cry at the sheer greatness of this man. Then I wonder if he would ever have become so great if his life had not been stricken -- and galvanized -- by misfortune.
BECOMING WORTHY
On Passover we celebrate that God redeemed our ancestors from slavery in Egypt 3320 years ago. The sages asked the obvious question: If God is the sole power in the universe, is God not also responsible for inflicting them with slavery in the first place?
Free will means that human beings, such as Pharaoh, can choose to do evil, but whether they succeed in their nefarious schemes is up to God.
In fact, the question is sharpened by reading the 15th chapter of Genesis with the classical commentaries. When God promises Abraham that his descendents will inherit the Land of Israel, Abraham, who is used to covenants of mutuality, questions how this unilateral promise can be fulfilled if his descendents are not worthy. God, in an apparent non sequitur, replies that Abraham's offspring will be slaves in a foreign land and will suffer oppression for 400 years.
The classical commentators explain that the tribulations of slavery would make Abraham's descendents worthy of inheriting the land.
We are predisposed to thinking of suffering as punishment. This passage, in which God's decision to enslave Abraham's descendents clearly predates any wrongdoing on their part, offers a new paradigm: suffering as a galvanizer to growth and greatness.
What quality did the Jewish people need to acquire that could be won only through the experience of slavery?
The Talmud asserts that the defining characteristic of Jewish people is rachamim -- compassion. The Talmud goes so far as to say that if you meet a Jew who lacks compassion, you can legitimately doubt that he is a Jew.
Jewish compassion no doubt accounts for Jews being at the forefront of every social movement dedicated to alleviating the suffering of the downtrodden. This compassion was forged during the formative stage of the emergence of the Jewish nation -- in the crucible of slavery.
Thus the Seder table is laden with symbols of suffering: the bitter herbs, the salt water symbolic of tears, the choroses to remind us of mortar, even the matzah, called both "the bread of freedom" and "the bread of affliction." Can you imagine a celebration of American Independence Day full of emblems of British oppression: Tory uniforms? The muskets used in the Boston Massacre? The preponderance of symbols of suffering at the Seder suggests that Passover celebrates not only our redemption, but also the suffering that led to it.
One of the four Biblical mitzvot of the Seder is to eat the bitter herbs. We are commanded not only to gaze at what is bitter or to remember it, but to actually imbibe it. Only by "swallowing" the suffering served to us do we attain redemption.
BAD=PAINFUL?
Judaism does not glorify suffering. In fact, in the High Holiday liturgy, we ask for atonement, "but not through harsh illnesses." We should never ask to be tested. Yet Judaism understands that the purpose of life is individual and collective redemption (breaking out of our limitations, fixing our shortcomings, and achieving our full spiritual potential), and that the process of redemption often involves hardship, pain, and difficulty.
One of the most pervasive illusions is that the well-lived life is characterized by ease and pleasure. Therefore, anything that intrudes on our ease and pleasure (such as illness, the birth of a handicapped child, financial loss, or the death of a loved one) is by definition "bad." For many, the very question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" presupposes the definition of "bad" as equivalent to "painful."
In the Jewish concept, the well-lived life is characterized by inner growth that creates a person of depth and compassion. Acquiring these qualities usually requires passing through challenges and hardships.
The "ease and pleasure" model produces superficial people. The "inner growth through hardship" model produces people like Dick Hoyt. The crux of the issue is: how do you define freedom? This is the unspoken question behind the Seder. Is freedom lying on the beach for a year? Escape from all pain? Or rather embracing challenges and using them as a catapult for inner growth?
The very word "Passover" [in Hebrew Pesach] alludes to "leaping over." Thus, Passover is the time to replace the paradigm of "hardship as punishment" with the paradigm of "hardship as opportunity to catapult forward."
This is not to say that suffering necessarily produces spiritual greatness. An indispensable component of the formula is how we respond to the hardships that are put in our path. Here are the possibilities:
HARDSHIP + AVOIDANCE = SPIRITUAL MEDIOCRITY
HARDSHIP + REJECTION = BITTERNESS
HARDSHIP + ACCEPTANCE = SPIRITUAL GROWTH
USING HARDSHIP AS A SPRINGBOARD = SPIRITUAL GREATNESS
THE SPRINGBOARD
Last summer, a family from Manchester, England came to Jerusalem. The father, Leon Phillips, was a successful solicitor in his early forties when he was stricken with a nearly fatal brain tumor. Five years and three major surgeries later, Leon is in a wheelchair, his once thriving legal practice defunct, the family's financial resources strained due to their huge medical costs, and their faith and optimism foundering. Sitting with them in the lobby of a Jerusalem hotel, I felt powerless to encourage them. After all, what did I know of such cataclysmic hardships?
Then suddenly it occurred to me: Take them to meet Dr. Melamed-Cohen! Dr. Melamed-Cohen, who suffers from Lou Gehrig's disease, has been completely paralyzed and on life support for ten years. In that state, he has managed to write nine books using his eye movements on a special computer. I phoned his house, and his granddaughter relayed to him my request. Dr. Melamed-Cohen's reply was swift: "Yes, come!"
With difficulty, Lucille Phillips situated her husband in a taxi, put the wheelchair in the trunk, and off we went. The elevator Dr. Melamed-Cohen had installed during the early stages of his disease carried Mr. Phillips in his wheelchair up to the Melamed-Cohens' second-floor apartment.
Then there they were, facing each other: two wheelchair-bound men whose lives had been stricken with devastating illness. In a subsequent letter, Lucille Phillips described the visit as "totally awesome":
We felt so privileged to meet [Dr. Melamed-Cohen] and have a glimpse into the way he is able to conduct his life with such faith, joy, and determination despite his paralysis. We felt honoured to have managed to converse with him and felt so welcome there... We really felt absolutely in awe of him and his family!
Dr. Melamed-Cohen has called the years since his total paralysis, "the best years of my life." When questioned how that could be, since his prior life was filled with professional accomplishments and family joy, he explained that his illness caused him to meet challenges over which he had never thought he could be victorious. He has thus attained totally unexpected levels of depth and compassion.
His life with Lou Gehrig's disease has been neither easy nor pleasurable, but it is redolent with redemption.
Sara Yoheved Rigler is now planning her May speaking tour to the U.S.Click here to view her schedule.
Author Biography:
Sara Yoheved Rigler is the author of the bestseller Holy Woman and of the new Lights from Jerusalem. She is a graduate of Brandeis University. After fifteen years of practicing and teaching meditation and Eastern philosophy, she discovered "the world''s most hidden religion: Torah Judaism." Since 1985, she has been practicing the spiritual path of Torah. She is a popular international lecturer on subjects of Jewish spirituality and also presents a highly-acclaimed workshop for women, "Dressing the Soul." She resides in the Old City of Jerusalem with her husband and children.
Her articles have appeared in: Jewish Women Speak about Jewish Matters, Chicken Soup for the Jewish Soul, and Heaven on Earth
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My Personal Redemption
by Sara Sheiner
As a survivor of child abuse, Passover has special meaning for me.
I got married without knowing it. I may have looked like a sophisticated 20-year-old to the guests at my wedding, but if you were a child who has been abused, there is a part of you that is still a crying baby, an uncomfortable adolescent, a rebellious teenager, screaming and protesting every step of the way.
I never noticed growing up. I doubt if I did grow up. It all passed in the blur that absorbed my childhood, with its unspeakable and unspoken abuse. Then, one day, several years after my wedding, I woke up. I was ready to wake up. I found myself married to a wonderful man and the mother of small children -- and my memory suddenly came back. Perhaps that is not quite true. Rather, it seeped through slowly, drenching my personality with a new identity: incest survivor.
It was the month of Nissan, before Pesach time, and I thought: "Good, it's the month of redemption." Perhaps I thought recovery and redemption would take just a month, and next month I'd be on to other things.
That was seven years ago. My redemption has been a slow one, but miraculous nonetheless. Every year at Pesach time I have new insights into the redemption from Egypt, and every year, the redemption of the Jewish people, as recounted at the Seder, gives me a new insight into my own experience.
Last year at our Seder, my 4-year-old son blithely mentioned how "they threw the Jewish baby boys in the river..." When I heard this I was sickened at the sheer cruelty and domination -- abuse -- of the Jewish experience in Egypt. I felt it viscerally, because it so closely paralleled my own. And it came to me: this is why it had to be God Himself, as told in the Haggadah: "With a strong hand and an outstretched arm, I took you out of Egypt -- I and not an angel, I and not a seraph, I and not a messenger... I am He, and no other."
The Jewish experience was worse than what I went through, which could afford be healed with a delayed recovery. The subjugation was total, physical and mental, no slave had ever escaped from Egypt. There was no rescue service, not the United Nations forces, not an army of angels, not anything but God Himself Who could have redeemed us. It was ultimate, primary healing.
And that's why to me, it is the most dramatic part of the Exodus story.
Slow Unfolding
Sometimes I feel frustrated at how far out from the source I am when it comes to healing. Not the ultimate rescue of being redeemed from bondage, with the added drama that had God waited a split-second longer there would have been nothing left to redeem. I never experienced any intervention into intolerable cycle of abuse and neglect, no rescue, no rehabilitation. It just passed in its own time. I waited out the secondary and tertiary waves of trauma, for safety and stability to build, until the memories could resurface and I could consciously start to heal.
In that time, I have grown up. I find, to my great sadness, that I cannot heal with the immediacy and intensity of a child. I feel frustrated at how slow, tortuous and undramatic is my unfolding from sickness to health, from bondage to freedom. But I wouldn't be able to do it any other way. My system has sustained so many shocks that it couldn't take another one. I would recover, then expire.
While I mourn that the child in me was injured but never had a chance to heal as a child, and even while the child in me may still be screaming for the revelation of miraculous, supernatural redemption, I can still celebrate that my healing has the more mature flavor of reality about it. My healing is happening within nature, not above it, but it is no less an act of God.
There is even an advantage to a protracted redemption: the very slowness of my healing engages my volition every step of the way, and in that sense it is a more conscious way to heal. Also, it's not everyone who could go through with it. Just as there were, among the Jews redeemed from the Egyptian bondage by God Himself, a segment of the population who wanted to go back to Egypt, there is a part of me that wants to go back. Like them, I was also born into bondage and it has the safety of familiarity.
But like them, I also have a destiny.
I don't know how I survived. I don't even think it was conscious. Just an indominatable survival instinct that must be an essential part of my character, a part deeper than I ever knew about. It kept me hanging on by whatever means I could until I came to a safe place where I could start to heal.
It's not very glorious; my children won't tell it to their children for generations. But it has its satisfactions. Now I delight in modesty; while once this would have been a travesty, considering what was going on behind closed doors. Now I have children and precious memories; once I had no memory, no baby, no nothing. Now I can, with God's help, take care of myself; not so long ago that wasn't even a possibility.
I am proud of changing myself, changing the pattern of dysfunction that has been with my family for generations. I am grateful that God took me out. I know that just as God took us of Egypt to serve Him with our fullest heart, He redeemed me for the very same reason.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/passthought/passthoughtdefault/My_Personal_Redemption.asp
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Weekly Sermonette
Just Do It
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/377708/jewish/Just-Do-It.htm
By Yossy Goldman
How do you develop confidence when you don't have it? How does one overcome fear, nerves and anxieties? Well, without going into major psychological dissertations (which I'm not qualified to do in the first place), let's see if we can find some insight in this week's Parshah.
Everything was set for the inauguration of the sacred service in the Sanctuary. The week-long preparations had been completed. Now it was Aaron's turn to approach the altar and begin the service. But Aaron was reluctant. He still felt a sense of shame for his part in the Golden Calf episode. So Moses calls out to Aaron, "Approach the altar and perform the services." (Leviticus 9:7). Aaron did so and completed all the required tasks correctly. But what exactly did Moses say to Aaron to assuage his fears? All he said was "Come and do your thing." He never actually dealt with his issues. How did he address his concerns, his feelings of inadequacy?
Perhaps, Moses was saying: Come and do, and all your fears will be stilled. You lack confidence? Start performing the services and you will see that it fits you like a glove. You were born to be a High Priest and that's where you belong.
Moses was telling Aaron that if he would begin performing his chosen role, the rest would follow. As they say in Yiddish, Apetit kumt mit'n essen. Even if you're not hungry, if you start eating, your appetite will follow. I suppose that's why the first course in a meal is called an "appetizer." (Trust Jews when it comes to food.)
Dr Moses was dispensing sound psychological advice. The surest way of developing confidence is to begin doing that which you fear. Throwing kids in the deep end to teach them how to swim may not be everybody's cup of tea, but it usually works. Some of the finest public speakers were microphone-shy, even neurotic at first. When we lack self-assurance, confronting our fears and phobias can be the best therapy. We discover that it really wasn't all that bad after all and we actually manage better than we ever imagined. And from there our self-belief grows until we become quite relaxed about the whole thing.
I remember when I was a young rabbi just starting out in my career. One morning, the dreaded phone call came. A relatively young woman had passed away. I knew I had to go to the family to comfort them, but what would I actually tell them? Did I have answers for people who had just been bereaved of their loving wife and mother? Could I play G-d? I was pretty paralyzed for a while and fiddled with all sorts of matters of far less importance. I knew why. I was stalling. It was a case of simple procrastination because I couldn't face this most unpleasant task which I felt unqualified to deal with.
Eventually, I forced myself to go because I knew I had to. It was my job and they were waiting for me. And lo and behold! I was actually able to deal with the family and their questions. And I discovered then that they didn't really expect me to wave any magic wands or resurrect the dead or answer for G-d. They felt comforted by my presence and were grateful that I was there for them in their hour of need.
It was for me a very important lesson and a growth point in my rabbinical practice. Experience really is a fantastic teacher.
I would venture to add that it applies to each of us in our Jewish lives. So many people are reluctant to get involved. Too many are intimidated by Judaism and because they are not confident enough about synagogue protocol or their Hebrew literacy, they simply opt out--and lose out. I can attest to hundreds of Jews of every age and stage who have been in that very position and then began coming to Shul. It didn't take them long at all to feel part of the Shul family and they've never looked back. But this most spiritually gratifying part of their lives would never have been theirs if they didn't take that first brave step.
"Come and do" said Moses to his humble and hesitant brother. Aaron came and did and the rest is history.
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Life in a Day
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By Tzvi Freeman
A day is more than a passage of time -- it is a passage of life.
Before you were formed in the womb your days were crafted, numbered and set in place. They are chapters of the lessons you came here to learn, facets of the wisdom this world imparts, gateways to the treasures that belong to this lifetime alone.
Each day enters, opens its doors, tells its story, and then returns above, never to visit again. Never -- for no two days in the history of the cosmos will ever be the same.
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My Grandfather's Maror
by Chani Newman
Some bitter herbs cannot be eaten.
"You cannot understand what it was like. You can't imagine."
Suddenly our family Seder, usually exuberant with words of Torah, song, and the telling of our ancestors' exodus from Egypt, becomes more solemn, as my grandfather approaches the Hagadda with the baggage of a Holocaust survivor.
"What about all the times when God didn't save us?"
He can't help but ask the unanswerable questions which continue to haunt his thoughts. The younger generations sitting at the table grapple to explain the "answers" we tell ourselves to support our beliefs -- beliefs my grandfather himself puts into practice even after years of questioning. But as soon as he says it, describing just two graphic examples of the horror, I know my grandfather is right: "You were not there. You can never understand."
I distract myself by casting my gaze downward toward the bowl of maror (bitter herbs) sitting before me. I hold a plastic fork in my hand, using it to mix around the ground up pieces of horseradish. The tiny pieces move around the bowl easily, ready to be swallowed with a minimum amount of challenge to the taste buds.
And then, my fork hits something solid. Mixed up among the tiny pieces lies a large chunk of the original horseradish root, as solid as ever. I try to cut it and stab it with my fork, but to no avail. This piece will not be broken up tonight. It is too large, too hard, and too strong and bitter for anybody to eat whole.
I look up at my grandfather. I attempt to say something worthwhile, some words of comfort. We are still here, getting stronger, still praising God for the good. Thoughts that evil is man-made flit through my head. Thoughts that perhaps, regardless, we just can't understand, mortal humans as we are. But as my eyes turn back to the maror, silence is my response.
Why can't that chunk just go away? It's so much easier to deal with the mixture that has gone through the food processor. Frustrated, I stab at the chunk again, thinking how this piece is more connected to its root than the other pieces. This piece contains more bitterness than any of the ground up pieces.
The images will not go away from my grandfather's brain. He speaks of rabbis humiliated by Nazis who cut their skin off together with their beards, of public hangings. The pain and bitterness is rock solid, indigestible. But for myself, my brothers, my parents, the pain is ground up into tiny, palatable pieces. What can we do about the troubled solid chunk sitting in the bowl?
My eyes divert from the bowl before me and shift to the other symbolic foods on the table. They stop and rest on the lump of charoset (a mixture of sweet ingredients, including apples, wine, and nuts) on the Seder plate. We add sweet charoset to soften the maror's sharpness. The charoset, with its mortar-like texture and bloodlike ingredient of red wine, acknowledges the suffering and bitterness of the Hebrew slaves, while also introducing hope for sweetness in the future generations of our People.
The charoset contains fruits to which the eternal Jewish Nation is compared, and apples associated with Jewish women in Egypt giving birth to the next generation (Babylonian Talmud, Pesachim 114a). I peer at my family, seated around the table, and think of my new six-month-old nephew, my grandfather's first great-grandchild, whose family celebrates the holiday in far-off Israel.
Taking in the Passover spirit, I realize there is but one thing we can do to respond to my grandfather at such a Seder. We dip the maror in the charoset.
Author Biography:
Chani, a native of Long Island, has enjoyed creative writing for many years. She is a graduate of Stern College, and currently teaches preschool in Manhattan. She is also going for a Master’s degree in Jewish Philosophy at The Bernard Revel School of Judaic Studies. She recently got married and lives with her husband Yosef in Washington Heights.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/passthought/passthoughtdefault/My_Grandfathers_Maror.asp
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No Bread
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
Passover &, four questions for a financial crisis.
What insights does Passover provide into our current financial crisis that can help alleviate our collective pain?
A fresh look at the Seder's traditional four questions offers much food for thought around your Seder table.
1. Why is it that in all other years we eat bread and matzah, but this year we eat only matzah?
Bread is the staff of life. Matzah is the symbol of poverty. To make money, in slang, is to "make some bread." To be blessed with much is to "have a lot of dough." But this year as we look at our bank accounts, our retirement plans and our depleted wallets, we are all too often reminded of the "bread of affliction" our ancestors subsisted on in the land of Egypt.
Why did this happen to us? Perhaps it's because God wants us to understand a biblical truth that we seem to have forgotten. "Man does not live by bread alone" the Torah teaches. We dare not confine the strivings of our lives solely to accumulating money. We must not make material gain our sole priority. There comes a time when we have to learn to negate our overriding emphasis on "making more bread." While society stresses wealth as the primary measure of personal worth, Judaism insists that once a year on Passover, we demonstrate the moral courage to renounce the power of bread as the ultimate ruler of our lives. Surrounded by our families we declare we can survive without the trappings of luxury.
It's ironic that one of the wealthiest men in the world didn't learn this lesson until it was too late. Sam Walton was the multibillionaire CEO of Wal-Mart, the fourth largest US Corporation. As he was lying on his deathbed, he struggled to get out his last three words on earth. He had given his life for his business. In that area, he succeeded beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Yet, it was at a price. He hardly spent any time with his wife, his children, and his grandchildren. He didn't allow himself the moments of loving interaction, of playing and laughing with his loved ones. His final three words? "I blew it!" He had the billions, but by his own admission he had failed. Maybe we now should be thinking about and thanking God on Passover for this important reminder.
2. Why is it that in all other years we eat all kinds of vegetables, but this year we eat only bitter herbs?
Why does a good God sometimes make our lives not better, but bitter? The Jews asked it in Egypt with regard to their servitude. We ask it today with regard to our dwindling financial assets. It is a problem that every believer has to face in one form or another.
We can learn a great deal from a story that is told about the saintly rabbi, the Chafetz Chaim. Meeting a former student after many years, the rabbi asked about his welfare. The student, in difficult straits, responded, "Unfortunately things are very bad."
The rabbi immediately shot back, "God forbid, you are not permitted to say that. Do not ever declare that things are bad. Say instead they are bitter."
Perplexed, the student asked, "Bad, bitter -- what's the difference? My life is terrible."
"No, my son," the rabbi answered, "there is all the difference in the world between them. A medicine may be bitter but it isn't bad."
True faith requires an understanding that life often presents us with challenges -- bitter moments that temporarily leave us with an acrid taste, but help us to grow, to mature and to eventually become better human beings.
God planned the Egyptian experience for a purpose. In Deuteronomy He refers to it as "a fiery furnace" -- the way in which precious metals were purified. As harsh as it seemed at the time, it was all for a reason. The Torah tells us that the Jews who had endured and survived were all the better for it. And that too must be our hope as we confront our contemporary crisis. Yes, it is bitter -- just like a medicine that will make us better.
3. Why in all other years do we not dip even once, but in this year dip two times?
The past led many of us to believe that we could expect no dips in the economy. The good times would always roll without interruption.
It was in 1929, just before the Great Depression, that many of the brilliant economists of the time predicted that the "age of cycles" was over. The rules that limited human progress were no longer applicable. The stock market could now only go up and up. They claimed unlimited wealth was inevitable. The hubris of man clearly needed to be humbled. The crash of the 30s silenced those who had previously put all their trust in "my might and my power."
The prognosticators of our new millennium proved to be just as blind as their predecessors. They, too, assured us the old rules no longer applied, that we could spend without regard to the future, that we need not save because the value of our homes would only keep rising, that in short we were invincible and almighty.
In a striking passage, the Talmud explains why Sarah, Rebecca and Rachel were all barren from birth, requiring divine intervention in order to conceive. It was, the rabbis teach us, because "God desires the prayers of his beloved." When things come too easily to us we fall victim to a sense of entitlement. We think we no longer have to pray for blessings to come to us if they arrive even without being asked for. Prayers answered before they are spoken deny us the need and the opportunity to express them. Blessings too freely granted can also make us lose sight of our requirement for gratitude.
So we have dips in our fortunes. The good news is that they need not be permanent if we learn from them. All they ask of us is that when times are once again good we don't forget the source of our blessings.
4. Why is it that in all other years we eat either sitting or reclining, but in this year we eat only reclining?
To recline is to lean. And this year there are many who are forced to lean on others for assistance. The demands placed this year on charitable organizations are unprecedented. No one can simply sit back comfortably in his or her own chair, insensitive to the suffering of those around them.
That, in fact, is the very reason God tells us he forced our ancestors to spend all that time in Egypt before he brought them back to the Promised Land. "Be kind to the poor and to the stranger," He commands us, "because you yourselves were strangers in the land of Egypt." The purpose of Egyptian slavery was meant to teach us to empathize with the oppressed in every generation. We know what it means to be poor, to be hungry, to be mistreated. We were schooled in misery precisely so that we would not fail in our mission to be a light to the world, teaching compassion and kindness.
"This is the bread of affliction -- let all those who are hungry come and eat with us, let all those who are needy come and share our festive meal with our family." This is the way we begin our Passover Seder. It is the most fitting introduction to the holiday whose very story took place in order to teach us this lesson.
We all strive to be happy. We search for different ways to achieve this goal. What is the best way to secure it? We have tried so many different ways unsuccessfully. Social scientists have recently come to a remarkable conclusion. A recent issue of the prestigious Science magazine reveals that studies prove helping others is perhaps the most surefire way to gain personal happiness.
Strange then, isn't it, that we spend so much of our days dedicated to getting, when we would be so much better off if we put more of our efforts into giving. We could all learn much from Michael Bloomberg, the self-made billionaire founder of the Bloomberg financial information firm and New York Mayor, who donated $235 million in 2008, making him the leading individual living donor in the United States, according to The Chronicle of Philanthropy. In explaining his philosophy, he said he intends to give away most of his fortune, because "the best measure of a philanthropist is that the check he leaves to the undertaker bounces." And that will insure that he dies a very happy man.
These explanations may not resolve our pressing contemporary problems, but they do permit us to realize that there are profound issues implicit in the divine reaction to our difficulties that transcend our understanding. Our struggle for meaning must always be matched with our firm belief that the God who cared enough for us to perform miracles in days of old continues to love us in the same measure to help us overcome our present crises. That is, after all, why we celebrate Passover.
Author Biography:
Rabbi Benjamin Blech is the author of 12 highly acclaimed books, including Understanding Judaism: The basics of Deed and Creed. He is a professor of Talmud at Yeshiva University and the Rabbi Emeritus of Young Israel of Oceanside which he served for 37 years and from which he retired to pursue his interests in writing and lecturing around the globe. He is also the author of "If God is Good, Why is the World So Bad?"
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/passthought/passthoughtdefault/No_Bread.asp
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The Freedom Connection
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By Tzvi Freeman
We are limited by the very fact that we have human form. There is no freedom in following our whim, only further slavery to our own limited selves. Freedom can only come by connecting to something infinite and beyond us.
And so Moses was told, "When you take the people out from Egypt, you shall all serve G-d on this mountain."
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http://www.chabad.org/holidays/passover/pesach_cdo/aid/869584/jewish/The-Salted-and-Purified-Rebuke.htm
The Salted and Purified Rebuke
By Dovid Zaklikowski
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/41/mEHE414269.jpg)
What is a culture, an art and, many will claim, a talent?
The passion of rebuke.
We all have something to say about what everyone else is up to. We are quick to criticize and rebuke our friends, neighbors, educators, and leaders.
There is a huge industry, in fact, surrounding the phenomenon of discussing what other people are doing: Talk Radio. The New York Times recently reported that opinion-based news shows on stations such as FOX and MSNBC trump the old fashioned news on CNN. Most of these conversations center on public officials' actions, their policies, and gaffes.
The Torah teaches us to rebuke our fellows for their wrongdoings, as stated in Leviticus (19:17), "You shall surely rebuke your fellow." Discrete rebuke, with the intention of bringing about change in the rebuked individual, has always been part of Jewish practice.
The Passover meal celebrated in Jewish homes across the globe, known as the Seder, is divided into fifteen steps. The order of these steps contains many lessons for our daily lives. One of these lessons involves the appropriate way to rebuke our fellows.
We all have something to say about what everyone else is up to Towards the beginning of the Seder are some interesting, and seemingly bizarre, customs. We ritually wash our hands, referred to as "purification," or Urchatz in Hebrew. We then have a piece of a vegetable, known as Karpas, dipped in salt-water. Then we take the middle of our three thin matzahs and break it in half, known as Yachatz. The smaller half of the matzah is returned to the Seder plate, while the larger half is hidden until the end of the night, when it is eaten prior to the Grace after Meals.
One of the reasons for breaking the matzah is because matzah also commemorates the bread of the poor—thin cracker bread. As slaves in Egypt, the Israelites would eat this broken and cheap bread.
Yet the order of the Seder is peculiar. Why don't we break the matzah earlier, prior to the washing of the hands and the dipping of the vegetable? Shouldn't the entire Seder be over this broken matzah, which holds so much meaning for the Passover experience?
The broken spirit represented by the broken matzah could refer to any individual who is down because of a mistake or wrongdoing. The breaking of the matzah is also a symbol for rebuking—the breaking of the spirit.
As individuals, we sometimes silently enjoy putting down the other so that we could be elevated at their expense As individuals, we sometimes silently enjoy putting down the other so that we could be elevated at their expense. Our intention, in these cases, is not G‑dly; nor will it make a difference in the person we are rebuking.
When coming to rebuke another, we must first wash our hands. We need to purify ourselves spiritually, thus removing any personal agendas which would result in damaging rebuke.
We then need to dip that satisfaction we might've received, symbolized by the good vegetable, in saltwater, to remove, to erode, the egotistic layers which cause us to put down others. The salt reveals the essence of good in us, the kinder source in our hearts.
Only then, when there is no other reason beside goodly intention, should one rebuke.
When rebuke is given in this way, coming from the heart, from the depth of good, it will surely enter the heart of the other, and bring about meaningful improvement.
Adapted from the written notes of Passover commentary of my grandfather, the venerated scholar and teacher Rabbi Chaim Meir Bukiet, of blessed memory
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http://www.aish.com/passthought/passthoughtdefault/The_Story_of_a_Prayer_.asp
The story of a prayerby Sarah Shapiro
as told by Joseph Freuchtwanger, nephew of Rabbi Davids
It was erev Pesach, 1944. The entire Jewish community of Rotterdam -- men, women, and children -- had just been transferred from Vesterbork, a deportation camp in Holland, to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Germany.
Conditions in Vesterbork had been harsh, but continued religious observance had to a remarkable extent preserved the Jews' dignity and their will to live. Under the leadership of the loved and revered Torah scholar Rabbi Aharon (Bernard) Davids, some semblance of communal cohesiveness and optimism had been sustained. Upon arrival at Bergen-Belsen, however, daily existence took a sudden, overwhelmingly drastic turn for the worse, as most of the things that make a human being feel human were taken away. In what for us -- some 60 years later -- has become a familiar yet impossible-to-imagine scenario, families were divided, people starved, the absurdly hard labor broke body and soul, and disease was spreading fast.
Matzah for the Seder was, of course, unavailable.
Rabbi Davids, then in his early forties -- whose wife and three children had been separated from him upon arrival in the camp -- yearned to keep the spirit of his family and flock alive, even as their physical strength ebbed. Yet under such calamitous circumstances, refraining from eating chametz would surely bring on illness and death for an unknown number of Jews. What should be done during the week of Passover with their small daily rations of bread?
He conferred with other rabbinical authorities in the camp, and after anguished and lengthy discussion of this dilemma, they agreed upon a course of action.
On the 14th of Nisan, the Seder night, Rabbi Davids sat at the head of the long table in the male barracks, conducting the ceremony not from a Haggadah -- for of course there was none -- but from memory. When he reached the blessing, "...Who has sanctified us by His commandments and commanded us to eat matzah..." he lifted up his voice and clearly recited the following prayer, as later translated into English by Prof. Harold Fisch:
Heavenly Father, it is manifest and known to You that we desire to carry out your will in regard to the commandment of eating matzah, and strictly refraining from chametz on the Festival of Pesach. But we are sick at heart at being prevented in this by reason of the oppression and mortal danger in which we find ourselves. We stand ready to perform Your commandments of which it is said, "You shall do them and live by them," (Vayikra 18:5) that is to say, you shall live by them and not die by them. And accordingly we heed Your warning, as it is written: "Take heed to thyself and keep thy soul alive." (Devarim 4:9) Therefore we beseech You that You will keep us in life and establish us and redeem us speedily from our servitude so that we may in time come to perform Your statutes and carry out Your will with a perfect heart. Amen.
He then reached for a piece of bread and took a bite, thereby urging his brethren to do likewise.
Rabbi Davids, along with his son Elijah, died shortly before the liberation of Bergen-Belsen by the allied forces.
His wife Erika and their daughters, along with approximately 2,800 others, were evacuated by train from the camp. During the two-week journey to nowhere, 570 died and were buried in a mass grave somewhere along the way. Those who survived the trip were abandoned by the Nazis near the East German village of Troebits.
In 1947, Erika emigrated with her daughters to the land of Israel, taking with her a copy of the prayer that her husband had composed. She died in a Herzliya nursing home in1997.
Each year, her family and its descendants read the prayer aloud on the Seder night, to hear again how Rabbi Davids asked for God's help, beseeching a shattered people to do the unthinkable and live, not die, by them.
This article originally appeared in Jewish Action, the magazine of the Orthodox Union.
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http://www.chabad.org/holidays/passover/pesach_cdo/aid/488371/jewish/Split-Your-Sea.htm
"To match couples together is as difficult as the splitting of the sea," states the Talmud.1
What is the meaning behind these words? True, the process of finding and maintaining a life partner may be challenging and difficult, nothing short of a miracle. But why, of all miracles described in the Bible, does the Talmud choose specifically the miracle of the splitting of the sea to capture the process of marriage?
A Map of the Subconscious
What is the difference between the land and the sea? Both are vibrant and action-filled enviroments populated by a myriad of creatures and a great variety of minerals and vegetation. Yet the universe of dry land is exposed and out in the open for all to see and appreciate, while the world of the sea is hidden beneath a blanket of water.
In Jewish mysticism (Kabbalah and Chassidic spirituality), these two physical planes reflect the conscious and unconscious dimensions of the human psyche.2 Both parts of the self are extremely vibrant and dynamic. The difference between them is that while our conscious self is displayed and exhibited for ourselves and others to feel and experience, our subconscious self remains hidden, not only from other people but even from ourselves. Most of us know very little of what is going on in the sub-cellars of our psyche.
If you were given a glimpse into your own "sea" and discovered the universe of personality hidden beneath your conscious brain, what do you think you would find? Shame, fear, guilt, pain, insecurity, an urge to destroy, to survive, to dominate, a cry for love? Would you discover Freud's Libido, Jung's collective unconscious, Adler's search for power and control, Frankl's quest for meaning?
Where Freud diagnosed the libido as a craving for a parent, and Jung saw it as a longing etched in our collective unconscious, the Kabbalah understood it as a quest for union with G-d In Kabbalah, at the core of the human condition is a yearning for oneness. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), founder of the Chabad school of Kabbalah, was one of the greatest soul-experts in the history of Judaism, has written on the subject more then any other Jewish sage. In 1796, a hundred years before Freud, he published a book, the Tanya, in which he presented his "map of the subconscious," based on the Talmudic and Kabbalistic tradition. Rabbi Schnuer Zalman offers a facinating parable for the inner life of the soul: quoteing the biblical verse, "The soul of man is a divine flame" (Proverbs 20:27), he explains that just as the flame is always swaying, dancing, licking the air, seeking to tear free of the wick and rise heavenward, so too the soul in man is always aspiring to leave its shell and experience oneness with the divine.
The Secret of Intimacy
This quest for a relationship with the divine is manifested in our search for relationships with our twin flame here below. Where Freud diagnosed the libido as a craving for union with a parent, and Jung saw it as a longing for the opposite gender etched in our collective unconscious, the Kabbalah understood it as a quest for union with G-d. Our desire for intimacy is one of the profoundest expressions of our existential craving for Truth, for Oneness, for G-d.
As the Book of Genesis states, "G-d created Man in His image, in the image of G-d He created him; male and female He created them." Clearly, it was in the union and oneness of the genders that the first Adam, the first human being, reflected the image of G-d.
This view of relationships and intimacy is expressed in the very Hebrew names for man and woman given by Adam in Genesis. The Hebrew words for man and woman -- Ish and Isah -- both contain the Hebrew word for fire, Eish. They also each contain one more letter--a yud and a hei respectively--which when combined makes up G-d's name. The significance of this is profound. Man without woman, and woman without man, lack the fullness of G-d's name. When they unite, the two-half images of the divine within them also unite. The fire and passion drawing them to each other is their yearning to recreate the full name of G-d between them.
At a Jewish wedding ceremony, this blessing is recited: Blessed are You, G-d, King of the Universe, Who created the human being in His image... Why is this blessing said at a wedding ceremony? Wouldn't it be more appropriate to say such a blessing when a child is born? The answer is that it is through the uniting of man and woman that the image of G-d is most closely reflected.
Our desire for intimacy is one of the profoundest expressions of our existential craving for TruthThe ramifications of this idea are important. It means that marriage is not a suspension of one's natural individual self for the sake of uniting with a stranger. Rather, through marriage man and woman return to their true natural state, a single being reflecting G-d, each in his and her own unique way. Marriage allows wife and husband to discover their full and complete self, a self made up of masculine and feminine energy.
Know Thyself
We may travel through life unaware of this dimension of self, seeking oneness with the divine. Throughout our years on this planet we may behave as though this element of self does not exist. Though its symptoms reverberate through our consciousness -- most often in the feelings of emptiness and lack of contentment when our spiritual self is un-satiated -- we are prone to dismiss it or deny it. After all, at least in the short term, it is far easier to accept that we are nothing more than intelligent beasts craving self-gratification than spiritual souls craving for G-d.
When we view the surface self, selfishness is easier than selflessness; isolation more natural than relationship; solitariness more innate than love and commitment. Only when we "split our sea," when we discover the depth of our souls, the subtle vibrations of our subconscious, do we discover that oneness satisfies our deepest core; that love is the most natural expression of our most profound selves.
"To match couples together is as difficult as the splitting of the sea," the Talmud states. The challenge in creating and maintaining a meaningful and powerful relationship is the need to split our own seas each day, to learn how in the depth of our spirits we yearn to love and share our lives with another human being and with our creator.3
FOOTNOTES
1. Talmud, Sotah 2a. The Talmud is discussing second marriages, however, in many Jewish works, this quote is applied to all marriage (see for example Akeidas Yitzchak Parshas Vayeishev).
2. This notion of viewing the macrocosm as a metaphor for the microcosm is central to all Jewish writings. "Man is a miniature universe," our sages have declared (Midrash Tanchumah Pekudei 3), a microcosm of the entire created existence. The human being thus includes the elements of the land as well as the elements of the sea -- man has both a terrestrial and an aquatic aspect to his life. In Kabbalah terminology, the sea is defined as alma d'eiskasya, the "hidden world," while land is described as alma d'eitgalya, the "revealed world" (Torah Or Parshas Beshalach).
3. This essay is based on a discourse by the second Chabad-Lubavitch Rebbe, Rabbi DovBer (1773-1827), known as the Miteler Rebbe. (Published in Maamarei Admur Haemtzaei, Kuntrasim, Derushei Chasunah.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qzg9yoaW2XY&feature=PlayList&p=B4C3C8D2C60085DE&index=0&playnext=1
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qzg9yoaW2XY&feature=PlayList&p=B4C3C8D2C60085DE&index=0&playnext=1[/youtube]
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Chassidic Masters
Consumed
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
A central event in the Parshah of Shemini is the death of Aaron's two elder sons, Nadav and Avihu, who "offered a strange fire before G-d, which He had not commanded" the result being that "A fire went out from G-d and consumed them, and they died before G-d."
There is much in the Torah's account, and in the words of our Sages, that implies that Nadav and Avihu's act of was not a "sin" per se. The Torah records Moses' words to Aaron immediately following the tragedy: "This is what G-d spoke, saying: 'I shall be sanctified by those who are close to Me.'" Rashi, citing the Talmud and Midrash, explains his meaning:
Moses said to Aaron, "When G-d said 'I shall be sanctified by those close to Me,' I thought it referred to me or you; now I see that they are greater then both of us."
Rabbi Chaim ibn Attar writes in his Ohr Hachaim commentary on Torah:
[Theirs was] a death by Divine 'kiss' like that experienced by the perfectly righteous--it is only that the righteous die when the Divine 'kiss' approaches them, while they died by their approaching it.... Although they sensed their own demise, this did not prevent them from drawing near [to G-d] in attachment, delight, delectability, fellowship, love, kiss and sweetness, to the point that their souls ceased from them."
The Chassidic masters explain that life--the retention of a spiritual soul within a physical body--entails a tenuous balance between two powerful forces in the soul: ratzo (striving, running away) and shuv (return, settling). Ratzo is the soul's striving for transcendence, its yearning to tear free of the entanglements of material life and achieve a self-nullifying reunion with its Creator and Source. At the same time, however, every human soul is also possesses shuv--a will for actualization, a commitment to live a physical life and make an imprint upon a physical world.
Thus the verse (Proverbs 20:27) calls the soul of man "a lamp of G-d." The lamp's flame surges upwards, as if to tear free from the wick and lose itself in the great expanses of energy that gird the heavens. But even as it strains heavenward, the flame is also pulling back, tightening its grip on the wick and drinking thirstily of the oil in the lamp that sustains its continued existence as an individual flame. And it is this tension of conflicting energies, this vacillation from being to dissolution and back again, that produces light.
So, too, with the soul of man. The striving to escape physical life is checked by the will to be and achieve, which is in turn checked by the striving for spirituality and transcendence. When a person's involvements with the world threaten to overwhelm him and make him their prisoner, the soul's ratzo resists this by awakening his inherent desire to connect with his source in G-d; and when a person's spirituality threatens to carry him off to the sublime yonder, the soul's shuv kicks in, arousing a desire for physical life and worldly achievement. Together, the conflict and collision of these two drives produce a flame that illuminates its surroundings with a G-dly light: a life that escapes the pull of earth even as it interacts with it and develops it in harmony with the soul's spiritual vision.
So the "Divine fire" that consumed the souls of Nadav and Avihu is the very fire that is intrinsic to every soul: the soul's burning desire to tear free of the physical trappings that distance it from its Source. Nadav and Avihu "came close to G-d" by indulging and fuelling their soul's ratzo the point that it overpowered its shuv, and they broke free of the "cycle" of life. Thus their souls literally severed their connection with their bodies and were utterly consumed in ecstatic reunion with G-d.
This, however, was a "strange fire," a fire that "G-d had not commanded." Man was not created to consume his material being in a fire of spiritual ecstasy. Although He imbued our souls with the drive for self-transcendence, G-d wants us to anchor our fervor to reality. He wants us to "settle" this yearning within our physical self, to absorb it and make it part of our everyday life and experience.
Following the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, G-d specifically commanded that their example should not be repeated:
And G-d spoke to Moses after the death of Aaron's two sons, who came close to G-d and died: "... Speak to Aaron your brother, that he come not at all times into the Holy... So that he die not..." (Leviticus 16:1-2).
The Lubavitcher Rebbe adds: The purpose of this Divine command was not to limit the degree of self-transcendence and closeness to G-d attainable by man. On the contrary: the commandment empowered us to accommodate, as a physically alive human beings, the very fire that consumed the souls of Nadav and Avihu. Hence the "strange fire" of Aaron's two sons was also "strange" in a positive sense: an unprecedented act that introduced opened a new vista in man's service of G-d.
This, says the Rebbe, is the meaning of a remark attributed to the founder of the Chassidic movement, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov: "It is only out of a great kindness on the part of the Almighty that one remains alive after prayer."
Prayer is the endeavor to transcend the enmeshments of material life and come close to one's essence and source in G-d. When a person truly achieves this closeness--when he truly prays--he can experience an attachment to G-d of the magnitude that "released" the souls of Nadav and Avihu. But G-d has enabled us (in the very act of commanding us to do so) to incorporate such sublime experiences into our daily, humanly defined lives.
So life's constant to-and-fro movement is more than a cycle that runs from existence to oblivion and back. It is, rather, an upward spiral: man escapes his finite self, but is driven back to make his transcendent achievements an integral part of his individual being; brought back to earth, his "escapist" nature now reasserts itself, compelling him to reach beyond the horizon of his new, expanded self as well; transcending his new self, his shuv once again draws him back to reality.
Back and forth, upward and on, the flame of man dances, his two most basic drives conspiring to propel him to bridge ever-wider gulfs between transcendence and immanence, between the ideal and the real.
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson; adapted by Yanki Tauber
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/332496/jewish/Two-Candles-for-Sammy.htm
Two Candles for Sammy
By Simon Wiesenthal
I first heard of Sammy Rosenbaum in 1965, when a Mrs. Rawicz from Rabka came into my office in Vienna to testify at a War Crimes trial. Mrs. Rawicz remembered Sammy Rosenbaum as "a frail boy, with a pale, thin face and big, dark eyes, who looked much older than his age -- as did many children who learned too early about life." Sammy was nine years old in 1939 when the Germans entered Rabka and made life a nightmare.
Sammy's father was a tailor who lived in two musty rooms and a tiny kitchen in an old house. But they were happy and religious. Every Friday night Sammy went with his father to the synagogue, after his mother and sister lit the Shabbat candles.
In 1940 the SS set up a training center in a former Polish Army barracks near Rabka. In the early phase of the war, the SS platoons shot their victims; fifty, a hundred, even a hundred and fifty people a day.
The SS men were being hardened at Rabka so they would become insensitive to blood, to the agonizing cries of women and children. The job must be done with a minimum of fuss and maximum of efficiency. That was a Fuhrerbefehl -- the Fuhrer's order.
The school commander was SS Untersturmfuhrer Wilhelm Rosenbaum from Hamburg. Cynical and brutal, he walked around with a riding crop. "His appearance frightened us," the woman from Rabka remembered.
Early in 1942, SS Rosenbaum ordered all Rabka's Jews to appear at the local school to "register." The sick and the elderly would be deported, and the others would labor for the Wehrmacht.
Toward the end of the registration, SS Fuhrer Rosenbaum appeared, accompanied by two deputies, Hermann Oder and Walter Proch. SS Fuhrer Rosenbaum read through the list of names. "Suddenly, he beat his riding crop hard on the table," the woman from Rabka told me. "We each winced as if we had been whipped." SS man Rosenbaum shouted: "What's this? Rosenbaum? Jews! How dare these verdammte Juden have my good German name?"
He threw the list on the table and strode out. We knew the Rosenbaums would be killed; it was only a matter of time. People would be executed because their name was Rosenberg, or if their first name happened to be Adolf or Hermann.
The Police school practiced executions in a clearing in the woods. SS students shot Jews and Poles rounded up by the Gestapo, while SS Fuhrer Rosenbaum observed students' reactions with clinical detachment. If a student flinched, he was removed from the execution squad and sent to the front.
After the registration, Mrs. Rawicz worked in the police school as a charwoman. "When the SS men came back from the clearing in the woods I had to clean their boots covered with blood." It was a Friday morning in June 1942. Two SS men escorted "the Jew Rosenbaum," his wife, and their fifteen-year-old daughter Paula. Behind them came SS Fuhrer Rosenbaum.
"The woman and the girl were marched around the schoolhouse and then I heard some shots," the witness said. "I saw SS man Rosenbaum beat our Rosenbaum with his riding crop, shouting: 'You dirty Jews, I'll teach you a lesson for having my German name!' Then the SS man took his revolver and shot Rosenbaum the tailor two or three times. Then the SS sent an unarmed kapo (Jewish policeman) to the quarry to get Sammy.
He went to Zakryty in a horse drawn cart. He stopped and waved at Sammy Rosenbaum. Everybody in the quarry stared -- the Jewish laborers and the SS guards. Sammy put the stone in his hands on the truck, and walked toward the cart.
Sammy looked up at the kapo. "Where are they?" he asked - "Father, Mother, and Paula. Where?" The kapo just shook his head.
Sammy understood. "They're dead." He muttered, and spoke matter-of-factly: "Our name is Rosenbaum, and now you've come for me." He stepped up and sat down next to the kapo.
The policeman had expected the boy to cry, perhaps run away. Riding out to Zakryty, the policeman wondered how he might have forewarned the boy, allow him to disappear in the woods, where the Polish underground might help him. Now it was too late. The SS guards were watching.
The kapo told Sammy what had happened that morning. Sammy asked if they could stop for a moment at his house. When they got there, he stepped down and walked into the front room, leaving the door open. He looked over the table with the half-filled teacups left from breakfast. He looked at the clock. It was half past three. Father, Mother and Paula were already buried, and no one had lit a candle for them. Slowly methodically, Sammy cleaned off the table and put the candlesticks on it.
"I could see Sammy from the outside," the kapo told Mrs. Rawicz. "He put on his skullcap, and lit the candles. Two for his father, two for his mother, two for his sister. And he prayed. I saw his lips moving. He said Kaddish for them." Kaddish is the prayer for the dead. Father Rosenbaum always said Kaddish for his dead parents, and had shown Sammy the prayer. Now he was the only one left in his family. He stood quietly, looking at the six candles.
The Jewish policeman outside saw Sammy slowly shaking his head, as though he suddenly remembered something. Then Sammy placed two more candles on the table, took a match and lit them, and prayed.
"The boy knew he was already dead," the policeman said later. "He lit the candles and said Kaddish for himself."
Sammy came out, and sat down near the kapo, who was crying. The boy didn't cry. The kapo wiped away his tears with the back of his hand and pulled the reins, but the tears kept coming. The boy didn't say a word. He gently touched the older man's arm, to comfort him -- to forgive him for taking him away.
They rode to the clearing in the woods, where SS Fuhrer Rosenbaum and his students waited.
"About time!" screamed the SS man.
No tombstone bears Sammy Rosenbaum's name. No one might have remembered him if the woman from Rabka had not come into my office. But every year, one day in June, I light two candles for him and say Kaddish
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/332493/jewish/This-Is-My-Torah-Scroll.htm
"This Is My Torah Scroll"
By Ruth Benjamin
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/135229.jpg)
Henryk was very young in 1945, when the War ended and solitary survivors tried frantically to trace their relatives. He had spent what seemed to be most of his life with his nanny, who had hidden him away from the Nazis at his father's request. There was great personal risk involved, but the woman had readily taken it, as she loved the boy.
All the Jews were being killed, and Henryk's nanny did not think for a moment that the father, Joseph Foxman, would survive the infamous destruction of the Vilna Ghetto. He would surely have been transferred to Auschwitz -— and everyone knew that nobody ever came back from Auschwitz. She therefore had no scruples about adopting the boy, having him baptized into the Catholic Church and taught catechism by the local priest.
He told his son that he was a Jew and that his name was Avraham
It was Simchat Torah when his father came to take him. The heartbroken nanny had packed all his clothing and his small catechism book, stressing to the father that the boy had become a good Catholic. Joseph Foxman took his son by the hand and led him directly to the Great Synagogue of Vilna. On the way, he told his son that he was a Jew and that his name was Avraham.
Not far from the house, they passed the church and the boy reverently crossed himself, causing his father great anguish. Just then, a priest emerged who knew the boy, and when Henryk rushed over to kiss his hand, the priest spoke to him, reminding him of his Catholic faith.
Everything inside of Joseph wanted to drag his son away from the priest and from the church. But he knew that this was not the way to do things. He nodded to the priest, holding his son more closely. After all, these people had harbored his child and saved the child's life. He had to show his son Judaism, living Judaism, and in this way all these foreign beliefs would be naturally abandoned and forgotten.
They entered the Great Synagogue of Vilna, now a remnant of a past, vibrant Jewish era. There they found some Jewish survivors from Auschwitz who had made their way back to Vilna and were now rebuilding their lives and their Jewish spirits. Amid the stark reality of their suffering and terrible loss, in much diminished numbers, they were singing and dancing with real joy while celebrating Simchat Torah.
Avraham stared wide-eyed around him and picked up a tattered prayer book with a touch of affection. Something deep inside of him responded to the atmosphere, and he was happy to be there with the father he barely knew. He held back, though, from joining the dancing.
A Jewish man wearing a Soviet Army uniform could not take his eyes off the boy, and he came over to Joseph. "Is this child... Jewish?" he asked, a touch of awe in his voice.
"This is the first live Jewish child I have come across in all this time..."
The father answered that the boy was Jewish and introduced his son. As the soldier stared at Henryk-Avraham, he fought to hold back tears. "Over these four terrible years, I have traveled thousands of miles, and this is the first live Jewish child I have come across in all this time. Would you like to dance with me on my shoulders?" he asked the boy, who was staring back at him, fascinated.
The father nodded permission, and the soldier hoisted the boy high onto his shoulders. With tears now coursing down his cheeks and a heart full of real joy, the soldier joined in the dancing.
"This is my Torah scroll," he cried.
Abe Foxman, the national director of the Anti-Defamation League -- the Avraham in our story -- remembers this as his first conscious feeling of a connection with Judaism and of being a Jew.
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By Ruth Benjamin More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Originally published in Kosher Spirit
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The Source
By Tzvi Freeman
It's not that Abraham and Moses gave the world the ideas of morality and value of life. These ideas were known to Adam and to Noah -- only that with time, humankind had mostly forgotten them.
What these giants brought to the world was a greater idea: That the values essential to humanity's survival can only endure when they are seen as an outcome of monotheism. They must be tied to an underlying reality, and that reality is the knowledge of a Oneness that brings us into being.
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Rachel, you are quite the Rebbetzin, thank you.
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Thanks Shadow Guy.
http://www.aish.com/societyWork/arts/The_Hitchhikers_Guide_to_God.asp
The Hitchhiker's Guide to God
by Elliot Olshansky
You need to find the right question for the answer to make sense.
For as much as there is wrong with Facebook -- endless status updates about minutiae of our friends' lives, for starters, not to mention potential consequences in our professional lives from ill-advised photos or comments -- one thing I love about the program is its ability to reconnect us with friends and family members whom we may have lost contact with for whatever reason.
Recently, Facebook allowed me to reconnect with a friend from high school, whom I hadn't seen in years. Unfortunately, she's been through a great deal of hardship in the last few years, including some that requires heavy medication. She told me that she sometimes feels like she ought to be dead.
She challenged me to tell her why she shouldn't be dead.
My reaction was instant and instinctive. I told her that she should never say or think such a thing. Her response was to tell me about some of the physical and emotional pain she'd suffered in recent years, and the physical pain she still suffers now. She challenged me to tell her why she shouldn't be dead.
Her descriptions of her life since we'd last seen each other were shocking, and I could tell that under the circumstances, words like "Things happen for a reason" or "God works in mysterious ways," would come off as little more than empty platitudes.
Instead, I wound up telling her about the day I discovered a kabbalistic connection in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
The 42-Letter Name
I was blessed to spend my 27th birthday in Israel, having just gotten in under the age limit for one of Aish's Birthright trips. The main focus of our day was a trip to Tzfat. After touring some of the holiest and most important sites in the city, taking a break for lunch, and doing some shopping, our group visited the gallery of Avraham Lowenthal, who presented some of his mystical art.
Having grown up in a reform congregation, and currently being part of an unaffiliated one, I was unfamiliar with many of the concepts explored in Lowenthal's works, and as he described them, I was intrigued. What fascinated me most was his representation of Ana Bekoach, and explanation of the 42-letter Holy Name. Upon hearing for the first time that God has a name 42 letters long, a light bulb went off in my head.
I was in middle school when I read Douglas Adams' book, and was fuzzy on many of the details, but one main plot point had always stuck with me. A hyper-intelligent pan-dimensional race had built a giant supercomputer, called Deep Thought, to compute the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything. After seven and a half million years of computing time, Deep Thought gives the answer: 42. The pan-dimensional beings are stunned until Deep Thought explains that they need to find the actual Question of Life, the Universe and Everything in order for the answer to make any sense. Another computer is constructed to discover the question, that computer being the Earth...but we'll get to that later.
For years after reading the book, even as I forgot many other elements of the story, I would still answer any questions as to the "meaning of life" with a joking response of "42." To learn about the 42-letter Holy Name -- and that my longtime joke actually had a spiritual meaning -- simply blew my mind. And I now have Lowenthal's representation of Ana Bekoach hanging in my apartment.
Recently, though, another element to the Hitchhiker's Guide/Kabbalah connection occurred to me. In Adams' story, the Earth is created to discover the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything, a question many of us have undoubtedly given some amount of thought to. There is so much that we don't understand about the world, so much that we question. At some level, we know that God has the answer, or, going back to the 42-letter Holy Name, God could actually be the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything. Yet still, we remain confused in many ways.
Are we all like the fourth son who does not know how to ask?
Could it be, looking back to Passover, that we are all, in our own ways, like the fourth son who does not know how to ask?
The Right Question
I told my friend about going to Tzfat and making the connection to the Hitchhiker's Guide, and said that while I certainly didn't know what the right question was, her question of why she shouldn't be dead wasn't it. While I was discussing this with her, another thought popped into my head, another reason why she wouldn't be better off dead.
It was a quote from Jackie Robinson, now immortalized in the rotunda dedicated to him at the New York Mets' new stadium: "A life is not important, except for the impact it has on other lives."
As I shared the quote with my friend, saying with conviction that her life can still impact others, I realized that it made perfect sense for me to think about Robinson while discussing Kabbalah and the Hitchhiker's Guide.
Robinson's now-retired jersey number is, after all, 42.
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Reporting
By Tzvi Freeman
He doesn't need you to report on the dirt in His world. He is quite aware of its existence, He put it there and doesn't really care to hear about it.
He sent you here to search out the jewels hidden in the mud, clean them and polish them until they shine. And when you bring them to Him, the angels make a crown of them for Him, saying, "Look what Your children have made for You out of the mud!"
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The Inner Plane
By Tzvi Freeman
We balance two planes of being.
An outer world, in which we are helplessly carried down a stream and told, "Now is winter, soon will come spring, then summer, then autumn, then winter again. The unborn will live, the living will whither and die, a world will continue as it must be."
And an inner world, of which we are master. In which we choose that life will be life and death will have meaning and the world we enter and leave behind will be filled with purpose.
The outer world is but a stage. The inner world is its soul for which it was brought into being.
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"A kiss is the highest form of speech because you can talk and listen at the same time."
Unknown
http://www.wzo.org.il/en/resources/view.asp?id=892&subject=186
The Struggle Over The Temple Mount
By: Chaim Yochanan Cohen
The Temple Mount. In Hebrew, Har HaBayit. No other religious site arouses as much passion and controversy as this particular piece of real estate. Within the context of Israel's present-day situation, control over Jerusalem's destiny is like the fury of a hurricane, with the Temple Mount encompassing the very eye of the storm. Endless political and historical commentaries have been written about this particular storm. However, standard textbooks cannot explain the deeper underpinnings of the existential struggle for control over the Temple Mount. Fortunately, the esoteric writings of the Kabbalah provide lucid answers not only to the multi-faceted triumphs and tribulations of daily life for the Jew, but also to the core mystery surrounding the Temple Mount.
PSEUDO-MTV?
The Zohar, the primary treatise of the Kabbalah, made its appearance during the 1280's or 1290's in Spain. Moses de Leon (1250-1305) is considered to have published the work in the name of the original author: the second-century Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Known as the Rashbi, bar Yochai lived during the aftermath of the destruction of the Second Temple (70 CE).
Since de Leon's revelation, a select cadre of religious mystics and scholarly Talmudists hid Kabbalistic teachings from the inquisitive gaze of the masses. Today such a vanguard no longer maintains exclusive rights. In fact, schools of Kabbalah are flourishing worldwide; even pop-singer Madonna has joined the bandwagon!
And yet, for all its present-day fanfare, there is a sense that the Kabbalah's appeal for our generation is not the pseudo-MTV apparition soon to vanish before the next onslaught of new-age mystical fads.
If anything, the nearly 2,000 years which have elapsed since the teachings were first recorded have lent a degree of credibility to this tome unsurpassed in the annals of religious mystical doctrine.
A KISS IS NOT JUST A KISS
To dig more deeply into our subject of the Temple Mount, we need some background information on several concepts as perceived from Jewish mysticism.
Let us begin with the Gemara's description of the Temple Mount as “the place where Heaven and Earth kiss.” (Bava Basra 74a).
This seemingly simple and poetic description requires us to understand the mystical concept of a “kiss.” (The ideas which follow are taken primarily from the mystical work “Nefesh HaChaim” by Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, 1749-1821, a leading student of the Vilna Gaon.)
Jewish mysticism describes the mouth as the quintessential organ of connection. The mouth serves a number of distinct functions: eating, speaking, breathing, and of course, kissing. This, according to the Kabbalah, means that all these aspects of the mouth's functionality are somehow intertwined.
1. Eating. Food fuses the physicality of the finite body with the spiritual infinite soul. We grow faint without food, and if the soul begins to take further leave, we lose consciousness. Eventually the soul would take leave permanently (i.e. death) without sufficient food or water. The mouth therefore connects the body and soul by providing the “mystical glue” which binds the two opposite spectrums of physicality and spirituality.
2. Speaking. Words represent a most intimate form of connection with others. They reveal to the highest degree possible what we seek to share about inner selves. The word “davar” in Hebrew means “thing;” it also means “speech.” Not only do we therefore create new realities with our speech, but our ability to speak is one of the key distinctions separating humanity from the animal kingdom. In short, the mouth connects our inner-created realities with their outer-reality counterparts.
3. Breathing. The first Man, as recorded in the the beginning of the Book of Genesis, was formed from “the dust of the ground, and He blew into his nostrils the soul of life.” (Genesis, 2:7) Man is therefore a divine combination of raw material and refined spiritual matter. The Zohar states that “one who blows, blows from within.” This indicates that Man's soul is in direct connection with G-d's essence.
4. Kissing. What does a kiss have to do with showing affection? What is the attraction of such an unhygienic mode of behavior? Surely, there must be other, less sloppy ways of expressing sympathy, caring, and love. And yet, universally this is our way of establishing a most intimate connection with another. The organ which bonds body and soul through eating, the organ which connects our soul to G-d's very essence through breathing, and the organ which creates an outer reality from inner sources though speech, all combine to form a kiss.
With this background in mind, seemingly far removed from the present-day chaos and political turmoil surrounding the Temple Mount, we now readdress our original question. What is the significance of stating that the Temple Mount is “the place where Heaven and Earth kiss?”
COUNTERPARTS
There is an axiom in the Kabbalah that all which occurs on Earth occurs in Heaven as well. Physical actions below have their spiritual counterparts above, and vice-versa.
Therefore, if we narrow our discussion to the concept of eating, for example, we find that just as we require food to maintain a connection between body and soul, so too does the world need to eat, as it were, to maintain its soul: G-d.
This action was most manifest during the First and Second Temple periods. The sacrifices offered on those altars represented the “food” which kept the Divine Presence in the Temple's “Holy of Holies,” the innermost chamber where the Ark was kept.
The Torah (Numbers 28) refers to these sacrifices as "G-d's bread." Obviously a metaphor, this description - when combined with the Kabbalistic principles discussed above – lend a new understanding into the words of our sages: "G-d fills the world as a soul fills a body."
Since the destruction of the Second Temple in the year 70 CE, prayers – that aspect of our inner world manifesting its reality in the outer world through the connection of speech – have substituted for the sacrifices.
The Temple Mount represents that point on the physical earth where G-d bestows His kiss, as it were, His most intimate connection, to the People of the Book, Am Yisrael.
It should therefore come as no surprise that the Moslem Arabs, also descendants of the Patriarch Avraham, instinctively sense the holiness of the site, and desire to worship on Judaism's holiest connection point.
WHY THIS SPOT?
In Jewish writings, the Land of Israel is described as they eye of the world; and the Temple Mount as the very pupil of the eye.
Overall, there are a number of reasons why G-d selected the area of the Temple Mount to provide His most intimate connection with the Jewish People.
First of all, the Foundation Stone – the rock from which the world was created – is believed to be located at the Temple Mount.
Secondly, it was the place where Cain and Abel (as well as Noah) were all believed to have sacrificed offerings to G-d.
Thirdly, this is also the site where Avraham was commanded to offer his son Yitzhak as a sacrifice.
Fourthly, the Holy Ark containing the tablets upon which the Ten Commandments were inscribed is buried in a secret vault under the Mount.
And finally, the Third (and final) Temple is expected to be built on this site as a prelude to the Messianic Era.
This place, therefore, at which “Heaven and Earth kiss” represents the most intimate relation that existed, and will ever exist between G-d and the Jewish people.
In summary, we can credit a few key Kabbalistic sources for shedding light on the awe and mystery surrounding the Temple Mount, and the inherient nature of the cosmic struggle for its possession.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/93724/jewish/Bachelors-in-Heaven.htm
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/43765.jpg)
Bachelors in Heaven
By Yanki Tauber
You meet the man of your dreams. It's love at first sight (you practically fall off your camel the first time you set eyes on him). Not only is he righteous, gracious, handsome, sensitive and spiritual -- the kind of guy who's out meditating in the fields on summer afternoons -- he's also immensely rich. The stalwart heir of the most prestigious family in Canaan!
But there's this one strange thing: no one knows where he's been or what he's been doing for the last three years. Three years ago, following a trip with his father to the summit of a lonely mountain, he vanished into thin air. And now he's returned as suddenly as he disappeared, not a day older -- those who know him swear -- than the day he dropped off the face of the earth.
What does this mean? What does this bode for your marriage?
In marked contrast to other religions, Judaism does not advocate disengagement from the physical world. In fact, some would say that the Torah way of life is not a "religion" at all. The bulk of its 613 mitzvot (divine commandments) are concerned with decidedly non-religious issues: what you eat, how you dress, what kind of neighbor you are, how you treat your parents, how you speak to your children, how you relate to your spouse.
The Tanya (the basic work of Chabad Chassidism) puts it thus,
This is what man is about; this is the purpose of his creation, and of the creation of all the worlds, higher and lower: to make for G-d a dwelling in the physical realm
Certainly, there's lots of spiritual stuff going on as well. Each day begins with a lengthy hour of prayer. Each day has set times devoted to the study of Torah. The Jew is instructed to meditate upon the greatness of G-d and develop feelings of love and awe in his or her heart. The Talmudic passage (Ethics of the Fathers 5:22) which describes the ideal life-cycle for the Jew designates the first two decades of life wholly to spiritual pursuits.
But always the spiritual stuff is there as a prelude and preparation for the physical -- not vice versa. The morning prayers set the tone for a day in the marketplace; a sanctified childhood and youth prepare for a lifetime of interaction with the material world; a wholly spiritual soul is created and primed for its descent into physical life; the spiritual state of Gan Eden (the "afterlife") precedes the soul's reinvestment in its body in the divinely perfect, yet also physical, "World to Come".
The "dwelling for G-d in the physical realm" is the objective, the purpose. The spiritual stuff is the roadmap, the pep-talk, existing solely to guide, inspire and vitalize the making of our physical lives something that is true to its creator and essence.
An examination of the chronology of Isaac's life, as recounted in the Book of Genesis and its attendant Midrashim, reveals an inexplicable gap of nearly three years. According to Genesis 21:5, Abraham was 100 years old when his son, Isaac, was born. According to Genesis 25:26, Isaac was 60 years old when his twin sons, Jacob and Esau, were born, twenty years after his marriage to Rebecca at age 40. That same chapter recounts an event (Esau's selling of his birthright to Jacob) that occurred on the day that "the lads matured". The Torah regards 13 as the age of maturity, which would make Isaac 73 at the time. But that day was also the day of Abraham's passing. As per Genesis 25:7, Abraham lived 175 years -- which places that day 75 years after Isaac's birth.
According to one explanation offered by the biblical commentators, Isaac spent three years -- the period between the time he was bound upon the altar on Mount Moriah and his marriage to Rebecca -- in the Garden of Eden, in a wholly spiritual state of existence. These years were not part of his physical life. Thus, on the day that Jacob and Esau made their historical deal, Isaac was in his 73rd year of physical life -- while for everyone else, 75 years of physical time had transpired from the time of Isaac's birth.
What does this mean for us? The Lubavitcher Rebbe offers the following insight. In the life-cycle of a human being, there is nothing that signifies the soul's descent into physical life more than the act and experience of marriage. Marriage is when a person ceases to live within his own body and begins to share his very soul with another body, in a relationship that is predicated on the most physical of human drives. The "mundane" aspects of life -- earning a living, financial planning, homemaking, shopping -- consume ever-widening arcs of one's existence and ever-deepening involvement of one's energies. At the same time, it is the most deeply satisfying of life's endeavors. For this is what man is about.
How does one prepare for marriage? By becoming more physical, more materially oriented, in preparation for this further plunge into the human state? Isaac did the very opposite -- he retreated to a state of utter spirituality. This gave him the vision, the perspective, the fortitude, to make his physical life a divine place, rather than a place that obscures the divine.
Want to know how close you are to G-d? Look at what kind of a husband you are. Want to be a good husband? Get close to G-d.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe
About the artist: Sarah Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children's books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London
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http://www.jewinthecity.com/a/videos/
A Five part (so far) series explaining aspects orthodox Judaism. I am not orthodox but think the videos are entertaining and informative. My favorite is the 2nd Fear No Evil
What to Wear on My Hair?
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6bUAtrnHfU&feature=channel_page[/youtube]
Fear No Evil
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c0rpjnOnEK4&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.jewinthecity.com%2Fa%2F2008%2F11%2Fmy-entry.html&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
The Hole Truth
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_aOLXIfR5I&feature=channel[/youtube]
A Kosher Konundrum
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dy5TyuQLVAI&feature=channel[/youtube]
Jewish Women...Dirrty?
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUlfjvIC5sQ&feature=channel[/youtube]
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Lazy Eyes
by Ilana Rubenstein
My quest not to become blinded to life's beauty.
I first noticed my daughter's left eye wandering outwards before her second birthday. Shortly after she turned three, she was diagnosed with a "lazy eye." The problem is that when one eye doesn't follow the other the brain essentially shuts off its use, favoring the good eye and losing the sight in the other. So while her right eye, the "good eye," has 20/20 vision, she has begun to lose sight in the "lazy eye."
In order to restore the vision in her left eye, or at least prevent any further atrophy, we were sent home with a box of patches and instructed to patch the "good eye" for an hour a day, to force the "lazy eye" out of semi-retirement. And so despite her protests and tears, we began patching.
I was thinking that maybe we could all use a bit of this therapy. The Jewish people are now approaching the end of the 33-day period during the counting of the Omer when we recall a plague that killed 24,000 of Rebbe Akiva's students in Talmudic times. We are taught that the plague came upon them because they did not have respect for each other. Our Sages explain that this lack of respect came from an inability to see the spiritual greatness in each individual.
As descendants of Rebbe Akiva's students, we too fall short in this task. To see the greatness in others -- and to act with appropriate respect -- is a skill that must be honed. And like a lazy eye, without use this vision atrophies, leaving our "critical" eye to dominate.
Oxygen Deprived
I recently read an account by a recovering alcoholic. He recalled that after years of living across the street from a gray school building, he awoke one day to discover that the bricks had turned red. Indeed, the bricks had always been red, yet only in sobriety did the world come into color. This had a biological explanation: as the brain is deprived of oxygen, the ability to see in color is diminished.
This got me thinking about how we often become blinded to the beauty before us. We busy ourselves with distractions, work, entertainment, money -- depriving our own brains of what they need to see our world in all its radiant beauty.
The Torah charges us to "Love your fellow as yourself." This directive is two-fold: We must accord respect to our fellow, but we must begin by honoring ourselves. By removing the noise in our lives, this time period forces us to take a closer look at ourselves and begin the work of respectfully working on who we are.
Like the distractions that keep our brains from receiving the oxygen necessary to see the world in color, noise prevents us from listening to the music that is innately within each person. This noise can be our cell phones and Blackberries, as much as it is the voice that tells us we are not good enough, or can only succeed by beating out someone else.
Sights and Sounds
Seeing the greatness in others is not merely an exercise of vision; it requires a keen ear as well. During this 33-day period, as a custom of mourning, we refrain from listening to music. The other day I found myself setting out on a long drive without any CDs in my car. There were only so many cycles of the 24 hour news channel I could endure, and talk radio left much to be desired. I would have to sit in silence. With this opportunity to be alone with my thoughts, I found myself in a sea of worry and judgmentalism. Had I completed my to-do list? What if I don't arrive on time? If only that person hadn't let me down, the project would be a success... This brief encounter with my thoughts was at times uncomfortable. I am used to noise. Sefirah forces us to listen to the sounds of silence.
When we turn down the volume of our judgments and distractions, we begin to hear the music in the silence. From this place we can find respect for ourselves and others.
My daughter still fusses when it's time to put on her eye patch, but she is quickly lost in her Lego and forgets that she's practicing using her "lazy eye." Watching her, my own vision has become stronger. I have become keenly aware of the times I use my dominant eye -- judging and creating divides between myself and another. I have also found the ability to start practicing the use of my own "lazy eye," looking for opportunities of compassion and understanding. These days, the world has become more colorful and the silences more melodic.
Putting it into Practice
Here are a few exercises to sharpen your eyes and ears:
• Try designating some time with a loved one without any distractions. Shut off your cell phone, don't answer the email, and be only available to that person. Listen. Let them guide how you spend the time. Notice when you want to direct, comment or criticize.
• Choose a route you usually travel while on the phone or listening to something. Travel in silence. Is there an interesting doorknob on a house you never noticed? You might be surprised by all the details you usually overlook.
• Find an activity during which you usually multi-task. Eat breakfast over the paper? Check messages while you drink your coffee? Fold laundry while on the phone? Try doing one thing at a time. You might be surprised by what you learn about yourself and your routines.
Author Biography:
Ilana Rubenstein lives in Toronto where she studies and teaches.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/jewishissues/jewishsociety/Lazy_Eyes.asp
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Maturity of the Soul
By Tzvi Freeman
The ultimate elevation of the soul is to find it has purpose. To discover that it is not here simply to be, but to accomplish, to heal, to make better. In that moment of discovery, the soul graduates from being G‑d's little child to become His representative.
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http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/133024/jewish/The-King-the-Peasant-and-the-Nightingale.htm
The King, the Peasant and the Nightingale
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/3310.jpg)
By Yanki Tauber
The story is told of a king who once decided to reward a peasant who had done him a great service. "Shall I give him a sack of gold? a bag of pearls?" thought the king. "But these mean virtually nothing to me. I want, for once, to truly give something -- something that I will miss, a gift that constitutes a sacrifice for me."
Now this king had a nightingale who sang the sweetest songs a human ear had ever heard. He treasured the nightingale over all else, and literally found life unbearable without it. So he summoned the peasant to his palace and gave him the bird . "This," said the king, "is in appreciation for your loyalty and devotion." "Thank you, Your Majesty," said the peasant, and took the royal gift to his humble home.
A while later, the king was passing through the peasant's village and commanded his coachman to halt at the peasant's door. "How are you enjoying my gift?" he inquired of his beloved subject.
"The truth to tell, Your Majesty," said the peasant, "the bird's meat was quite tough -- all but inedible, in fact. But I cooked it with lots of potatoes, and it gave the stew an interesting flavor."
Throughout the Torah, we find descriptions of the material rewards which G-d promises for those who adhere to His commandments. A case in point is the opening chapter of the Torah reading of Bechukotai (Leviticus 26:3-27:34): "If you walk in my statutes, and keep My commandments and do them; I will give your rain in due season, the land shall yield its produce, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit..." And on and on, about blessings in the field and blessings in the home, fertile cattle, good health and peace in the land.
Many scholars and sages ponder this emphasis on material reward for the observance of the mitzvot. If G-d finds it necessary to reward a righteous life, wouldn't spiritual blessings, awarded to the soul after it is freed from the confines and limitations of the body, more aptly reciprocate a G-dly life?
But the Chassidic masters say: Physical life is the most G-dly gift of all. Depending, of course, on what we do with it.
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Rachel, perhaps this is not my place (not being of the Jewish faith) or the right forum, but I have a question.
Almost every semester I try to take a class at a local college; exercise my brain and body (I work out a lot).
I will take languages, art history, music, a variety of subjects.
A few years ago I took an Opera Class (I like Classical Music) from a teacher named Kay Lipton.
Dr. Lipton, Phd from UCLA was truly a marvelous teacher; brilliant, inspiring, and thoughtful. In exchange,
I tried to be a good student (A+) and to be fair, I had a good foundation. I think we respected each other; the other
students simply wanted the credit.
Head of the Mozart Society, her knowledge of music was breathtaking. Only to be exceeded by her strong base in her Jewish faith. We exchanged many "enjoyable" arguments especially concerning the conducting of Herbert von Karian and the music of Richard Wagner.
She left to follow her husband to a new "job". I was saddened only because I wanted to take another of her classes. And I enjoyed her personally. She will be sorely missed.
Her husband is a Cantor. Pardon my ignorance, but my question is could you expound a little bit on the position of "Cantor".
Thank you.
james
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James,
I am always happy to answer questions about Judaism (assuming I know or can find out the answer). The only time I don't like taking about Judaism/Religion is when someone starts the conversation as a conversion attempt. As as side note my Mother finds my adult interest in Judaism hilarious because I was not the scholar in Sunday School.
Speaking of questions,
What kinds of material are people interested in. I'm not sure who besides Marc is reading this thread. In general I pick out material that I personally find touching or helpful and Ithat I think others will as well.
Cantor/Hazzon is Jewish musical Clergy that leads or participates in the prayer service . Historically the Rabbi's main job was to answer questions relating to Jewish Law and not necessary lead the prayer services.
A cantor could be the main person who leads the service or leads the musical part of the service . Most of a traditional Jewish prayer service is sung or chanted and it is very nice to have some one who can sing well lead the service. Not all synagogues have a cantor on staff. My smaller synagogue only has one for the High Holidays( Rosh Hashanna and Yom Kippur) and the Rabbi usually leads the service including the singing.
The curriculum for cantors generally include, but are not limited to:
* Learning a nusach (liturgical tradition.)
* Learning the laws and traditions pertaining to Jewish prayer service
* The history and content of the siddur
* Music theory, sight-reading sheet music
* Learning an instrument, usually a piano or guitar.
* Singing technique
* Cantillation – tropes for the liturgical chanting of biblical books
* Choral
Cantors would spend a lot time preparing students for their bar/bat mitvah.
Here are two links for more information
http://www.jewfaq.org/rabbi.htm#Chazzan
http://enc.slider.com/Enc/Shaliach_tzibur
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http://www.jewfaq.org/holidayb.htm
The Counting of the Omer
S'firat Ha-Omer (in Hebrew)
You shall count for yourselves -- from the day after the Shabbat, from the day when you bring the Omer of the waving -- seven Shabbats, they shall be complete. Until the day after the seventh sabbath you shall count, fifty days... -Leviticus 23:15-16
You shall count for yourselves seven weeks, from when the sickle is first put to the standing crop shall you begin counting seven weeks. Then you will observe the Festival of Shavu'ot for the L-RD, your G-d -Deuteronomy 16:9-10
According to the Torah (Lev. 23:15), we are obligated to count the days from Passover to Shavu'ot. This period is known as the Counting of the Omer. An omer is a unit of measure. On the second day of Passover, in the days of the Temple, an omer of barley was cut down and brought to the Temple as an offering. This grain offering was referred to as the Omer.
Every night, from the second night of Passover to the night before Shavu'ot, we recite a blessing and state the count of the omer in both weeks and days. So on the 16th day, you would say "Today is sixteen days, which is two weeks and two days of the Omer." The Orthodox Union has a chart that provides the transliterated Hebrew and English text of the counting day-by-day.
The counting is intended to remind us of the link between Passover, which commemorates the Exodus, and Shavu'ot, which commemorates the giving of the Torah. It reminds us that the redemption from slavery was not complete until we received the Torah.
This period is a time of partial mourning, during which weddings, parties, and dinners with dancing are not conducted, in memory of a plague during the lifetime of Rabbi Akiba. Haircuts during this time are also forbidden. The 33rd day of the Omer (the eighteenth of Iyar) is a minor holiday commemorating a break in the plague. The holiday is known as Lag b'Omer. The mourning practices of the omer period are lifted on that date. The word "Lag" is not really a word; it is the number 33 in Hebrew, as if you were to call the Fourth of July "Iv July" (IV being 4 in Roman numerals). See Hebrew Alphabet for more information about using letters as numbers.
The Other Side of Unforgivable
Counting the Omer
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/882902/jewish/The-Other-Side-of-Unforgivable.htm
By Tzippora Price
A friend of mine felt insulted by a comment I had made. Although the comment wasn't intended to be hurtful, was not said in anger, and was open to various interpretations, she felt slighted nonetheless. Over the course of the next two years, I apologized three times, including once in a formal letter. Finally she forgave me, acknowledging "At least you feel bad about it." But the friendship was over. In her mind, what I had done was unforgivable.
Since that friendship ended, I have decided that there is very little place in my life for unforgivable, especially among friends, and extra-specially among family. Most hurts, misunderstandings, and even hurtful acts can and should be forgiven. We grow, they grow, and we chalk it up to life experience. In this way, allowing for mistakes and imperfections, I have found that relationships can grow and flourish for years.
Most hurts can be forgiven I wasn't always like this. In fact, I suspect that once upon a time, I was very much like my friend. I was easily hurt, and I guarded my hurt tightly. The world was populated by people who could have and should have known better. I have had to learn how to push myself to say "I was hurt by what you said." Most of the time, the other party responds, "I had no idea. I am sorry." Or sometimes with the response, "Well I was hurt by something you said/did as well."
What pushed me to change, to learn how to forgive and move on, was a growing awareness that I, too, am imperfect. Perhaps once upon a time, I honestly expected to achieve perfection by age thirty. Now thirty has come and gone, and the elusive self-perfection that seemed just around the corner has faded into the distant horizon.
Now I am as old as my parents were when, as a teenager, I judged them so harshly, and expected them to be much more together than I am now. I am aware that one day my own kids will come to me with a list of my transgressions, and at that time I hope they will find my failings forgivable.
Yet how can I expect to be forgiven if I have not extended the same grace to others, if I have not demonstrated with my daily behavior that we can treasure our relationships despite their imperfections?
The Omer period is especially suited to the emotional stock-taking and spiritual stretching that long-term relationships require. Although the Jewish people were on the lowest level of spiritual imperfection, the long-standing relationship that G‑d had established with our forefathers meant that G‑d still found us worthy of redemption and forgiveness, and allowed us to develop a special relationship with Him through receiving the Torah.
G‑d still found us worthy of redemption and forgiveness Sometimes it is hard for me to forgive someone when I recognize that she will probably make the same mistake again, and maybe in the same way, despite her best intentions. At that time, I find it helpful to remind myself that shortly after the Jewish people stood on Mount Sinai and received the Torah, we messed up and almost destroyed our new found spiritual connection with G‑d. At that time, when unexpected setbacks delayed Moses from returning, it was the very same Jews who accepted the Torah and promised to keep it faithfully that immediately regressed to idolatry.
And G‑d forgave them. G‑d forgave us. If they worshipped a golden calf shortly after receiving the Torah, and G‑d forgave them, then I can also forgive people. After all, that was pretty big, and G‑d let it go, so I can let things go as well.
The problem is: how do you get there? How do you learn how to forgive when it is not an intrinsic part of your personality, and not just say 'that's G‑d, not me'?
That's where counting the Omer comes in. Every day we count one day. We acknowledge that today, we are a little better than we were yesterday. A little more loving. A little more humble. Today I can be a little more forgiving, a little more understanding. I can acknowledge that even when people should have known, they didn't, or they felt pressured, or they just made a mistake.
For a long time, I hoped that my friend would forgive me if I just apologized again, or said things differently. But then, after awhile, I realized that it wasn't about me anymore. By that point, it was about her holding on to something that should have blown over a long time ago.
That experience taught me that forgiving isn't about the forgiven. It is about the forgiver. By forgiving, I move up the spiritual ladder. I climb up another rung.
These days, I don't expect to reach the top of the ladder. Perfection is somewhere up there in the clouds. But I can expect to keep climbing, and I can expect the Omer period to remind me to keep moving forward.
Each of these achievements deserves it own blessing The Omer teaches us that it is not okay to remain in the same place we were yesterday. When we count the Omer, we make a blessing on that day's count, which reflects the singular spiritual achievement of that individual day.
Unfortunately, many things in life are looked at only in their entirety, in terms of their completion. Little, if any, credit is given for the process, the journey. We don't look at how many days someone spent in the college library. We look at whether or not they received a degree. We don't look at how many buses or trains someone took to work, we look at whether they got there on time, whether they made it before the bell rang.
Yet the Omer teaches us to look at things differently. Did we move forward today? Did we come closer to our goal? Did we hold out a little longer before we blew our cool? Each of these achievements deserves its own place in our consciousness and awareness. Each deserves it own blessing.
Recognizing that I am growing, I can recognize the growth of those around me. I can smile. I can apologize. And I can also forgive.
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Rachel; thank you.
Interesting; so in addition to faith, perhaps the commonality of music draws my teacher and her husband close together.
As for material, I always read and learn on this post. Unlike Marc my knowledge is minimal, but I truly enjoy learning about
religions and you do a wonderful job posting. It is a pleasant reprieve from the politics.
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Thanks JDN,
Lag B'Omer was actually a few days ago
Whispering Flames: The Fire of Lag B'Omer__
by Rabbi Doniel Baron
Tapping into the fiery, spiritual energy that is embedded in every iota of creation.
Fire. With dancing, leaping, flashing tongues of flame, fire lights up the Lag B'Omer night sky. Jews light bonfires to commemorate the holiday, continuing a tradition that dates back hundreds of years. Lag B'Omer is the day on which Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai revealed the chief mystical work, the Zohar, through an explosion of fire, and it is the day on which he died.
The tongues of flame whisper a message. What is the mysterious, inner meaning of all the fire?
To unravel the mystery, we need to go 3,500 years back in time to young Abraham in Mesopotamia, left to mind his father's idol shop. He looked at the sun, the moon, the stars and heavenly bodies and concluded that it would be ridiculous to think that inanimate, man-made idols had control over these things. As he contemplated more and more evidence of design in the world, he concluded that there must be a Creator who controls all.
The world around him thought otherwise, and even united to build a tower to "fight" their conception of God. But the more Abraham saw in the world, the more he realized that everything is guided by the hand of the Creator.
Abraham's discovery is expressed through a metaphor that sheds light on the deeper meaning of fire. Abraham coming to recognize God is compared to a wanderer who sees a mansion engulfed in flames and subsequently concludes that the mansion must have an owner. The master of the house then sees the wanderer and introduces himself. Abraham similarly looked at the world and concluded that it must have a Master, and merited the Master's acknowledgement (Bereishit Rabba 39:1).
This is a difficult parable to understand. A burning mansion is more a sign of neglect than of ownership. What did Abraham, the wanderer of the parable, see that pointed to a Master?
The Hebrew language, the language of creation according to Jewish tradition, provides us with the key to unlocking the metaphor.
The Hebrew word for 'thing,' the generic word that captures all physical objects, is 'davar.' Davar derives from the Hebrew root 'dibur' which means 'to speak.' This is no coincidence. It teaches us that every davar expresses a dibur -- a spoken message. Every physical object or phenomenon, in addition to its physical reality, conveys a spiritual comment on existence.
For example, a rose, on the surface level, is aesthetically pleasing and fragrant. But the rose also conveys a deeper message: intricacy and symmetry that points to intelligent design and a Designer. The external message is readily apparent. However, the inner meaning of an object can be elusive, and sometimes one needs to develop a sensitivity before one can understand the dibur - the message, that lies hidden within every davar - thing.
The fire of the mansion was an allusion to the dibur in every object in the world. Abraham saw the mansion - the world - on fire. Fire is a unique phenomenon. It has the power to transform anything that comes into contact with it into fire itself. The release of the latent energy in the object cast into the flames gives rise to a more powerful fire. Fire reveals that within everything, in addition to the practical function of a davar - a thing, there lies hidden energy that, when tapped, gives off light that was not apparent to one looking only at the practical function of the object. That energy is the metaphor for the dibur - the message embedded in everything in the world.
Abraham was able to look at the world and see the fire burning. As a child, he contemplated the sun, the moon and the stars and concluded that they were too sophisticated to be the product of chance. There had to have been a Creator, a Designer who fashioned everything in the world, and continues to control it all. For Abraham, the sun served more than its practical external functions of giving off warmth and light. It broadcasted the message that something so awesome could not have come about by itself.
Physics teaches the laws of entropy. Left alone, things in nature move from a state of higher order to lower order, marching toward chaos. Abraham realized that it is impossible to understand the world as the product of chance. To Abraham, everything in the world expressed a deeper meaning, intelligent design and a Designer who continues to guide his creation.
Abraham saw the mansion burning. The flames, however, were not the fire of destruction. Instead, they represented the hidden energy in the mansion of the world, the inner message, the dibur, that points to the greatness of the Creator who could form such a place. The figurative flames whisper that in addition to the simple function of every davar in the word, there lies a deeper meaning that points to God for those like Abraham who had the eyes to see it.
It is no wonder that we commemorate Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai with fire. Rabbi Shimon lived in both realms at the same time; in the world of the physical as we know it, and in the realm where the spirituality in everything physical, the dibur in everything, was apparent. To Rabbi Shimon, the world was ablaze with spiritual energy, abounding with tongues of fire whispering messages about the Creator. Not surprisingly, Rabbi Shimon gave us the Zohar, the book of the mystical inner meaning that belies everything.
The ancient, the mystical and the spiritual have applications in modern times. The practical challenge of Lag B'Omer is to see the potential energy in every object and every person, instead of being fooled by the facade of the external.
Spirituality and providence are everywhere, even for those of us who are not Rabbi Shimon. However, we can easily smother the flames of inner meaning by covering over any sparks of life and attributing everything to chance.
Lag B'Omer invites us to look deeper and to hear the ever-present broadcast throughout creation. The flames of Lag B'Omer call to us and whisper that there is more to every person and every object than meets the eye, that one should never give up even if a situation looks hopeless. Look beyond the superficial and acknowledge deeper realms of existence; embrace worlds that we cannot see or touch, but which are every bit as real as the one in which we live.
Click here for more articles on Lag B'Omer.
http://www.aish.com/omerLagBOmer/omerLagBOmerDefault/Lag_BOmer_.asp
Author Biography:
Rabbi Doniel Baron is a senior lecturer at Aish HaTorah's Discovery Seminar. He received his law degree from NYU School of Law and practiced law at Cadwalader, Wickersham & Taft. He presently lives in Jerusalem with his wife and children.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/omerLagBOmer/omerLagBOmerDefault/Whispering_Flames_The_Fire_of_Lag_BOmer__.asp
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Sleepless in New Jersey
by Allison Josephs
What if living out the dreams of your ancestors keeps you up at night?
Growing up, I remember hearing stories about two of my great-grandfathers, both of whom left behind tradition in pursuit of the American dream.
Grandpop Sam, my father's grandfather, was an avowed Capitalist, even as a child. So at the ripe old age of twelve, when Communism began to sweep through Eastern Europe, he left his entire family behind in Russia - along with his religious lifestyle - never to see either again. He arrived penniless and parentless, hardly knowing a word of English, and not a decade later graduated from the University of Pennsylvania. After graduation, he got married, opened a cigar factory, and was soon buying a new Cadillac for himself every two years.
My mother's grandfather, Abraham, did not fare as well in America. Although he did everything in his power to provide for his family (including keeping his haberdashery open on the Sabbath), Grandpa Abraham died at 36 from leukemia, leaving behind his young wife and three children to struggle through unyielding financial hardship at the start of the Great Depression.
Along the way, both of these great-grandfathers shed their Jewish observance in order to make a better life here in America. Three generations later, I was quite representative: upper middle class, assimilated, and living in Northern New Jersey.
Our comfortable lifestyle was founded on our great-grandfathers' sacrifices. My father was a doctor. We had a pool in our backyard, a vacation house in the mountains, and we attended private school. My mom had us in more after-school activities than I can remember: dance, gymnastics, ice skating, tennis, baton twirling, piano lessons and Hebrew school, to name a few. On Saturday mornings we'd climb into bed with my parents for tickle-wars with my father, followed by a waffles-and-bacon breakfast prepared by mom. And we rarely missed our Thursday family night out for Chinese food.
Despite all the wonderful things I had in my life, it occurred to me one day, at around the age of eight when I was well into collecting Garbage Pail Kid cards, though still regularly conducting Barbie weddings, that there was something enormous missing from my life. No, not a sense of fashion; everyone in the late 80's was wearing their hair big and tall, with rhinestone-studded baggy shirts, tight pants, and slouch socks. What I was missing, rather, was something profound and yet so basic:I didn't know why I was alive.
This realization was brought on by a discussion my father and I were having about infinity. He was trying to explain that not only do numbers go on forever, but that there's also an infinite amount of space between every integer. We then started talking about how the universe has no end either. (One might wonder why a father would burden his young child with such knotty concepts, but my dad is a natural born numbers guy who hadn't a clue at the time how his seemingly harmless banter would come to wreak havoc on my psyche.)
This notion of infinity started messing with my little eight year old brain, and I began staying up at night, trying to wrap my head around these concepts.
Then a tragic event exacerbated my worries about infinity and launched me into years of insomnia, panic attacks, and existential angst. As the story was retold in whispers by my classmates on a cold December morning of my 4th grade year, my schoolmate Angela's father had gone crazy the night before. Thinking he was going to die, he decided to take his kids along with him. Angela's mother came home later that evening to find her whole family dead at her husband's hand.
Now, I grew up in a sleepy suburban town where things like this just didn't happen. So when something like this did happen, I was forced to confront the fact that I too could die at any moment, and that life was not nearly as stable and predictable as I had always assumed. This got me thinking about the eternity of death -- how I'd be either somewhere or nowhere forever. Then I realized something even more disturbing: I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the time I'd been given before I had to confront that unknown eternity.
I approached my parents one day -- I was almost nine -- and casually asked, "Why are we here?"
"Where?" they responded, sharing quizzical looks.
"You know," I persisted, "living. What are we here for?"
While most parents probably dread the day their kid asks them "where did I come from," my parents would have gladly discussed some birds and bees with me at that moment to avoid the philosophical Pandora's Box I had just opened. "Um," is about all they could muster in response
Their inability to answer my question upset and surprised me. They were the ones who brought me into this world. How could they not know what they were doing in it? It seemed irresponsible of them to have gotten me tangled up in this mess of existence when they hadn't bothered to figure it out for themselves yet.
Desperately, I began asking other people this question -- friends, family, teachers, anyone who might have a clue. But no one seemed able to answer what I had assumed to be a very basic question.
Eventually I came to think that life was not much more than people staying so busy that they never had time to consider what they were staying so busy for in the first place. But I was never able to keep myself distracted for very long. During the day, when I was tied up with school or other activities, I could push away the big questions that haunted me. But late at night, when all the noise was gone and I was left alone with my thoughts, I was tortured. Why did the day I just lived even matter? Why should I bother waking up tomorrow to do it all over again?
I never once considered the possibility that there simply was no purpose. The world seemed too detailed and complex, human beings too full of talent and abilities, to have it all be used for nothing. But each day that passed without finding an answer brought me one day closer to the end, and I was painfully aware that once my time ran out, I would get no more.
Over the next eight years, I would suffer from off-and-on insomnia and panic attacks. I would get a nauseous, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach as my mind would fixate on the fact that there was no way of escaping the eternity that awaited me. I would repeat over and over again to myself, "Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God" until someone (usually my older sister) would pull me out of my state.
It was around junior year of high school that I took a class called "Taoism and Pirkei Avot" at the local twice-a-week Hebrew high school. Pirkei Avot ("Ethics of the Fathers") didn't promise to be too interesting, but getting to study Taosim seemed exotic and exciting.
My teacher, tall and lanky, wore a ying-yang ring and a yarmulke. A young, approachable observant Jew, he showed us that Pirkei Avot was similar to the Tao Te Ching, and at the same time distinctly profound and relevant. We were a motley crew of teenagers searching for something deeper, studying and discussing some of Judaism's thoughtful wisdom. For the first time I understood that my heritage had more to offer than good food, humor, and guilt.
Hawaiian Epiphany
Soon after the semester wrapped up, my family took a winter break trip to Hawaii. We stayed right by the shore in Maui for a week, and my father -- good old numbers guy -- told me to listen to the waves. So I did. I listened in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the evening. I listened to them when I went to sleep, and when I woke up the next day I heard them again. It occurred to me that waves had never stopped crashing. I ran to my father to announce my discovery.
He looked at me as if I had gone mad. "Waves don't stop. So what?"
But I challenged him to do the math, and we figured out that if the world was a million years old, the waves on that shore would have crashed 10 to 12 trillion times, without once ever stopping. And not just on that one shore - but on countless shores across the planet.
And then it hit me: If I had spent 16 years taking something so profound for granted, I must be missing so much more. I spent the rest of my vacation trying to appreciate the natural world like I never had before. But it wasn't until the last day of the trip that my life would change forever.
My family and I were hiking through a breathtaking tropical rainforest called the Road to Hanna (where Jurassic Park was filmed). In the middle of the hike, we came upon some bamboo shoots whose bark was covered in green and gold vertical stripes
"Did someone paint these on here?" I wondered aloud.
Everyone in my family had an opinion on the matter. Some said painted, some said natural, but my father came over to settle the confusion. "These lines are too straight and flawless to be natural," he assured us.
But when I looked up, I saw that the shoots towered over us 50 feet in the sky, with stripes all the way to the top.
"Wow," I muttered to myself, "God has quite a paintbrush."
I took a few more steps and shook off the wonder of the moment, only to stop in front of the most incredible tree I've ever seen. It had a smooth bark, lavender background, and was covered in pink, blue, and green swirls. There was no doubt in my mind: Some nutty artist was painting the trees in this forest. It was the only thing that made sense. But when my mother told me to look up, I saw that the color continued to the top of the trunk. And for a brief moment, it was as though I understood the entire universe.
The best way I've been able to describe my experience is that I had a moment of clarity during which I tapped into a greater sense of harmony in existence. And in an instant I went from intense doubting to intense belief in God.
The nauseous, empty feeling that used to occur in the pit of my stomach as I'd contemplate my own demise was suddenly filled with warmth and light. What I realized in that moment was that from every comet to every caterpillar, every thing in the universe was in its exact right place and time, including me and my life.
Of course, I was petrified to leave Hawaii. I doubted -- in all of New Jersey's ugliness -- if I'd ever experience such transcendence again. But when I got back home and continued on with my Jewish studies, I began to understand that it is not occasional moments of spirituality that provide a sense of meaning and purpose. Yes, those moments give us inspiration and often point us in the right direction. But it is through day-to-day study and observance that a person builds a lasting connection with that awesome force that I tapped into in the forest in Hawaii.
My great-grandfathers sacrificed everything to pursue the American Dream. Three generations later, I retraced a path back to their Jewish roots and returned to a place of tradition and observance that had been all but forgotten within my family. I learned that everyday actions can transcend our transient lives, and connect us to something greater and more permanent. Now I live my life with that knowledge, which has finally -- and thankfully -- put my mind at rest.
Author Biography:
Allison Josephs is the creator of JewintheCity.com, which features her online videos and blogs that challenge the public perception of Orthodox Jews and traditional Judaism. She is also is a regular blogger on ModestlyYours.net. Allison has been involved in the field of Jewish Outreach for ten years, teaching and lecturing, and has worked for Partners in Torah, Sinai Retreats, NCSY and Stars of David. She received her Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy from Columbia University.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/spirituality/odysseys/Sleepless_in_New_Jersey.asp
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Star of David
by Rabbi Shraga Simmons
From the Holocaust to the Israeli flag, what is the deeper meaning of this six-pointed Jewish symbol?
In modern times, the Star of David has become a premier Jewish symbol. This six-pointed star (hexagram), made of two interlocking triangles, can be found on mezuzahs, menorahs, tallis bags, and kipot. Ambulances in Israel bear the sign of the "Red Star of David," and the flag of Israel has a blue Star of David planted squarely in the center.
What is the origin of this six-pointed symbol?
Through the Jewish people's long and often difficult history, we have come to the realization that our only hope is to place our trust in God. The six points of the Star of David symbolize God's rule over the universe in all six directions: north, south, east, west, up and down.
Originally, the Hebrew name Magen David -- literally "Shield of David" -- poetically referred to God. It acknowledges that our military hero, King David, did not win by his own might, but by the support of the Almighty. This is also alluded to in the third blessing after the Haftorah reading on Shabbat: "Blessed are you God, Shield of David."
Various other explanations exist on the meaning behind the Star of David.
One idea is that a six-pointed star receives form and substance from its solid center. This inner core represents the spiritual dimension, surrounded by the six universal directions. (A similar idea applies to Shabbat -- the seventh day which gives balance and perspective to the six weekdays.)
In Kabbalah, the two triangles represent the dichotomies inherent in man: good vs. evil, spiritual vs. physical, etc. The two triangles may also represent the reciprocal relationship between the Jewish people and God. The triangle pointing "up" symbolizes our good deeds which go up to heaven, and then activate a flow of goodness back down to the world, symbolized by the triangle pointing down.
A more practical theory is that during the Bar Kochba rebellion (first century), a new technology was developed for shields using the inherent stability of the triangle. Behind the shield were two interlocking triangles, forming a hexagonal pattern of support points. (Buckminster Fuller showed how strong triangle-based designs are with his geodesics.)
One cynical suggestion is that the Star of David is an appropriate symbol for the internal strife that often afflicts Jewish nation: two triangles pointing in opposite directions!
The Star of David was a sad symbol of the Holocaust, when the Nazis forced Jews to wear an identifying yellow star. Actually, Jews were forced to wear special badges during the Middle Ages, both by Muslim and Christian authorities, and even in Israel under the Ottoman Empire.
So whether it is a blue star waving proudly on a flag, or a gold star adorning a synagogue's entrance, the Star of David stands as a reminder that for the Jewish people... in God we trust.
Author Biography:
Rabbi Shraga Simmons spent his childhood trekking through snow in Buffalo, New York. He holds a degree in journalism from the University of Texas at Austin, and rabbinic ordination from the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem. He is the senior editor of Aish.com and the director of JewishPathways.com. He is also regarded as an expert on media bias relating to the Middle East conflict, and was the founding editor of HonestReporting.com. Rabbi Simmons lives with his wife and children in the Modi'in region of Israel.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/literacy/concepts/Star_of_David.asp
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Tradition Today: The meaning of Jerusalem
May. 21, 2009
Reuven Hammer , THE JERUSALEM POST
As we celebrate Jerusalem Day, we are acutely aware of the fact that Jerusalem is the center of a heated political dispute concerning its future. Unfortunately that dispute has resulted in accusations that Jerusalem and especially the Temple Mount are not really central to Judaism. This goes so far as to claim that there never was a Jewish temple on the Temple Mount. These statements are absurd. No matter what one thinks concerning the future of Jerusalem, the fact of its centrality to Judaism is so blatant that it should need no reiteration. The existence of the Temple on the Temple Mount is so well attested by historical evidence, Jewish and non-Jewish, that one wonders how anyone could possible deny it.
True, Jerusalem is a Johnny-come-lately on the scene of Jewish history. It is never mentioned by name in the Torah, Judaism's most ancient book. There is however, reference to "Salem," shalem, which, with good reason, we assume is an ancient name of Jerusalem (Genesis 14:18). Strangely enough even the story of the akeida (the binding of Isaac) is told with no specific reference to Jerusalem, although it seems obvious from the conclusion of the story - "and Abraham named that site Adonai-yireh [the Lord will see], hence the present saying, 'On the mount of the Lord there is vision'" (Gen. 22:14) - that the reference is to a place that had sacred ritual significance. Later on, in II Chronicles 3:1, the Temple Mount is specifically identified as Mount Moriah, the site of the akeida.
Deuteronomy refers constantly to "the place that I will choose" but does not tell us where that is. It is only with David's conquest that Jerusalem comes into our history. Quite rightly it is known as "the city of David" since he made it the royal capital. See II Samuel 5:6-9. More importantly, he also insured its centrality by bringing the Ark to Jerusalem (II Samuel 6:12-18). The Ark, the throne of God, the symbol of God's presence, had always moved from place to place. Giving it a permanent resting place in Jerusalem transformed a political capital into a religious site of the first importance.
The mountain on which the Ark sat, Mount Zion, became the equivalent of Mount Sinai and from then on was known as the "Mountain of the Lord." Solomon's building of the Temple, a permanent building to replace the portable tent, reinforced the concept of Jerusalem as God's dwelling - "city of the Great King" - as the psalmist phrased it (Psalm 48). How anyone can possibly ignore the numerous biblical references is difficult to understand. The Christian Bible as well testifies to the existence of the Temple on its mountain. Indeed without that the Gospel stories make no sense.
As for as Islam is concerned, if there was no sacredness to Jerusalem and the Temple Mount why did Muhammad - according to its tradition - come there and why was the Dome of the Rock built? That shrine is built on the rock that was considered sacred because of the sacrifice that took place there - even if its tradition records a different son being offered up and because that rock was thought to be the very foundation of the creation.
Several years ago, when doing research for a book about Jerusalem, I came across a letter from a group of rabbis in Jerusalem which was found in the Cairo Geniza describing exactly the relationship between the Dome of the Rock and the Temple. According to that letter the Muslims, under the Caliph Omar I, came to the Jews and asked them to "show them the site of the Temple." The Jews were ordered to clear the mount of the rubbish that had accumulated there and to identify "the stone known as the Foundation Stone." When it was uncovered Omar ordered that "the sanctuary and a dome be erected over the stone." As a reward for their assistance 70 households of Jews were permitted to return to Jerusalem and dwell "near the site of the Temple and its gates" (The Jerusalem Anthology, page 159).
The connection of our people to Jerusalem in the past is beyond question, as is the identity of the Temple Mount. What matters now is the meaning that Jerusalem has for us today and will have in the future. The prophets gave Jerusalem not only a past but also a future. The time will come, they taught, when "the mountain of the Lord's House shall stand firm above the mountains and tower above the hills and all the nations shall gaze upon it with joy. And many peoples shall go and say: Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord... that He may instruct us in His ways... For instruction shall go forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem... And they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not take up sword against nation; they shall never again know war" (Isaiah 2:2-4).
This vision was the most exalted vision that anyone has ever had. Jerusalem is the symbol of that wondrous time when peace - shalom - a word that is embedded in the name Yerushalayim - will prevail. To be worthy of that is our task. That is its meaning for us today and the challenge that Jerusalem sets for us and for all humanity.
The writer is the head of the Rabbinical Court of the Masorti Movement and the author of several books, the most recent being Entering Torah.
This article can also be read at http://www.jpost.com /servlet/Satellite?cid=1242212434836&pagename=JPArticle%2FShowFull
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2603/jewish/The-Quest-for-Self.htm
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/826.JPG)
The Quest for Self
By Yanki Tauber
There's a passage in the book of Zechariah that describes an encounter between a human being and a flock of angels, in which the human is referred to as "a journeyer among the stationary ones."
"The Journeyer" is a most apt appellation for our restless race. Other creatures also move from place to place, but only man's migrations are motivated by the desire to be someplace other than where he is now. Unlike mice, maple trees and angels, who are content to be what and where they are, the human being is constantly on the go--forever striving to get somewhere, preferably somewhere where no one has been before.
The problem is, there's nowhere left to go.
A century ago it was "Go west, young man!"; west went the young men, until there was no west left. Then one man won the race to the North Pole, and another to the South. Another human was first to reach the summit of Everest (though who exactly that was is still a matter of debate), and yet another made the "giant leap" of leaving a bootprint on the moon.
So what's left? A trip to another galaxy? A foray into the future? Will these destinations, if and when they are reached, satisfy the seeking spirit of The Journeyer?
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We've all heard the story of the impoverished villager who dreams of a treasure buried under a bridge in Krakow. Arriving in the big city, he locates the bridge of his dream. The tollkeeper, noticing a loitering man with a shovel and suspicious intentions, confronts the pauper, who confesses his mission. "Dreams!" exclaims the guard. "Why, only last night I dreamt that in the home of Chaim Yankel the peddler in the village of Usseldorf, a chest of gold coins is buried in the wall behind the stove. So do I travel all the way to Usseldorf to break down the wall of some poor yokel's home?" Chaim Yankel hurries home, demolishes the wall behind his stove, and lives happily ever after on his buried treasure.
After all journeys are consummated, after all quests are realized, there remains one frontier which few have penetrated and fewer still have conquered: the frontier of self. We traverse the planet and beyond, we map the cosmos and the infrastructure of the atom, seeking some indication, some sign, of what it's all about; but how many of us have entered into the interior of our souls?
Lech lecha, the opening words of the Divine call to Abraham which launches and defines Jewish history, literally means, "Go to yourself." "Go to yourself," G-d commanded the first Jew, "from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you."
When the Divine call came, Abraham could look back at a life of unprecedented discovery and achievement. This was the man who discovered the truth of the One G-d, faced down the mightiest king of his time, braved death in a fiery furnace for his beliefs, and converted thousands to a monotheistic faith and ethos. All this he achieved entirely on his own, with no teacher, mentor or heavenly voice to direct him, with nothing but his great mind to guide him and his passionate quest for truth to drive him.
Then, in Abraham's 75th year, came the Divine command: "Go to yourself!" Now that you've completed your explorations and attained your goals, turn inward and embark on a journey into the essence of your own being.
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Paradoxically, the more personal our journey, the more we require guidance and aid.
A well-developed sense of direction can guide us through the most labyrinthal road system; a keen social sense can negotiate the most convoluted office politics; the data and learning patterns stored in our brain facilitate our pursuit of new fields of study. But when we seek a path to the core of self, the knowledge and skills of a lifetime are suddenly ineffectual. We find ourselves in the dark, with no recourse but to call upon our Creator. "G-d, who am I?" we cry. "Give me a clue; tell me why You made me."
This paradox is implicit in the Torah's first recorded instruction to the first Jew. When Abraham is commanded to "Go to yourself," this resourceful, self-made man is told to set aside his inborn talents ("your land"), the personality developed in seven-and-a-half decades of interaction with his environment ("your birthplace"), and the wisdom discovered and formulated by his phenomenal mind ("your father's house"), and "blindly" follow G-d "to the land that I will show you."
In our outward journeys, our knowledge, talents and personality are the tools with which we explore the world beyond us. But in seeking our true self, these very tools--which constitute an exterior, superimposed "self" of their own--conceal as much as they reveal, distort even as they illuminate.
We employ these tools in our quest--we have no others. But if our journey is to lead us to the quintessence of self rather than some phantom thereof, it must be guided by He who created us in His image and sketched the blueprint of our souls in His Torah.
The Quest for Self
By Yanki Tauber
There's a passage in the book of Zechariah that describes an encounter between a human being and a flock of angels, in which the human is referred to as "a journeyer among the stationary ones."
"The Journeyer" is a most apt appellation for our restless race. Other creatures also move from place to place, but only man's migrations are motivated by the desire to be someplace other than where he is now. Unlike mice, maple trees and angels, who are content to be what and where they are, the human being is constantly on the go--forever striving to get somewhere, preferably somewhere where no one has been before.
The problem is, there's nowhere left to go.
A century ago it was "Go west, young man!"; west went the young men, until there was no west left. Then one man won the race to the North Pole, and another to the South. Another human was first to reach the summit of Everest (though who exactly that was is still a matter of debate), and yet another made the "giant leap" of leaving a bootprint on the moon.
So what's left? A trip to another galaxy? A foray into the future? Will these destinations, if and when they are reached, satisfy the seeking spirit of The Journeyer?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We've all heard the story of the impoverished villager who dreams of a treasure buried under a bridge in Krakow. Arriving in the big city, he locates the bridge of his dream. The tollkeeper, noticing a loitering man with a shovel and suspicious intentions, confronts the pauper, who confesses his mission. "Dreams!" exclaims the guard. "Why, only last night I dreamt that in the home of Chaim Yankel the peddler in the village of Usseldorf, a chest of gold coins is buried in the wall behind the stove. So do I travel all the way to Usseldorf to break down the wall of some poor yokel's home?" Chaim Yankel hurries home, demolishes the wall behind his stove, and lives happily ever after on his buried treasure.
After all journeys are consummated, after all quests are realized, there remains one frontier which few have penetrated and fewer still have conquered: the frontier of self. We traverse the planet and beyond, we map the cosmos and the infrastructure of the atom, seeking some indication, some sign, of what it's all about; but how many of us have entered into the interior of our souls?
Lech lecha, the opening words of the Divine call to Abraham which launches and defines Jewish history, literally means, "Go to yourself." "Go to yourself," G-d commanded the first Jew, "from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you."
When the Divine call came, Abraham could look back at a life of unprecedented discovery and achievement. This was the man who discovered the truth of the One G-d, faced down the mightiest king of his time, braved death in a fiery furnace for his beliefs, and converted thousands to a monotheistic faith and ethos. All this he achieved entirely on his own, with no teacher, mentor or heavenly voice to direct him, with nothing but his great mind to guide him and his passionate quest for truth to drive him.
Then, in Abraham's 75th year, came the Divine command: "Go to yourself!" Now that you've completed your explorations and attained your goals, turn inward and embark on a journey into the essence of your own being.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Paradoxically, the more personal our journey, the more we require guidance and aid.
A well-developed sense of direction can guide us through the most labyrinthal road system; a keen social sense can negotiate the most convoluted office politics; the data and learning patterns stored in our brain facilitate our pursuit of new fields of study. But when we seek a path to the core of self, the knowledge and skills of a lifetime are suddenly ineffectual. We find ourselves in the dark, with no recourse but to call upon our Creator. "G-d, who am I?" we cry. "Give me a clue; tell me why You made me."
This paradox is implicit in the Torah's first recorded instruction to the first Jew. When Abraham is commanded to "Go to yourself," this resourceful, self-made man is told to set aside his inborn talents ("your land"), the personality developed in seven-and-a-half decades of interaction with his environment ("your birthplace"), and the wisdom discovered and formulated by his phenomenal mind ("your father's house"), and "blindly" follow G-d "to the land that I will show you."
In our outward journeys, our knowledge, talents and personality are the tools with which we explore the world beyond us. But in seeking our true self, these very tools--which constitute an exterior, superimposed "self" of their own--conceal as much as they reveal, distort even as they illuminate.
We employ these tools in our quest--we have no others. But if our journey is to lead us to the quintessence of self rather than some phantom thereof, it must be guided by He who created us in His image and sketched the blueprint of our souls in His Torah.
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http://www.amazon.com/Dancing-Healers-Doctors-Journey-Americans/dp/0062503952
You might like this book, Rachel. I liked it when I read it many years ago. I was interested to find the aspects of Jewish spirituality that meshed with Native American spirituality.
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http://www.amazon.com/Dancing-Healers-Doctors-Journey-Americans/dp/0062503952
You might like this book, Rachel. I liked it when I read it many years ago. I was interested to find the aspects of Jewish spirituality that meshed with Native American spirituality.
G M,
I found a very reasonable copy of Amazon and I will definitely check it out.
Thanks,
Rachel
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Renewing Our Vows
by Riva Pomerantz
Marla and Steve were high-school sweethearts who got married with the whole town in attendance. It was a dream wedding, and their smiles as they gazed at each other under the wedding canopy radiated absolute bliss.
After many years of children and bills and taxes and layoffs, Marla and Steve were still smiling, but...Life had gotten in the way. There were days when they barely said a few words to each other before collapsing in bed, exhausted. There were times that they argued, that they let each other down. It happens, you know.
Steve was surprised to come home from work one day to find Marla standing in the living room, gazing longingly at something in her hands.
"Honey, take a look at this," Marla said. Steve came over to see the picture Marla was holding and he felt his heart catch in his throat.
"Look at us," she whispered softly. "Remember how we stood together, 24 years ago, and became man and wife?"
He nodded.
"Remember those dreams and hopes? Remember how we felt, what we thought about?" she pressed him.
Again a nod.
"I feel like we've drifted," she said sadly. "How about we do it all again?"
Steve looked at his wife and smiled. It was a wonderful idea -- a symbol of renewal, of recapturing the love and commitment they had shared together so many years prior. And as they renewed their marriage vows before a small, joyous crowd of well-wishers, Marla and Steve felt more connected than ever before.
This week, on the holiday of Shavuot, the entire Jewish Nation is invited to attend the "Re-Nup" of the year, where we renew the vows we took at the marriage ceremony on Mt. Sinai over 3000 years ago. No tuxedo required.
Every Jewish soul stood at the foot of that majestic mountain. The wedding was perfect -- down to the flowers. The "Groom," God, as it were, united in total harmony with the "Bride," the Jewish People, for better or worse, through good times and bad. There were lightning bolts and celestial pronouncements that left an indelible impression on every soul in attendance. We were completely in love and radiated with infinite hopes and dreams. Our hearts beat with one singular purpose: to devote ourselves to God and serve Him by keeping His Torah and mitzvot.
We felt eternal bliss.
And then...you know, Life gets in the way. Kids, work, bills, taxes, sometimes it's hard for "spouses" to make time for each other. Our connection with our new Better Half became tenuous, the love began to fade. Sometimes there was just no time to spend even a few minutes fulfilling the hopes and dreams that had so rosily reflected in our eyes when we stood at that blazing mountain. Sometimes there were barely a few words we mumbled to God all day, if any at all.
"I'm about to go into a meeting, God. If you could just give me good health, a decent living, and let my kid win the wrestling championship, that would be great. Talk to You later!"
"On the weekend, I'm really going to read that new Jewish book and bring a little spirituality into my life. I promise!"
Like Steve and Marla, we get caught up in the vicissitudes of life and gradually we become like two strangers living in the same house. Except with God, the distance is caused by us; His commitment to the relationship never wavers.
It's time to renew our vows.
Shavuot gives us the opportunity to step out of our hectic lives and celebrate our anniversary by rekindling the deep, passionate love between us and God and recommit ourselves to the relationship.
It's a chance to reflect and reconnect with our Beloved. It's a time to bask in the sweetness of our relationship and to treasure the precious wedding gift, the Torah, that He gave us at Mt. Sinai. Far more than a cheesecake fest, Shavuot is a once-a-year opportunity to celebrate with God and remind ourselves of our pledge to be His cherished nation. For richer, for poorer.
Happy Anniversary.
Author Biography:
Riva (Henig) Pomerantz lives with her husband and four children in Ramat Beit Shemesh. Her stories and articles appear on www.aish.com, in Mishpacha Magazine, and in several other publications. Her serialized story, Green Fences, will be released in Summer 2009, to be published by Targum Press. You can visit Riva's website and read her blog at www.rivapomerantz.com.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/shavuotthemes/shavuotthemesdefault/Renewing_Our_Vows.asp
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/807777/jewish/Should-I-Pray-for-the-Death-of-Terrorists.htm
Should I pray for the death of terrorists?
By Tzvi Freeman
Question:
I am a subscriber to the Daily Dose and enjoy reading many of the spiritually enlightening essays at Chabad.org. From the writings you present, the Rebbe seems to have been a peaceful man, full of love. I am torn by the Chabad.org coverage of the war in Gaza. I love and respect the ideology of Judaism, but I can not get my mind around the "act of defense," i.e. the murder of others, even if they are the oppressors, which amounts to a glorification of war. Prayer, I am told, is an act of enlightenment. Am I to pray for the brutal demise of the enemy?
Response:
The quick and simple answer: It depends. If the enemy is the dark evil of this world, pray for an end to evil. If the enemy is a human being, defend yourself, attack first if necessary, and pray that all your enemies will live, become your friends and fulfill the mission for which they were born: To join together to create a peaceful, harmonious world.
Welcome to the inscrutable world of Judaism, where there are so few issues on which an honest, educated Jew cannot be conflicted. In Halacha, in ethics, in mysticism, in whatever field—even once an issue is resolved, it must take into account so many angles and conditions that very little can be said in a simple line or two, other than, "Hear O Israel, G-d is our L-rd, G-d is One." And as the paradigm of Jewishness, the Rebbe's approach was one that could never be pigeon-holed. In every assertion, its opposite lies; in every approach, the other road must be taken into account.
And here you have touched one such perfect example. Just yesterday, a friend referred me to a talk in which the Rebbe discussed your question. This was in September of 1982, at the height of an incendiary war between Iraq and Iran that had begun to threaten the entire region with the fear of nuclear reprisals. "Nations are attacking one another," the Rebbe repeated again and again, "and the whole world teeters."
He spoke of how some take a partial approach to the war, praying for "whatever is good, whatever that may be." He himself opposed such a position. War is not good, he said, because human lives are lost, and "...we are commanded to care for the poor even if they be idolators, together with our own-- all the more so to care for their lives."
The talk that followed gave us a remarkable look into the Rebbe's Weltanschauung. The Rebbe's words are not always smooth reading--filled with allusion and euphemism. I've translated from the Yiddish:
Yes, there are violent people and terrorists in the world. But there is nothing that says the only way to deal with this is through taking their lives. Even when we speak of "the enemy and the avenger," our actions must be "to stop the enemy and the avenger." Meaning, to stop and to annul this that he is an enemy and avenger. In the language of the Talmud, "the sins should cease--not the sinners themselves." To the point that they will become friends of the Jews and assist us. As the promise concerning the Time to Come, "Strangers will arise and tend to your sheep"—although they are "strangers," that is not the emphasis. The emphasis is that they nevertheless tend to your sheep.1
You read that correctly--the Rebbe prays that the terrorists should become our friends. But does this mean we should not defend ourselves? On the contrary, the Rebbe took a zero-tolerance approach to self-defense. He rested his argument, as always, upon a halachic ruling. Here is how he explained this to Rabbi Immanuel Jakobovits, then chief rabbi of the U.K., in a letter dated November, 1980:
I am completely and unequivocally opposed to the surrender of any of the liberated areas currently under negotiation, such as Judah and Samaria, the Golan, etc., for the simple reason—and only reason—that surrendering any part of them would contravene a clear ruling found in Shulchan Aruch (O.C., Ch. 329, par. 6,7). I have repeatedly emphasized that this ruling has nothing to do with the sanctity of the land of Israel, with "the days of Moshiach," the coming redemption or similar considerations—but solely with saving lives.
The Rebbe here refers to a ruling in the standard codification of Jewish Law that discusses a border town attacked by marauders. The ruling is that all that are able must go out, even on Shabbat, to fight with them—even if the marauders are only attacking to obtain straw. The reasoning behind this ruling is that once a border town has become vincible, life within those borders is endangered. The Rebbe generalizes this logic: In a situation involving danger to human life, the mitigating factor for determining action is exclusively how best to protect and save lives, and nothing else. Not how will we justify this, not how do we finance this, not what the world will say or what they will think of us. Just the protection of lives.
To drive my point: The source for this ruling is in the Talmud (Eruvin 45a). The example given of a border-town is the city of Neharde'a in Babylon (present-day Iraq) — clearly not in Israel. As I have emphasized time and again that it is a question of, and should be judged purely on the basis of, saving lives and not geography.
The said ruling deals with a situation where gentiles (that is the term, not enemies) besiege a Jewish border-town, ostensibly to obtain "straw and chaff," and then leave. But because of the possible danger, not only to the Jews of the town, but also the cities, the Shulchan Aruch rules that upon receiving news of the gentiles (even only of preparations), the Jews must mobilize immediately and take up arms even on Shabbat — in accordance with the rule that "saving lives supersedes Shabbat."
The Rebbe continues that the decision whether a particular concession will endanger lives or not must be left up to the experts. Just as in a medical question, the experts are the doctors, so in a military question, the experts are military experts. Yet even they are not to make political, economical or sociological considerations, but simply: the protection of human lives. Since all the experts he consulted agreed that returning the areas of Judah and Samaria would place many millions of lives in greater danger, the Rebbe was opposed.
On the one hand, a hawkish view indeed: Not an inch of territory could be relinquished to the PLO. Even the very act of discussing territory, the Rebbe asserted, was enough to embolden the terrorists and endanger lives. Furthermore, the Rebbe would cite the Talmudic ethos of self-defense: "If someone is coming to kill you, rise early to kill him first."2 "Which means," the Rebbe insisted, "that it is possible to know that someone wants to cause mortal harm, and in such a case, one has the responsibility to prepare a preemptive attack."3
Yet, even here, the Rebbe noted that the dictum does not say that you must actually kill anyone, only that you must be ready to do so. They said, "Rise early to kill him," he pointed out, not, "Rise early and kill him." If you show that you are ready to attack first, there will be no need for such. The emphasis in all these matters was on psychological warfare first: Act weak, and all are placed in danger. Show you are strong and no one will be hurt. Again, what was the consideration? Simply the protection of life.
Indeed, the Rebbe expressed his concern over the loss of Arab lives on several occasions. For example, a month after the talk cited earlier, the Rebbe spoke again about security and defense in Israel. Again he declared that those who proposed relinquishing territory were endangering the inhabitants. With strong, secure borders, the Rebbe asserted, there would be no need for war. Citing the verse about the Land of Israel, "you are bolted with iron and bronze," the Rebbe noted that:
If the door is well bolted and locked, there is no need for war. Obviously, bolts and locks don't go out to battle. And if so, this is to the advantage of those who oppose us. For if there is no need for war, no one is killed or wounded on the opposing side either.4
Similarly, shortly after the Yom Kippur War, as the Rebbe was bemoaning the upcoming Geneva Conference at which "nothing would be accomplished," he interjected, "At least, in the interim there is a ceasefire. For even if an Egyptian falls in battle, it is not a good thing…"
And then, in an almost mystical way, the Rebbe invoked the guardian angel of Egypt, saying, "He also has an opinion. If we explain to him that this is not good for them either, that could have an effect."
The Rebbe was the most outspoken critic of Israeli compromise, and yet a passionate humanitarian. In all my years standing at the Rebbe's farbrengens, never did I hear the Rebbe speak about death to the enemy. It's not something you could begin to imagine. Neither could I imagine the Rebbe saying "the opposite of a blessing" (that's the term the Rebbe would use for--well, if he wouldn't say it, should I?) on any person, even the most nefarious dictator (other than "may their names be erased" on "Hitler and his professors"). Dumbo could grow wings, but the Rebbe wouldn't speak bad of any person. In that very talk that provided the answer to your question about prayer, the Rebbe mentioned this, as well:
We should speak only good and desirable things about Jewish people. G‑d forbid to say something derogatory about a Jew. We must try not to say anything derogatory about any human being. For with negative words, the opposite of blessing is brought into the world, G‑d forbid. And right now we are in a situation where we must inundate the entire world with blessings of revealed, visible good…
This was how the Rebbe understood the mission of the Jewish People, our purpose in this world: To be a light unto the nations that they should do their part in building a stable, peaceful and harmonious world, a world where the light of a great teacher we call the moshiach could shine, and "all the nations will serve G-d as one." As the Rebbe wrote in one of his last political correspondences, in 1991 to Mr. Ardadiusz Rybicki, President of the Council for Polish-Jewish Relations:
Our sages of the Talmud explain why the creation of man differed from the creation of other living species and why, among other things, man was created as a single individual, unlike other living creatures created in pairs. One of the reasons—our sages declare—is that it was G‑d's design that the human race, all humans everywhere and at all times, should know that each and all descend from the one and the same single progenitor, a fully developed human being created in the image of G‑d, so that no human being could claim superior ancestral origin; hence would also find it easier to cultivate a real feeling of kinship in all inter-human relationships.
Yes, it is conflicting to be a Jew. We are not meant for warring and killing. But G-d has placed us in a world—or perhaps, we have made His world into such a place—that sometimes a life must be taken to save one, or even many lives. It's strange, but there is something of profound beauty in a soul large enough to straddle both sides of such a conflicting world. Pacifism alone can turn as ugly as its opposite, militant extreme, but to know the season for each thing and temper one with the other, that takes great wisdom.
Perhaps that is the wisdom the Torah demands of us. Perhaps that is why He has sent our souls into a world of such conflict, so that we can also become that profound beauty, and only then can we make harmony out of conflict. Which is the true meaning of peace.
See also Why Is There So Much War and Violence in Torah?
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FOOTNOTES
1. Hitvaduyot, 13 Elul, 5742
2. Talmud, Brachot 58a, ibid 62b; ibid Yoma 85b
3. Sichot Kodesh 5729, Breishit
4. Hitvaduyot, 13 Tishrei, 5743
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WSJ
By GREGG EASTERBROOK
On any list of nonfiction authors that many people may not know but should, Robert Wright would rank high. Among his books are "The Moral Animal" (1994), which argues that natural selection rewards principled behavior and is gradually improving human ethics; and "Nonzero" (2000), which argues that history is moving in a positive direction: Social, political and economic forces, the book said, can operate in a "nonzero" rather than a "zero sum" way. In short, it is not necessary for A to gain at the expense of B; rather, both can gain.
Now Mr. Wright completes the circle by finding roughly the same promising trend in higher affairs. "The Evolution of God" -- really about religion rather than the divine -- supposes that, for all their faults, the monotheistic faiths have prospered because they encourage people to get along.
Mr. Wright begins "The Evolution of God" by wondering not whether faiths are true but why they proliferated in early society. His conclusion is that the initial impulse of faith was the self-interest of its administrative class. "Whenever people sense the presence of a puzzling and momentous force," he writes, "they want to believe there is a way to comprehend it. If you can convince them you're the key to comprehension, you can reach great stature." Shamans pretended to understand nature, the leading mystery of ancient days. But the claim was just a way for them to earn a living, Mr. Wright asserts; surely few shamans actually believed that they knew why storms came or disease struck.
What is the contemporary equivalent to the tribal shaman? Stockbrokers. Like shamans, stockbrokers claim the ability to augur hidden forces -- and, like shamans, Mr. Wright says, their advice is almost always worthless. In general, customers (ancient farmers needing rain, modern investors) want to believe that someone has secret, mystic knowledge of a powerful unknown (the natural world, Wall Street). Like investment advisers today, mediums of the far past claimed mystic knowledge and charged for it. In some old tribal cultures, Mr. Wright adds, the word shaman meant roughly "politician." Angling for religious power was thus essentially the same as angling for tribal leadership.
The Evolution of God
By Robert Wright
(Little, Brown, 567 pages, $25.99)
This, Mr. Wright infers, is how most religion began. Not exactly a glorious moment of revelation upon a mountaintop. Is the theory persuasive? Mr. Wright is prone to supposing that strong conclusions regarding precivilization can be drawn from the writings of anthropologists. Maybe anthropology is correct at times, but the field is chronically speculative and inferential -- building theories of history on it may be building on sand. For instance, Mr. Wright finds it significant that the earliest Buryat and Inuit cultures, in Siberia and the Arctic, viewed shamans as we now view politicians. But the Inuit also believed that their society was descended from invincible giants. Roll such points together and you have -- I am not sure what.
The closer Mr. Wright's analysis draws to the Common Era, the more forceful it becomes. The most striking contention in "The Evolution of God" concerns St. Paul, Christianity's first administrative leader. Ancient religions died off, Mr. Wright claims, because they were designed for specific ethnic groups and possessed no appeal outside them. Judaism spoke to those born into the faith, limiting its potential scope. Paul wanted Christianity to become a global faith, appealing to anyone from any land or ethnic group. So he offered something no faith had offered to that point -- universal brotherhood. Did Jesus intend to start a new, broader-based religion? That's hardly clear -- Christ never used the word "Christian" or instructed his disciples to promote a new faith. Paul, by contrast, actively wished to start a cross-borders, proselytizing system of belief. His innovation, according to Mr. Wright, was to realize that the promise of brotherhood could appeal to the whole world -- and as a Roman citizen, Paul thought in whole-world terms.
"The Evolution of God" goes on to analyze the spread of Christianity -- and, later, Islam -- in language that at times strains to sound of the moment: Had Pauline thinking failed, Mr. Wright observes, "another version of Christianity probably would have prevailed, a version featuring the doctrine of interethnic amity, the doctrine that realized the network externalities offered by the open platform of the Roman Empire."
But there is no doubt that Paul's core idea of brotherhood-based faith, intended to overcome delineations between people and groups, was a tremendous success in historical terms. Centuries later, Islam would emphasize some of the same qualities as early Christianity, especially the embrace of anyone from any nation. Broadly, Mr. Wright argues that religions act fierce or nationalistic when adherents feel threatened. But "when a religious group senses an auspicious non-zero-sum relationship with another group, it is more likely to create tolerant scriptures or find tolerance in existing scriptures." As the world grows ever more interdependent, this sentiment is an especially propitious one.
In the course of a long work ostensibly about God, Mr. Wright never tells the reader whether he believes that a supreme being exists. After extended hemming and hawing on this essential point, he proffers only that a person who accepts God as actual is "not necessarily crazy." Talk about praising with faint damnation! But taken together, "The Moral Animal," "Nonzero" and "The Evolution of God" represent a powerful addition to modern thought. If biology, culture and faith all seek a better world, maybe there is hope.
Mr. Easterbrook is the author of "The Progress Paradox" and the forthcoming "Sonic Boom," about the accelerating pace of economic change.
Printed in The Wall Street Journal, page A15
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Change
Print this Page
By Tzvi Freeman
That which can be grasped will change.
That which does not change cannot be grasped
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A Beginner's Guide to Constructing the Universe: Mathematical Archetypes of Nature, Art, and Science
I have enjoyed this book and I have found it gives a path to link the religions of the past and present. Is it an absolute truth...no but I think it explains many of the similarities which occur. It gives you a broad picture from which you can look at the many religious beliefs of the past and present. A lingua franka if you will. The mind is wired in a similar way in everyone..yes there are differences but the similarities out weight the differences. Therefore the similarities in the various religions arise from this mind trying to explain the great mystery of life and the universe IMHO. I must also point out that the use of number in religion is is older than the historical records we have today, is it no wonder it is the skeleton on which religion is laid down? Well that is my view of the book. I highly recommend it
http://www.amazon.com/Beginners-Guide-Constructing-Universe-Mathematical/dp/0060926716/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1245027040&sr=1-1
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Freki,
Interesting book. You might want to check out Euclid's Elements.
The Great Mistake
by Rabbi Yonason Goldson
Why did the Creator design such a vulnerable knee?
Some call it "God's mistake." No, I'm not referring to the ostrich or the mosquito. Nor even to politicians.
It's the knee.
"It is, without question, ill-suited for the jobs we ask it to do," says James M. Fox, M.D., director of the Center for the Disorders of the Knee in Van Nuys, California, and author of the book Save Your Knees. "It wasn't designed for football, soccer, automobile accidents, being a carpenter or plumber, or squatting and kneeling all day long. It was well designed originally, but there was no way to anticipate all the things we would end up asking it to do."
With all due respect to Dr. Fox, the Creator does not make mistakes, nor could He have failed to anticipate every possible form of activity when He designed the human being. Nevertheless, the preponderance of knee-related maladies forces us to wonder why, in designing the human knee, the Almighty chose to do it this way.
The Hebrew word for "knee" is berech. Curiously, it is spelled exactly the same as the word for "blessed" - baruch. The nature of biblical Hebrew is such that seemingly unrelated words often share a common grammatical root, alerting us that they are not as dissimilar as they might seem. To understand the common thread between berech and baruch, we must first investigate the essence of blessing.
Wellsprings of Prosperity
Possibly the most instructive example of Divine blessing appears in the Second Book of Kings, Chapter 4, where a poor widow beseeches the prophet Elisha to save her sons from being sold as slaves in payment of her debts.
"What do you have in the house?" asks the prophet.
"I have nothing but a small vial of oil," the widow replies.
Elisha instructs her to go to her neighbors and borrow all the pots, jugs, and buckets she can find. He then tells her to take her tiny container of oil and start to pour. The widow follows his instructions and, miraculously, enough oil pours forth from the vial to fill all the borrowed vessels. She takes the oil to the marketplace, sells it off to pay her debts, and lives out the rest of her life comfortably.
Why does the prophet's rescue of this widow require such a complicated process? Why couldn't Elisha have told her to simply go home and find a bag of gold on her dining room table or buried in her back yard?
From this incident we learn that the nature of blessing is increase. The Almighty does not bless us by giving us what we lack; He blesses us by expanding and increasing that which we already possess.
In Jewish prayers, the phrase that appears more than any other is, "Blessed are You, Lord, our God ..." By declaring that the Almighty is blessed, we affirm that God is the wellspring of all blessing. It is He Who created us and everything that is ours, and it is He Who increases or decreases that which we already have. With respect to wealth, wisdom, strength, and talent, we acknowledge our Creator as the source of all, recognizing that everything is given on credit in anticipation of our good deeds and subject to immediate forfeiture if we fail to use it responsibly.
Therefore, whenever we take pleasure in the material world, we articulate a blessing to God as an expression of gratitude, expressing as well our hope that we will continue to merit more of the same.
The Gift of Vulnerability
Nothing in the human condition symbolizes this aspect of our relationship with the Almighty more strikingly than the knee.
Human beings are naturally predisposed to believe that we are self-sufficient -- dependent on nothing other than ourselves and our own resources. We easily overlook or disregard our physical limitations, imagining that we are masters of our own fate and soldiers of our own fortune.
When we indulge in this kind of supreme arrogance, we isolate ourselves from human society, cutting ourselves off from other people and distancing ourselves from our Creator.
The counter-evolutionary design of the knee, by which the entire body rests upon so delicate a mechanism, provides a sobering counterweight to the hubris of the human ego. The human knee is ideally designed for one thing: to walk straight ahead, on even ground, at a moderate pace. But as soon as we speed up, slow down, turn, carry, or climb, we cause increased strain, placing ourselves at risk for injury and incapacity.
Similarly, in our pursuit of wealth, power and recognition, we dare not forget that a false step, a hasty turn, or an ill-conceived leap of overconfidence can deal a crippling blow in an instant. By relying solely upon our own resources, we place ourselves in danger of forfeiting all the blessings that have been given us.
However, when we recognize our own limitations, when we accept our dependency, acknowledge our vulnerability, and relax our reflexive egoism, then we come to appreciate that God's blessings carry with them responsibility, and that we must earn them over and over again. Healthy relationships cannot exist without vulnerability. Only when we recognize that we are not self-sufficient can we accept that we need God's involvement in our lives.
This universal truth applies equally to other people and to the Master of Creation. Only when we lower our psychological defenses and make ourselves vulnerable to others can we let them into our lives, loving them and allowing them to love us. And only by allowing others into our lives can we begin to develop the intimacy with the Divine that yields unimaginable strength, unsurpassed joy, and boundless blessing.
Author Biography:
Rabbi Yonason Goldson teaches at Block Yeshiva High School in St. Louis, MO, where he also writes and lectures. Visit him at http://torahideals.wordpress.com.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/spirituality/philosophy/The_Great_Mistake.asp
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The Mystical Dimension of Challah
Insights into Parshat Shelach
by Chana Slavaticki
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/295/vHcx2958704.jpg)
A curious eighteen-month-old was once playing with a nickel and started to choke on it. His four year old brother observed how their frantic mother administered the Heimlich maneuver in a desperate attempt to pump the nickel out. Their father hurried to dial for an ambulance, but to everyone's great relief, the nickel miraculously came out. The next morning, the four-year-old approached his mother with his blue eyes misting, and a serious expression on his face. He said, "Don't worry, Mommy, I don't mind to give up on candy, or any other treats. I promise not to ask for money ever again."
His mother was perplexed, and wondered what prompted him to make such a strange statement. He explained, "I saw how worried you were about getting back that nickel-- that you pressed on the baby's stomach, and Daddy immediately called for an ambulance. So don't worry, I won't ask you for money!"
Each saw reality from a different perspectiveBoth the child and his mother observed the identical scene, but each saw reality from a different perspective. To the child it all boiled down to a nickel. To the mother it was about life itself. We, too, see a big world out there- how do we perceive it? Does it boil down to dollars and cents– is it all a matter of materialism and physicality? Or are we cognizant of the G‑dly life force behind everything?
The opening words of the Torah are "B'reishit Bara Elokim," in the beginning G‑d created the world. The Midrash1 explains that this can also be interpreted to mean that G‑d created the world in the merit of the mitzvot that are referred to as "Reishit," first. One such mitzvah is the mitzvah of "separating challah," a commandment to reserve part of the bread dough for Kohanim (click here for details on how this mitzvah is observed today). The portion of dough which is separated from the rest is described in the Torah as "reishit arisoteichem," the first of your dough.2 What could possibly be so important about separating a piece of dough that the Midrash states that this is the purpose of creation?
In addition, Torah is well known for its brevity. Many commandments are learned from just a single verse or even word. In contrast, five verses in the Torah portion of Shelach are devoted to the topic of separating challah.3 Why does this mitzvah warrant such great elaboration?
To add another puzzling dimension to this picture, there is another Midrash4 that notes that the mitzvah of separating challah in the Torah is followed by the prohibition of idol worship. The juxtaposition of these two laws teaches us that "one who fulfills the mitzvah of separating challah, it's as if he has nullified the worship of idols while one who does not fulfill the mitzvah of separating challah, it's as if he sustains the worship of idols."5 What association can there be between the simple act of separating challah and nullifying idol worship, which goes against the most basic tenets of Judaism?
This act signifies her recognition that the dough is a gift from G‑dThere are many preliminary steps that go into the process that results in separating that elastic piece of dough in the comfort our kitchens. One must plow the soil, plant the grains, water them meticulously, cut the crops, sift the kernels... and the list goes on and on. After investing intensive time and effort, the farmer may come to the erroneous conclusion that it was his great exertion, with the help of "mother nature," that led to his success. On a broader scale, bread, also known as the "staff of life," is a metaphor for all of physicality and materialism. In many cultures, the term "dough" is slang for money (as in "got dough?"). This is because money enables us to buy our "dough" – our sustenance, as well as all our material needs. It is also why one who earns an income for the home is called the "breadwinner". Just as the farmer can mistakenly conclude that it was his talent and effort that resulted in his dough, it is all too easy for a person to attribute his "dough" (his material success) to his brilliance, beauty, creativity, or charisma.
This is where the mitzvah of separating challah comes in. The ingredients have skillfully been mixed together, and pliable dough has been formed. Amid the delicious aroma that has begun to envelop the kitchen, the woman of the home pauses for an introspective moment. She separates a portion of the dough, and says the blessing. She then lifts it up and says "This is challah." This conscious act signifies her recognition that the dough, and by extension all of our material success, is not simply a result of human effort, but is a gift from G‑d.
How does this mitzvah, and the concept it represents, negate or G‑d forbid sustain the worship of idols? Idol worship can take many forms. The crudest form of idol worship of bygone eras was prostrating in front of figurines of wood and stone. Today, with equally passionate enthusiasm, we worship the idols of wealth, power, beauty and success. There are other, more subtle forms of idol worship as well. The mistaken notion that after G‑d created the sun, moon, and all of nature, He invested in them individual power, when in truth, nothing in this world has individual power; it is all controlled by G‑d.6 To take this a step further, if someone believes that anything in this world even exists independently of G‑d, that, too, on some level is idol worship. This is the opposite of what we, as human beings, perceive. The world seems to cry out "I exist" when in reality, the real and only true existence is G‑dliness, something that we cannot see, but have to deeply contemplate.
It's interesting to note the choice of wording that the Midrash uses. It says "one who fulfills the mitzvah of separating challah, it's as if he nullifies the worship of idols while one who does not fulfill the mitzvah of separating challah, it's as if he sustains the worship of idols." This implies that there is an idol that is currently in existence whose validation or nullification is tied to the mitzvah of challah. The idol we are referring to is the entire universe. It acts as one big "idol" by presenting a façade that it exists independent of G‑d. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains that 7 that, in truth, G‑d is constantly recreating the world every second; and if He were to stop, the entire universe would instantly cease to exist. So despite the facade that the world presents, it all amounts to "nothing" without the G‑dly life force that is energizing it. Separating a portion of the dough shatters that idol of independent existence. This, albeit small, act reflects our great awareness that despite its veneer, the entire world is G‑d incognito.8
It reflects a desire to connect with the One aboveInterestingly, this idea is also reflected in the actual word "challah." It begins with the Hebrew letter chet, which is closed on the top as well as on both of its sides. There remains only an opening from below. This is symbolic of one who is tempted by the negative impulses from "below"-- the base animalistic desires, and the temptations of the material world. Challah concludes with the Hebrew letter hei, which is very similar in shape to the chet. It, too, is also almost entirely closed on all three sides, with an opening at the bottom. But, in contrast to the letter chet, the inner leg of the hei has a small opening at the top. Despite the gaping hole at the bottom, which is one's natural inclination to be drawn after materialism, the additional opening at the top reflects an awareness of, and desire to connect with, the One above.9
According to Kabbalah,10 the word "challah" can be divided into two words "chol hei". This means "place the hei." The world that we inhabit appears to be like the initial letter "chet" It is a world where we are inclined towards the corporeal, and G‑dliness seems to be out of the picture. The purpose of our existence is to "place the hei" in the picture of life; to tap into the miniscule opening at the top, and become cognizant of the Divinity in all of Creation.
One time, the son of the famed Maggid of Mezeritch came to his father in tears. He explained that he had been playing "Hide and Seek" with his friends, and it had been his turn to hide. "So what happened?" his father gently asked him. "No one found me," he responded. Said his father "That's wonderful - that means you won the game." "No," he responded sadly, "My friends simply stopped looking for me." At this point, the Maggid too, started to cry, as he raised his eyes heavenward and said: "G‑d feels the same way. He concealed Himself in the universe, and wants us to seek Him out. He, too, cries when we stop searching for Him."
Challah is our steadfast commitment not to give up in the middle of the game.
FOOTNOTES
1. Midrash Rabba Aleph
2. The actual term "challah" refers to the portion that is separated. However, over time, people have come to refer to the bread that we eat on Shabbat as challah.
3. Bamidbar 15: 17-21
4. Vayikra Rabba 15:6
5. The mitzvah is not to actually bake challah. But when one does make a dough using the required amount of flour, and a drop of water, (or honey, wine, grape juice, olive oil, or milk) it then becomes a requirement to separate a portion for G‑d, and recite the blessing.
6. Rambam, Laws of Idol Worship
7. Shaar Hayichud V'haemunah
8. On the other hand, if one mistakenly forgets to separate challah he is by default "upholding idol worship," by giving credence to the erroneous belief that the world exists without G‑d's constant second to second involvement. (Likutei Sichot Volume 18 pages 183-185)
9. This concept is explained in connection with the words chametz (leavened bread) and matzah (unleavened bread). Both words share two identical letters; The mem and tzadik The only difference is that the word chametz, contains the letter chet whereas matzah contains the letter hei. Chametz, dough that rises, represents arrogance. Just as the dough is "puffed up" it is symbolic of a person who is full of himself. He is compared to the chet, because he is influenced by the material. Yet like the chet, which has no opening at the top, he is closed to the possibility for self transcendence because he is so full of himself. In contrast, matzah, which is flat, symbolizes humility. A person who possesses this trait, is like the hei which has the opening above, suggestive of the possibility to connect to G‑d which stems from humility. (Likutei Sichot Volume 1 pages 129-132)
10. Tikunei Zohar, Tikkun 16, Ohr Hatorah page 541
by Chana Slavaticki More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Chana Slavaticki has been an educator for over a decade, and lectures at various adult education institutes and Chabad Centers. She lives in Baltimore , Maryland with her husband and three children.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVQP6GL-Ps0
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVQP6GL-Ps0[/youtube]
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I'm leaving on vacation today and I'm not sure If will have much time to post for a week or two. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to respond to various posts.
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/930293/jewish/When-the-Twitter-Revolution-Began.htm
When the Twitter Revolution Began
( The orignial article has links to a lot of other articles)
By Tzvi Freeman
If the popular demonstrations going on in Iran right now turn into a full blown revolution—and it's getting darn close—it may well go down in history as the Twitter Revolution. I've only recently started twittering—although I had no idea when I began what I needed it for. I certainly didn't expect it would become the backbone of a revolution. Yet what's happening now is reminiscent of the role fax machines and email played in the popular demonstrations that led to the fall of the Communist party in what was then the U.S.S.R., as well as in Czechoslovakia, Hungary, East Germany and other states.
Call it consumer technology, open communication systems, or populist information technologies—the same theme has been behind every major social upheaval in history. Go back a little further to the cultural revolution that shook the Western World in the sixties, something that would never have been possible were it not for the opening of the airwaves to alternative radio stations and the advent of portable transistor radios. The "establishment" would never have played Joan Baez and Bob Dylan singing those things. The sense of empowerment that came from driving your own car down an open highway and turning on the radio to hear someone your own age singing (with an even worse voice than your own) the words you always wanted to scream out—that let forth an energy that never quite got back in its box.
Call it consumer technology, open communication systems, or populist information technologies—the same theme has been behind every major social upheaval in historyThey say the Russian Revolution was driven by the mimeograph machine. The only reason Russia was spared a revolution in 1848—"the year of revolutions" for the rest of Europe—was the inability of recalcitrant groups to communicate with one another. Those popular uprisings of the 19th century, as well as their root in the French Revolution, were made possible by the proliferation of newspapers. It's hard to imagine the American Revolution without a fairly large literate base of people all reading the same news in popular format.
The mother of all European revolutions was the Reformation of the 16th century. Without a doubt, the invention of the printing press had everything to do with that upheaval. Once the Bible was printed and distributed, the power was in the hands of the people. Because information—and the ability to distribute it—is power.
Now think back to the first populist information technology and imagine what sort of a revolution that must have wrought. I'm talking about the alphabet, the first form of writing accessible to the masses.
The move from glyphic writing to the alphabet shares much in common with today's digital revolution. Before digital technology, data was stored in analog form. Audio, for example, was stored in grooves in a vinyl disk analogous to sound waves, or in imprints that mimicked those same waves on magnetic tape. Video was stored in a series of translucent picture frames on a film. Digital technologies, however, store all data in strings of 1s and 0s—whether that data be numbers, text, graphics, audio, video or even smells. The alphabet does something similar, something that must have seemed quite revolutionary at the time. Whereas Egyptian hieroglyphics et al principally represented objects with analogous imagery, an alphabet uses a small set of simple symbols to represent all the vocalized sounds out of which words are formed.
By representing multiple media with non-analogous digits, digital technologies are able to reduce storage size, avoid generation loss, facilitate blending and synergy of media, and—most important—vastly increase the power of any little guy to move a lot of information to a lot of people in a lot of places very fast.
By representing sound with imagery, the alphabet had a similar impact. No longer did you have to memorize hundreds of glyphs before initiation as a scribe. Anyone who could memorize a set of letters not much larger than the digits on his hands and feet could figure out for himself how to write whatever pleased him to write. Even if he didn't use the same character combinations as the next guy, you could still figure out what words he was intending. New words and concepts could be easily added, without awaiting approval from the official society of scribes. The linear format and simplicity of the alphabet made copying a much simpler feat, with less likelihood of generation-loss, allowing for swifter and wider distribution of texts. Any child with a soft piece of clay, or a lambskin and some charcoal now became a scribe, no initiation rites required.
Any child with a soft piece of clay, or a lambskin and some charcoal now became a scribe, no initiation rites requiredPerhaps even more significant was the necessarily linear format of the alphabet. Take a moment to think how differently your eyes and your ears operate. The eyes naturally scan a scene by jumping about almost erratically, finding and registering the most significant features of whatever phenomena stand before you. The ears, on the other hand, are serial processors, taking in audio stimuli in threads and processing the data in chunks as it comes in. When I worked in early literacy software, the first goal we had for children was to learn to do something quite unnatural—to scan linearly from left to right. When you read a picture book to a pre-literate child, pointing to the words with your finger and turning the pages in order, you are teaching just that—how to use the eyes as though they were ears, in a linear, procedural process.
One contract was for a firm that taught literacy to factory laborers. As it turns out, adults who have never gained alphabet literacy lack more than reading skills—they lack the ability to think in procedural terms. A supervisor can show them, "first you do this, then this, and only then can you do this…" They will memorize the procedure and follow it faithfully. But then, the factory procedure changes and so must the procedure. Now they are lost. A literate person understands the procedure—and the whole concept of procedure in general—and so he is able to adapt. An illiterate person just does it, without cognition, so that any change pulls the carpet out from under his feet and he must start all over again.
In a summer job for a law firm, I was assigned to read through the oratories of the Squamish tribes of British Columbia, as they addressed "the grand father"—the prime minister of Canada (Laurier and then Borden). Initially I was enthralled by the grandeur and spellbinding imagery of their speeches. But then I found myself impatiently asking, "Where is this going? What is the plot to the story? What is the point?" But there was no point, the stories just meandered from one event to the next and the imagery followed about as much pattern as a loose daydream.
Learning to read linear text provides the reader with an ability to think in linear terms. Historical chronology now replaces the never ever land of myths and legends. Logic replaces superstition. Algorithms and corollaries dominate over axioms. The human being begins to see himself within a linear path as well, moving from past to future, ignorance to knowledge, childishness to maturity with destiny, with a story that makes sense. Words such as person, purpose and progress now enter the lexicon. Pharaoh's pyramid begins to crumble.
When did all this begin? Elsewhere, I discussed the revolutionary shift from glyphs to the alphabet that first appears in the Land of Canaan. I pointed out that this was not a matter of invention alone—the Egyptian scribes had long used a small set of glyphs to represent the sounds of foreign names. Rather, it seems tied to a social revolution, to a new and wild notion that information belongs to everybody. (Best books on the topic of the origins of the alphabet are by the acknowledged expert, Joseph Naveh. See Origins of the Alphabet and Early History of the Alphabet. You'll also want to read what Rabbi Jonathan Sacks has to say in chapter 7 of The Dignity of Difference.)
From its very birth, Judaism has been deeply tied to the free flow of knowledge; to the right for every member of society to play a role in justice and human dignityIt seems to have begun only once, in only one place. Whereas glyphic writing appeared independently in perhaps eight different places in the world, all alphabets in use today can be traced to the scrawls found in the Sinai peninsula and pottery in Canaan—at about the time of the Exodus. By the time of the Judges, archeological evidence points to a generally literate society.
What role the alphabet played in the social revolutions of that period we can only conjecture. There's no doubt, it was huge. For an eye-opener concerning the stark contrast between The Torah of Moses and other legislative documents of the period, read Dr. Joshua Berman's book, Created Equal—How the Bible Broke with Ancient Political Thought or his online essay The Case for God: A Political and Economic Perspective.
Cutting to the chase, the very idea of a national exodus and a mass revelation at Sinai was radically out of context with the mindset of the period. Slaves are people? G‑d cares about common men? There's something wrong with oppression? Humanity has purpose? Equality? Life is sacred? All these ideas would have seemed preposterous to any other society at the time. In fact, no other society attempted to set them into practice for another three thousand years, when the Fathers of the American Constitution used the Hebrew Bible as their prototype.
The Torah also introduced the first linear story of humanity. Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi discussed this in his now classic work on Jewish historiography, Zakhor—Jewish History and Jewish Memory. The stories of Genesis are as sharply distinct from the epic sagas of the ancient world as they are from those Squamish tales. They are a kind of un-mythology, following a definite sequence, working towards a fulfillment of promised destiny. Without the stories of Abraham and his covenant, or of Joseph and his brothers, the Exodus cannot be told. Without the story of the Exodus, Mount Sinai has no place. And so it continues, as we are launched into a destiny of a nation whose story has yet to resolve, and with whom the concepts of purpose, progress and destiny were born.
From its very birth, Judaism has been deeply tied to the free flow of knowledge; to the right—or rather, need—for every member of society to play a role in justice and human dignity; to the recognition of the individual as a sacred unit and to the empowerment of each one of us to know and make known the truth. Abraham, our father, smashed the idols of falseness and Moses empowered every man, woman and child to know truth firsthand. One can almost imagine our ancestors, slaves in Egypt, passing scribbled notes to one another, "Assemble at Ramses, noon tomorrow."
If today, it's Twitter that's carrying on that tradition, I'm with Twitter. And with the young people who clamor bravely today in Tehran for justice, liberty and the dignity of human life.
By Tzvi Freeman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Tzvi Freeman heads Chabad.org's Ask The Rabbi team, and is a senior member of the Chabad.org editorial team. He is the author of a number of highly original renditions of Kabbalah and Chassidic teaching, including the universally acclaimed "Bringing Heaven Down to Earth." To order Tzvi's books click here.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Nice piece Rachel-- though the curmudgeon in me notes IIRC that the man the young in Teheran are supporting was a key founder in the nuke program which may well be intended to wipe out Israel.
Anyway, enjoy your vacation, we look forward to your return.
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By Tzvi Freeman
The history of humankind is not about the rise and fall of empires, their wars and their conquests. It is about a different sort of war, a singular one: The battle over whether the Creator of this place belongs here or in some heaven above.
That is the battle each one of us fights, and that is the story of all humanity's journey. And that is all that really matters. For that is all there is to any human being.
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Thanks Marc,
I am having a lot of fun at the Florida Theme Parks but hopefully our next vacation we will actually get to sleep and it won't be in the 90's
http://www.chabad.org/blogs/blog_cdo/aid/912805/jewish/The-Threat-of-Extremism.htm
The Threat of Extremism
Part I: Radical Islam’s Goal of World Domination
Sunday, June 28, 2009
By Chana Weisberg
A few weeks ago, our friend Rabbi Avraham Rothman, a rabbi of the Aish HaTorah congregation in our community, invited my husband and I to join him at the premier of a groundbreaking new film that I consider a must-watch for anyone who values his freedom: "The Third Jihad."
The film confirmed a gradual shift in my perspective that has been germinating for some time now.
I used to think in terms of black and white. An idea, response, conviction or action was either right or wrong.
Some ideas or principles are just always good. Take kindness and generosity—how could you possibly go wrong by being nice to people? Same with finding depth and spiritual meaning, seemingly a positive course for leading a more valuable life. Ditto for freedom, equality, justice and liberty as cornerstones for what every human being needs and deserves.
But as time goes on, I realize that the same principle can be both right and wrong, depending on its measure and extreme. Moreover, the very same ideal can bring the greatest beauty and goodness to our world— or wreak absolute havoc and evil brutality.
The Third Jihad tells the account of one brave Muslim American doctor, Dr. Zuhdi Jasser. The film is based on the FBI's release of a radical Islamist manifesto outlining a plan to destroy America from within, by taking advantage of the United States' democratic process.
Through chilling video footage of radical Islamists throughout the world, as well as interviews with experts in the fields of defense and international terror, the film clearly depicts the Islamic goal of world domination.
To achieve their goal, the radical Islamists employ both hostile as well as peaceful methods.
Through building terror networks and committing acts of terror throughout the free world, Islamists call attention to their cause while inflicting untold damage and horror to Western sensibilities and intimidate into silence those who would oppose them.
Their "peaceful" means There are very few individuals who are aware of and are openly fighting this agenda. Fewer yet are Muslims. include mass immigration to infiltrate our societies, as well as funding the sending of fanatical Imams from the hotbed of their radical societies, like Saudi Arabia, to teach, preach and convert as many as they can to their harsh interpretation of the Sharia (Islamic law). Hardened criminals are converted to Islam by Imams who arrive at their prison cells to win them over and convert them, and later build for them special communities, like Islamberg in Upstate N.Y., from where they can channel their aggressive energies to destroy Western society.
Compounding the danger is the fact that a significant and growing percentage of Muslims are increasingly identifying with the extreme and repugnant ideologies espoused by Islam's most radical elements. With its high birthrate and its aggressive recruitment efforts, Islam is the fastest growing religion in the world today. In Europe, for example, Muslims already represent 20% of the population, and Islamic propaganda assures its faithful that by the year 2050, Muslims will be the largest segment of the European population. All this make the threat posed by radical Islam all the more frightening.
Most frightening about this perilous situation is that this is a well kept secret (to which our press associations are apparently willing corroborators—but more on that later).
And the large grants provided to departments of Middle Eastern Studies in prestigious Ivy League universities also ensure that a sympathetic approach to Radical Islam is taught by our society's "intellectuals" and then advocated by the student population.
There are very few individuals who are aware of and are openly fighting this agenda. Fewer yet are Muslims.
Dr. Zuhdi Jasser, a Muslim physician, is an exception. His amazing courage in fighting the radical Islamist agenda by increasing public awareness of this menace--despite the risk to his life--provides a valuable lesson for all of us, about the ability of every individual to make a difference in our world by standing up for one's convictions.
Distorting Something Positive: Idealization of the Afterlife
The Third Jihad is a chilling message to the West to awaken and realize the threat facing its very existence, its democratic way of life and value system.
But as I watched this gripping video, my recurring thought was how a positive ideal could become absolutely evil if distorted from its proper context or taken to too extreme a measure.
As I watched the Rather than cherishing life as the precious gift that it is, death becomes a means to attaining one's most gratifying pleasures in some spiritual Afterlife. footage documenting Radical Islamists' goal to enforce Sharia worldwide, I couldn't help but think of the surface similarities to many universal religious values. Yet, while the values may be similar at the starting point, how different are the results and end goals.
At the core of Islamic teaching is the realization of the temporality of physical existence and submission to a Higher Power. Infuse your life with a higher purpose, the Imams preach, where the spiritual reigns supreme.
This is a beautiful ideal. One that Western society, with its feverish pursuit of materialism at the expense of spiritual wellbeing, has much to learn from. Valuing a spiritual existence is a positive core value.
This lofty ideal, however, is distorted by fanatical extremism. Taken to the extreme of Radical Islam, physical life becomes meaningless. Rather than cherishing life as the precious gift that it is, death becomes a means to attaining one's most gratifying (physical) pleasures in some spiritual Afterlife.
One religious woman shown in the film is respected by her co-religionists for being the mother of three suicide bombers. She proudly and unflinchingly declares that she would be thrilled to send all her ten sons to their death for the noble cause of Islam.
In another frame, young children proudly demonstrate their "military" training—to execute suicide bombings.
The underlying theme in all this is the ideal that our physical life is temporary while the eternal and most meaningful life is in the hereafter. That is why a mother is willing to send her child, or even all her children, to their deaths along with as many "infidels" as possible.
The result of this extreme application is that rather than fostering a more spiritual lifestyle in our world, the greatest atrocities are committed because life in the here and now has become insignificant. This distorted focus also results in the debasement of the entire concept of the spiritual Afterlife, which becomes merely a means for attaining one's most perverted lusts.
On the other extreme, in Western society, material luxuries are pursued despite the steep spiritual price and the neglect of our soul's wellbeing. The pursuit of physical pleasures has become revered, while spiritual growth has become unimportant, relegated, at most, to a back burner, somewhere way down on our long list of essential priorities, the top of which is dominated by items needed to enhance our material standard of living.
In contrast to both radical Islam and Western society, in Judaism, a spiritual life does not come at the expense of the physical. Physical or material existence is not meant to be disregarded, but rather used, channeled and sanctified for a divine purpose. Our physical world and physical life need not be sinful, debased or disdainful, but a medium for a greater spiritual existence—which the spiritual soul alone, without a physical body or physical world, is incapable of attaining.
So hallowed and cherished Physical or material existence is not meant to be disregarded, but rather used, channeled and sanctified for a divine purpose. is our time in this world, as an opportunity to refine and channel our physical reality for greater goodness, that the Sages state, "Greater is one hour of doing good deeds in this world than all the time in the world to come." For this reason, saving a life is the greatest virtue and most pressing commandment, for which other commandments are overridden. Moreover, in Judaism, the spiritual worlds are but "waiting stops" for the soul, until the most ideal of times comes, when the redemption will happen here, on this physical world, and all souls will return to their physical bodies.
Similarly, it can be argued that capital sentences – which are regular and frequent occurrences in Islamic societies, along with the ghastly "honor killings" – for severe or immoral crimes are an important deterrent against crime. However, this too, taken to an extreme, by becoming a common occurrence, merely debases life rather than encouraging a greater, more refined way of living.
In Judaism, there are also capital crimes. But though the law permitted capital punishment for severe offenses, the courts were enjoined to spare no effort in finding reasons to acquit. Consequently, executions were so rare that the Talmud derogatorily refers to a Court of Law that has executed even one individual in seventy years as a "murderous court."
Because life is cherished as the most precious gift that G‑d has given us.
Belief in the Afterlife or belief in a more spiritual existence needs to provide us with the impetus to live more meaningful lives that are not geared only to immediate gratification, but in which we work towards refining ourselves into better, more loving, more harmonious and more giving individuals. If belief in the Afterlife, however, causes a disregard for the sanctity of life—ours and our fellow humans'—as well as a disdain for physical pleasures in this world only to expect them in their most lustful, debased form in the world to come, then this belief has become an escape mechanism to permit the greatest perversions, brutalities and atrocities—all supposedly in the name of G‑d.
Stay tuned for "Part Two: When Liberty and Equality Become an End Goal"
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Very interesting Rachel. Looking forward to Part Two:
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Lasting Peace
By Tzvi Freeman
Lasting peace is not created by intellectuals, for their minds are easily bribed from within and from without. Nor by those who follow their faith blindly, for at times their blindness wreaks havoc.
Lasting peace is the achievement of those who have made peace between the rigor of their mind and the simplicity of their faith. Their faith is firmly anchored beyond the whims of this world, and their mind sees clearly that proper results are achieved.
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Inside Workers
By Tzvi Freeman
When you look at a human being, you see his hands working, his feet walking, his mouth talking. You don't see his heart, his brain, his lungs and kidneys. They work quietly, inside. But they are the essential organs of life.
The world, too, has hands and feet -- those who are making the news and effecting change. The heart, the inner organs, they are those who work quietly from the inside, those unnoticed. Those who do a simple act of kindness without knowing its reward.
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Marc,
You requested part two so I am posting it. It is not something I would have otherwise posted.
http://www.chabad.org/blogs/blog_cdo/aid/912808/jewish/When-Liberty-and-Equality-Become-an-End-Goal.htm
The Threat of Extremism
Part II: When Liberty and Equality Become an End Goal
Sunday, July 05, 2009
By Chana Weisberg
This piece is a continuation from last week's blog post: Part I: Radical Islam's Goal of World Domination.
Last week we examined the distortion of the role of the Afterlife in radical Islam. This week we will look at another positive core value that is being distorted – albeit by people on the opposite spectrum of society – and this too is resulting in promoting the goals of radical Islam.
Most of us in the Western world vociferously defend the concepts of equality and liberty. Freedom of religion and multiculturalism are the foundations upon which American and Western societies were built. The democratic process ensures that every voice is heard and equal opportunities are made available for all. Unlike dictatorial societies, we pride ourselves on freedom of expression and every person's right to say and do as he or she chooses.
But what if that same freedom is giving voice to terrorists who want to destroy our very value system? Or what if by providing fanatics with a platform and rights, we ultimately enable the success of a program intended to suppress our own freedoms? What if through the medium of multiculturalism, one group intends to overtake and dominate all others and ultimately to forcefully impose their culture?
This is the astounding situation that is facing us in Western civilizations across the globe. Moreover, radical Islamists are very aware of our democratic mindset and plan on using these very noble principles to destroy the very fabric of life that we so cherish.
For the sake of freedom of religion and freedom of speech, we allow fanatical Imams to immigrate into our midst, teach the most hateful, inciteful messages of Islamic world domination and encourage their faithful to promote this plan through all means—peaceful or hostile—at their disposal.
Ironically, those who usually lobby for the rights of women and other exploited minorities are instead promoting the rights of people whose treatment of those same individuals is abhorrent.
We are protecting the rights of people who view women as less than human. People who come from a culture where "honor killings" are common. In radical Islamist cultures, if a young woman is found to have engaged in a "forbidden" sexual relationship (which might mean a relationship with a non-Muslim, or might mean that she has been forcibly raped) she is often killed by the members of her own family in order to honor their name and reputation. And this is the culture that they want to force upon us; these are the people whose "freedoms" we are so concerned about!
Why? How can we make sense of this irrational advocacy by elements of our press and large segments of our society for those whose goals are so antithetical to their own?
But perhaps the convictions of liberty and equality have become so distorted by many of us that these noble values are being applied to an extreme fanatical and irrational measure. Our ideals have no longer become a means to the end of a better life, but an end goal in themselves.
Have we become so shortsighted in the application of our values to the extent that they have become our new idolatry? Are we are even willing to forego our ultimate freedom and way of life for the sake of defending the voices of those who wish to destroy our way of life?
So, once upon a time, I used to believe that our world could be divided into black and white, good and bad. And, I believed, that the more of a good thing, the better.
But I've come to realize that in our complex world, almost everything—even good, noble causes—requires a balance, context and boundary.
Maimonides writes (Laws of De'ot ch. 1) that we should stay away from extremes. Not too miserly, not to giving. Not too indulgent, but not abstinent either. Not the local comedian, but not a sour face either. The proper path, he teaches, is always the middle ground—even with regards to admirable character traits.
Because the loftiest of traits or convictions, when taken to a fanatical extreme, can in fact become the worst possible manifestation of evil and destruction.
That is how the most beautiful concept of leading a more spiritual life can become malicious.
And how the noble virtues of liberty and equality can become their own, equally horrific, self-serving idolatry.
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Best post, ever!
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GM,
This article made be uncomfortable not because it was critical of illiberal democracy.
I am posting Fareed Zakaria great article on illiberal democracy in another tread.
http://dogbrothers.com/phpBB2/index.php?topic=1661.msg29854#msg29854
I struggle with Judaism's especially orthodox Judaism's view on freedom and democracy. For non- Jews Judaism is much more lenient but for Jews the Torah is a law book and must be obeyed. While I was looking for some material on that I came across this article.
http://www.hagshama.org.il/en/resources/view.asp?id=904
Judaism and Democracy
By: Aryeh Tepper
A commonly held view is that Judaism and liberal democracy necessarily exist in conflict with each other. This view finds adherents among both liberal democrats and Orthodox Jews. There are liberal democrats who consider Judaism to be a paternalistic religion that is hostile to freedom, and there are Orthodox Jews who consider liberal democracy's separation between church and state - the public and the private spheres - to be atheistic in intent and permissive in practice.
The apparent conflict between Judaism and democracy stems from differing evaluations of the freedom of the individual: whereas liberal democracies are constituted by the rights given to citizens by the state, in Judaism there are ten commandments given by (no less than) God. (According to one Talmudic authority there are actually 613 commandments for Jews). To state the matter grossly, but not altogether incorrectly, whereas liberal democracy is primarily concerned with the rights of the individual, Judaism is primarily concerned with an individual's duties. The two thus appear to exist in conflict with each other, because where Judaism demands obedience to God's will, liberal democracy, if it is to remain liberal, must guarantee the individual's right to freedom of, or from, religion.
It would be incorrect, however, to conclude from the differing evaluations of the freedom of the individual that the conflict between Judaism and liberal democracy is fundamental.
A thorough comparison between Judaism and democracy is, of course, beyond the limits of this article. However, in order to render questionable the commonly held opinion that Judaism and democracy are essentially opposed to each other, I would like to briefly explore a claim that has recently been raised by three different scholars ¯ Princeton University Professor Michael Walzer, recently deceased, Bar-Ilan Professor and President of the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, Daniel Elazar, and President of the Jerusalem-based think-tank, the Shalem Center, Yoram Hazony. Contrary to the conventional wisdom, these three scholars have claimed, in different forms, that Judaism and democracy possess a common foundation.
The American Revolution is the best place to begin the exploration, because the American Revolution was the first modern, democratic revolution. If it can be demonstrated that the American revolutionaries turned to the Hebrew Bible - to the Torah - for inspiration and guidance, then this would indicate that the commonly held view about the conflict between Judaism and democracy might be mistaken.
It is of course well known that the founders of the American republic established their state in opposition to the British monarchy. But to whom did the founding fathers turn for inspiration in their fight against the tyranny of the throne? Princeton University Professor Michael Walzer, in his book, Exodus and Revolution, attempts to demonstrate the extent to which the story of Israel's exodus of Egypt functioned as a paradigm for political revolutions throughout history. The clearest example of the extent to which the exodus story functioned as a paradigm for later generations of political revolutionaries, is the case of the American Revolution, “In 1776, Benjamin Franklin proposed that the Great Seal of the United States should show Moses with his rod lifted and the Egyptian army drowning by the sea; while Jefferson urged a more pacific design: the column of Israelites marching through the wilderness led by God's pillars of cloud and fire.” (p. 6) Franklin went so far as to propose that the inscription of the Great Seal should read, “Resistance to tyrants is obedience to God.”
Why did Franklin and Jefferson see the American emancipation from England in light of the emancipation of the nation of Israel from Egypt? And where did Franklin get the strange notion that, “Resistance to tyrants is obedience to God?”
The answer, according to Walzer, is that Franklin and Jefferson read the Torah - what they called the Old Testament - according to its original intention: they read it as a political text. What is the nature of the Torah's political teaching?
The story is well-known: the nation of Israel had been enslaved in Egypt, and was tyrannically ruled by Pharoah. The savior Moses then appeared and, under the cover of the ten plagues sent by God, took the Jews out to freedom. The Torah thus set up an opposition between Pharoah's will and God's will. Pharoah wanted Israel to serve Egypt; God wanted Israel to serve Him. After God's will, not surprisingly, trumped Pharoah's will, and the Jews were led into the wilderness of freedom, one might expect that God would simply take Pharoah's place and rule over Israel like a tyrannical king. After all, God is stronger than Pharoah, and Israel was a nation of freed slaves, wandering around the desert, vulnerable.
The Torah teaches, however, that instead of ruling over Israel tyrannically, God made a brit, a covenant with Israel. An agreement. Both sides - God on one side, Israel on the other - while maintaining their integrity, accepted upon themselves duties and obligations.
This covenant between Israel and God was a political revolution. The idea that the right to rule does not simply belong to the stronger, but that power is established through the consent of both sides, was a radical political teaching. Professor Daniel Elazar in his series, The Covenant Tradition in Politics, claims that the idea of the covenant was instrumental in the political development of the West. Writes Elazar, “Politically the covenant idea has within it the seeds of modern constitutionalism in that covenants define and limit the powers of the parties to them, a limitation not inherent in nature but involving willed concessions.” (Covenant and Polity in Biblical Israel, p. 68) Elazar goes on to claim that, “The justification for the republican revolution was drawn directly and explicitly from the covenant idea,” the religious understanding of the covenant idea being that, “God, in establishing His covenant with humanity, rejected tyranny as a violation of the terms of that covenant.” (Covenant and Commonwealth, p. 50) It should now be evident that Benjamin Franklin, when he claimed that resistance to tyrants is obedience to God, was expressing the political spirit of the Torah thought through to a possible, logical conclusion.
According to Yoram Hazony, the spirit of resistance against tyranny that the Torah stimulated also lies at the root of the Western notion of civil disobedience. As Hazony wrote in his article, 'The Jewish Origin of the Western Disobedience Tradition,' from the summer, 1998, issue of Azure, “While the disobedience teaching of the West is well-known, virtually forgotten is the fact that this teaching is itself the essential Jewish political teaching.” It is the essential Jewish political teaching, according to Hazony, because, “Unqualified obedience to the state is the fundamentally pagan idea, the essential political teaching of the great idolatries of antiquity; [while] freedom of conscience and disobedience to unjust law are the core of the biblical political teaching, which arose as a rejection of pagan statism.” Hazony exaggerates when he states that freedom of conscience is a Biblical ideal, but his central point remains: the Jewish idea of God and His Law directs one's horizon beyond the particular horizon of the state. All laws must be justified before God's Law, and one can refuse to comply with man-made law upon the grounds that God's Law is superior. According to Hazony, the Greek appeal from that which is right by convention, to that which is right by nature, was preceded by the Jewish appeal from man-made law, to God-made Law. Hazony, in a silent nod to Michael Walzer, then ties his claim to the exodus story when he writes, “The subsequent story of the Jews in Egypt is a paradigm of resistance to oppressive government, to which resistors and revolutionaries throughout history have turned for inspiration. Like the other tales of the books of Moses, this one opens immediately with an act of resistance against the state,” the act of resistance being the refusal of the Hebrew mid-wives to carry out Pharoah's tyrannical order to kill all the Hebrew males (Exodus 1:15-21).
In telling the story of the exodus from Egypt, the Torah constructs a paradigm for resistance against tyrannical rulers. Democracy was, of course, also born out of resistance to tyranny. Walzer, Elazar, and Hazony all point out in different ways that the foundation of the Jewish tradition and the first principle of democracy oppose the same thing: tyranny. In other words, the foundation of the Jewish tradition and the first principle of democracy, far from existing in opposition to each other, actually exist in harmony with each other. It is an established, historical fact that Judaism served as the inspiration for certain democratic notions of freedom. This fact makes problematic the commonly-held view, which is in reality an extreme view, that Judaism and democracy exist in opposition to each other.
While the position that democracy and Judaism essentially exist in conflict with each other is an extreme view, one should guard against going to the opposite extreme and claiming that there is an essential harmony between Judaism and democracy. The truth is somewhere in the middle: while Judaism and democracy might agree about political fundamentals, there is a deep disagreement between the two over the proper ends of human life. It is beyond the limits of this article to investigate the question of the proper ends of life according to Judaism and democracy, but for present purposes it is sufficient to note that while democracy can tolerate atheism, Judaism, of course, cannot. We can imagine an individual claiming that freedom of conscience dictates that he or she be allowed to come to whatever conclusion seems fitting according to his or her mind with regard to the question of the existence or the non-existence of God. Judaism can respond at best that it is not afraid of speculation. However, according to Judaism, there is a correct answer to the question of God's existence. On the question of God's (non)-existence, however, contemporary democracy does not teach that there is a right answer; it remains silent.
Perhaps the best that can be said about the connection between Judaism and democracy is that, because of the common foundation, they can talk to each other. They both say 'no' to tyranny, and this 'no' forms a kind of fellowship. There is a common enemy.
Today, thousands of Orthodox Jews are free citizens of the United States of America, a country in which they feel completely at home. The present state of things demonstrates that democracy can make room for (Orthodox) Judaism in its midst. In light of the Jewish roots of certain democratic notions of freedom, perhaps this fact should not come as a surprise. The question that remains, however, is if Orthodox Judaism is able to conceive of a political system in which dissent against Judaism's fundamental principles can be accorded a legitimate place. This is a question that Orthodox Jews living in Israel have the responsibility, challenge, and privilege of wrestling with.
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Mending the Bonds
by Rivka Zehava
Prayer is a powerful tool to repair our relationship with God and man.
It's Tammuz. The very name of this month knots my stomach tightly. For over 2000 years Jews have known that the three weeks from the 17th of Tammuz to the 9th of Av is an inauspicious time for the Jewish nation. It is a time in which God withdraws His usually benevolent and compassionate watch from us. Our history is full of tragedies and exiles that began and took place during this period, in which every year, we are made to hear the message, "My children, you have withdrawn from me. You have strayed. Feel the distance and what it causes, and come back."
The fear Tammuz instills in me is a good thing. It is meant to be a catalyst for action, for healing and mending. We are meant to contemplate the severed connection between God and us and to take tangible steps towards repairing it.
Relationships need constant words of love and appreciation to stay strong and develop. Our relationship with God is no different.
The key to every relationship is communication. One of the most important ingredients for a healthy marriage is the ability to express oneself to their spouse, whether it be feelings of gratitude, anger or excitement. Rifts are opportunities to work it out together and come to an understanding. Like a plant requires water and sunshine to grow, our bonds necessitate constant words of love and appreciation to stay strong and develop.
One's relationship with God is no different; it also requires communication. The structured prayers serve as our crucial guide to expressing and connecting to our Creator. In addition, built into the heart of every human being is the natural power to talk to God, at any minute of any day. Wherever you are, you have the ability to simply open your mouth and speak to the Almighty, your heavenly Father Who loves you.
Brian used to get extremely nervous before big business meetings. He couldn't sleep the night before and would worry for days whether or not the deal would go through. Business was picking up speed and these stressful meetings were becoming more and more frequent. Brian realized he couldn't function anymore. One day, he saw a bumper sticker that said, DON'T TELL GOD HOW BIG YOUR PROBLEMS ARE, TELL YOUR PROBLEMS HOW BIG GOD IS. He decided to try it out.
For the first time in his life, he started talking to God. He would explain why he was nervous about this particular deal, laying down all the details of the other company and their deliberations. He would express his fears about the benefits and risks of the deal to his own company. "God, if it's good, make it work. If not, help it fall through." Brian felt himself calm down when he spoke things out with God. And soon enough he would take a minute to thank Him after each meeting, feeling the abundance of blessing in his life.
Red traffic lights are a perfect time to reconnect with God.
"Good Morning, God!" "Thanks for letting my car start, God!" "Please help me get to the office before my boss, God!!!"
One sentence can build a bridge between you and Him.
Loving Other Jews
These three weeks are also the time to work on repairing the bonds between our fellow Jews. The Talmud teaches us that the Holy Temple was destroyed because of the baseless hatred and lack of respect that crept into the lives of the Jewish nation.
Praying for someone else requires opening your eyes to his plight and letting his pain flow through your heart.
This, too, can be repaired through prayer. There is a concept taught that if someone is in need of something and desperately wants his prayers to be answered, he should pray for somebody else who is in need and he will see himself answered first. It's not a business exchange; it is a character change. In order to pray for someone else, I need to open my eyes to see his plight and let his pain flow through my heart. His troubles become real; they become mine and spur me to beg for his rescue. God hears this brotherly cry and He is moved because He sees that I have let myself be moved. I have become a more compassionate person, therefore more deserving of Divine intervention in my own life.
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev had a policy: if someone hurt him, he would pray for that person. His theory was if someone is wrong, there is no point in getting angry with him, rather he would pity him. He would ask God to help that person learn and change and eventually have a more satisfying life.
We all know someone who has poor social skills. It can be really irritating when they say the wrong thing at the wrong time or insist on things being done their way. But if we could stop and think about the sad life that person must lead because of this social handicap, we might be moved to compassion and intercede on their behalf.
It's Tammuz. Let's show God that we want to be close to him. Let's turn our daily lives into a stage for connecting to Him. Let's use prayer to draw us closer to our loved ones and our not so loved ones. May this be the last Tammuz that we spend in exile, distanced from God.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/9av/ju/50013757.html
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Mixtures
Once we ate from the tree of knowing good with evil, our world became a place of compounds and mixtures. You will not find beauty without ugliness, joy without sorrow, pleasure without pain. You cannot invent a thing that will provide benefit without threat of harm, or a man on this earth who does only good without fault.
Wherever you will find one form of good, you will find another sort of evil. And where that evil does not lie, another will take its place. Rare it is, so rare, to find pure and simple goodness in a single being.
Therefore, do not reject any thing for the harm it may render, nor despise any man for the ugliness within him. Rather, use each thing towards the purpose G-d conceived it for, and learn from each man all he has to offer.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1479/jewish/The-Benefits-of-Being-Stupid-When-Youre-Old.htm
The Benefits of Being Stupid When You're Old
By Jay Litvin
First of all I'm not really stupid. And second, you can't really call 53 old. But lately I have been feeling very stupid, and being the oldest in my class makes me feel very old. But perhaps there is some benefit to all of this.
I haven't felt so stupid since I was 10 years old and my family moved from the upper-lower class Chicago neighborhood where I fit in to the upper-middle-class neighborhood where I did not. I felt pretty smart at my old grammar school. But when I transferred to the new one, I seemed to be the dumbest in the class. It was a tremendous blow to my self esteem, especially since both my sisters were honor students.
I got through grammar and high school, but I dropped out of college and chose instead to apprentice at a film company where I eventually learned a lucrative trade and then went on to develop a career. I even received a college degree at the age of 32. I am married, with some very nice children.
So, self-esteem-wise I recovered. Until I moved to Israel and started going to Ulpan to learn Hebrew.
I am the oldest and the dumbest in my class. I'm having a terrible time learning Hebrew. I can't remember any of the words, no matter how often I hear them or look them up in my English/Hebrew dictionary. Verb conjugation is beyond me. And trying to form a sentence just to answer a question, let alone express a thought, causes my throat to tighten involuntarily. I am embarrassed by my incompetence among the other students. I sit in dread of being called on by the instructor, a very kind, middle-aged woman who, I can tell, takes pity on me. She calls on me rarely and even when I make mistakes, she treats me kindly and pretends I gave sort of the right answer. Fortunately it is an adult class, so people don't make fun of me; at most, they treat my erroneous responses with compassionate sickly grins and then look away quickly. At break time, I grab a cup of coffee and stand by myself hoping no one will come up to me and try to start a conversation in Hebrew.
I sit in class with a terrible pressure in my chest, difficulty breathing, and with a constant running diatribe at myself: "You're so stupid! How come everyone else gets it and you don't? Why are you so shy? Why can't you just speak up and make your mistakes and practice? Why have you put yourself in this position? Why didn't you just stay in America where at least you could speak?"
There seems to be this downward spiral of thoughts leading to a dark cavern of negativity that feels old and familiar, more connected to my childhood than to my reality.
By the time the class is over I feel terrible. Like a loser. And I dread the next class.
On the train ride home I try to console myself. "Look, it's just a class. You're the Public Relations Director for one of the largest organizations in Israel. You speak and write English better than most. You have a lovely wife and beautiful children...."
But it doesn't help.
Fortunately, I have a wife who I can talk to and when I express all this to her she makes me laugh and I feel better.
But today she didn't laugh. Today she said to me: "Can you imagine what its like for a young child to sit in a class and feel the way you do? Or what it must be like for someone who is learning disabled? Or for the Goldsteins' daughter who is failing miserably in school and wants to drop out?"
"No wonder she wants to drop out!" I said. "And maybe she should!" I continued, surprising even myself. "Maybe she can at least salvage her self-esteem if she doesn't have to sit in a classroom feeling like a dummy."
I had just returned from a particularly difficult day in my Hebrew class and so I had no difficulty doing the imagining my wife suggested.
What if, I thought, I were 10 years old instead of 53? What if I didn't have any professional success to counter the stupidity I was feeling in class? What if I didn't have a lovely, understanding wife to talk to, but rather two demanding parents who were embarrassed at my failures? What if the teacher was not so kind and instead mocked and embarrassed me when I made mistakes? What if my fellow students were other 10-year-old brats who enjoyed teasing and giggling when I goofed up? And what if these little cruel monsters were the only kids I knew? And what if I was so embarrassed by my stupidity that I avoided other children and had no friends? And what if - and this is the big one - I spent not just three hours a day three days a week in a Hebrew class feeling dumb, but six hours a day every day of the week in school feeling this bad? And then to top it all off, when school was over, I went home to face my parents with my poor grades or a note from the teacher?
What if I were the Goldsteins' daughter who is now 17 years old and has probably been feeling like this, hour by hour, minute by minute, for the past 12 years since she was 5 years old and entered kindergarten?
Yes, I thought, drop out! Save your life! Stop the torture immediately and save your self-esteem! Its more important than math and science. Save your pride and go on with your life!
Feeling stupid is awful--at any age. And no one should be made to feel this way. It's damaging and will only lead a person, like my friend's daughter, to a series of bad choices just to avoid the terrible feeling. To survive, they'll find some place, some group of people where they don't feel stupid. Maybe other drop outs, maybe drugs, maybe just boys looking to give a pretty runaway girl a place to stay and some kind words to make her feel attractive rather than stupid.
But, there is one benefit in feeling stupid, at least when you're old: Compassion. Hopefully, a little more patience and kindness with my own children. More diligence in rooting out the source of their problems at school. Making more time to advocate for them with their teachers. More encouragement and recognition of their successes.
Every person has his strengths and his talents. And it is up to us, parents and teachers, to find them and nurture them. It could be a good sense of humor or the ability to sing, vacuum the rug or set the table for dinner. It may even be as simple as being pretty. Fostering self esteem in any area is better than destroying it, even when a child does not live up to our expectations. In the long run, it is this sense of self-esteem and confidence that will yield the courage to learn, explore and succeed far more than any knowledge.
I hope I'll hang in there at Hebrew class. But I'm not sure. After each class of feeling stupid I find it harder to get up on time in the morning of my next class. Other responsibilities seem to be more urgent than learning Hebrew, and the distraction of reading or playing with the cat at night after a long day's work seems more important than struggling with my Hebrew homework.
But I'm an adult, and hopefully the importance of learning the language of the new country in which I live will keep me plugging away. After all, I'm not 10 years old or even 17, I'm 53 and should have learned how to handle these feelings by now, don't you think?
In truth, I don't know if I would really encourage the Goldsteins' daughter to drop out of school. That's a tough decision with many serious consequences. But, I tell you, before feeling this stupid in my Hebrew class, I never would have understood how it could be a consideration for her at all. Now I do.
By Jay Litvin More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Jay Litvin was born in Chicago in 1944. He moved to Israel in 1993 to serve as medical liaison for Chabad's Children of Chernobyl program, and took a leading role in airlifting children from the areas contaminated by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster; he also founded and directed Chabad's Terror Victims program in Israel. Jay passed away in April of 2004 after a valiant four-year battle with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and is survived by his wife, Sharon, and their seven children.
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The First Day Of The Rest Of My Life
By Elisha Greenbaum
A smoker once told me that quitting was dead easy; he personally had stopped dozens of times.
Well? Can one quit something (successfully) more than once? Can a recovering alcoholic still struggling for sobriety boast of his success in conquering his demons? How would you define a relapsed drug addict who is currently clean, but might fall off the wagon at any time?
A 12-stepper is trained never to believe himself cured, no matter how many years of clean slates he may have accumulated. "I am an addict," he will explain "and tomorrow, just like every living day of the last 23 years, I will wake up and struggle against my desires."
Living, sentient beings must keep their passport handy We read this week of the "Forty-two journeys the Children of Israel traveled going out of Egypt" (Numbers 33:1) Doesn't seem to make sense, does it? The Jews may indeed have made 42 distinct stops in the desert, camped in 42 separate places, but only one of the journeys, the first, would have taken them out of Egypt.
In Jewish philosophy, "Egypt" represents not just a physical land peopled by real-life Jew enslavers, but also symbolizes a concept: the slave mentality. The Hebrew name for Egypt, Mitzrayim, is etymologically related to the word Meitzorim, "boundaries": that psychological construct that traps you in place, unwilling or unable to break free from your mental shackles.
Throughout one's life one is forced to undertake a series of "journeys," traveling out of one's comfort zone to confront new challenges and conquer fresh territories. Only a corpse can be described as having completed its travel. Living, sentient beings must keep their passport handy, ready to be used on the next stage of their journey through life.
The events of one's past are not overweight baggage dragging you down; rather they are the accumulated experiences from which you may draw, helping you maneuver around the new obstacles which present. You may have struggled with an issue in the past and successfully overcame it, left that border crossing behind, as it were. Now there is a new you, undertaking a new journey and those very survival skills which have protected you to date will stand in your stead on your new adventure.
Freedom is waiting for you over the border An addict wakes each morning, resolved to spend the whole day overcoming his temptations. Each day is a new journey where fresh obstacles present to be surmounted. The skills and strengths gained from past battles will benefit you in your present struggle, but each journey is its own distinct struggle, and each new accomplishment helps you escape once again from the servitude of your private Egypt, towards the freedom waiting for you over the border.
By Elisha Greenbaum More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Elisha Greenbaum is spiritual leader of Moorabbin Hebrew Congregation and co-director of L'Chaim Chabad in Moorabbin, Victoria, Australia
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Mourning What is Missing
Understanding Tisha B'av
By Elana Mizrahi
I was sixteen years old when I became enchanted with Israel as I trekked throughout the Holy Land with a group of sunburned teenagers on a summer youth group trip. I called home to my mother, proclaiming that I wanted to live in Israel and marry a handsome Israeli soldier. The trip wasn't religiously oriented and the mission was more to expose young American Jews to the land than to expose us to Judaism. But when a land and a people are so inherently connected, that sole mission was impossible to achieve. As we went to the holy sites I thought to myself how I didn't really know what to do there, but when I came upon the Western Wall, my body swayed, my eyes welled with tears, and my lips couldn't stop themselves from whispering petitions. I thought I didn't know what to do, but I did.
The air continued to hang heavyBefore our journey ended, I remember a certain night that stood out from all the others. It was a dark night and the air continued to hang heavy from the boiling August sun. Our counselors explained to us that the night was Tisha B'Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av, and that it was a tragic day in Jewish history. They didn't go into too many details, but we were told that it was the night of the destruction of the First and Second Temples. We then did a reenactment of an escape from Roman soldiers. At the end we were also told that it was a fast day for the Jewish people.
I fasted through the night and the next day, my first time fasting for Tisha B'Av. At the time I didn't fast for the destruction of the Temples. This had little or no significance to me and was something too removed for me to comprehend. I fasted because I found out that it was a fast day for the Jewish people, and as a Jew, I wanted to share in this experience with my people.
Two years later I went to synagogue on the night of Tisha B'Av. I found myself sitting on the floor in cloth shoes like a mourner. In a weeping voice, the Rabbi led the congregation in the reading of the book of Lamentations and for the first time in my life I had a sensation of what it meant to mourn and feel a connection to the loss of the Holy Temple.
There is a famous story told about Napoleon Bonaparte. He was walking in the streets of Paris when he heard wailings and the sounds of people lamenting, coming from a synagogue. He turned to the person he was with and asked, "Why are they crying?"
The other answered, "They're mourning over the destruction of their Temple."
"When was it destroyed?"
"Almost two thousand years ago."
Napoleon then declared, "A nation still mourning after so long will be eternal. They will return to their land and rebuild their Temple."
Why would Napoleon make such an assertion? Maybe because Napoleon understood that people don't mourn thousands of years over broken bricks and stones. Tisha B'Av isn't about the destruction of a building. Tisha B'Av is about the exile of a people from their homeland, an estrangement of a nation from G‑d, and a separation of the spiritual from the physical. Tisha B'Av is about national tragedy and about personal suffering. Each one of us has individual struggles and all of us, in one form or another await, redemption from them, and the day when Tisha B'Av will no longer be a day of mourning, but a day of celebration.
Why do the Jewish people continue to mourn and weep?But why do the Jewish people continue to mourn and weep year after year? Isn't there such a thing as let go and live? Be happy with the moment and forget the past?
The Torah describes how grief-stricken Jacob was when informed that his son, Joseph, was attacked and killed by an animal. For twenty-two years, Jacob was inconsolable, unable to get over the death of his beloved Joseph. Rashi – a post-Talmudic commentator - explains that Jacob's mourning was beyond the mourning of a parent for their child. This is because Joseph was really still alive. Jacob's wounds could not heal because they weren't closed, Joseph was still alive and Jacob continued to bleed.
Mourning a death is very different than mourning something or someone that is missing. Even if a person is missing and presumed dead, the search for that person, or even the person's body, is never forgotten. We need proof. We need closure. For until there is closure, we cannot begin to move on. Yet this is what Tisha B'av is showing us. We are not mourning a death, we are mourning what is missing. The Temples were destroyed, but not forever, for the Third Temple will be rebuilt. But until it is, Tisha B'av is that reminder of what we have temporarily lost.
This is why in the Talmud (Shabbat 31), there is a discussion about which questions are asked by the Heavenly Court for admittance into Heaven after a person dies. One of the questions that the Talmud states is, "Did you expect (wait for) the Redemption?" The author of the Melech b'Piv - a Torah commentary - notes that the word used by the Sages is "to expect" (tzepita) or "wait for." It doesn't use "hope for" or "want," but a word which describes a looking out for - with certainty.
This is like the family with a missing child. Years may have gone by, but that family waits every single day for a phone call that their child has been found. Every day they grieve that the child is missing, yet simultaneously, every day they pray and hope. This is the crying and mourning we do on Tisha B'av. For as hard as it is to live without our Temple and to be in exile, we wait every single day for it to be returned to us and pray that immediately we will be redeemed.
By Elana Mizrahi
Originally from Northern California and a Stanford University graduate, Elana Mizrahi now lives in Jerusalem with her husband and children. She is a doula, massage therapist, and writer. She also teaches Jewish marriage classes for brides.
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She Is Pure
by Andrea Eller
My first time preparing the deceased for Jewish burial.
When I got the call, I was unprepared. I forgot I had expressed interest in observing a tahara – preparing the deceased for burial. What had I been thinking? But I felt silly refusing the invitation, so I agreed. I told myself (unconvincingly) that this was the perfect opportunity to explore the mitzvah-with-no-quid-pro-quo. From the sidelines.
An hour later, Phyllis, the friend who had piqued my interest in the Chevra Kadisha, picked me up, reaffirming our agreement that nothing was expected of me and that if I were to change my mind, I could assist under her tutelage. Short odds on that. I didn't say much on the way to the funeral chapel, and when we arrived, I retreated into myself. I walked in and instantly tears caught in my throat and cried out for a ladies' room haven. The terrain summoned still-fresh sorrow for my father's unexpected passing a few months earlier. But there was a task to be performed here. I would hold off my own pain for later.
We took the stairs down to a dimly lit sitting parlor furnished in Victorian décor. At the back, the sad room opened to a corridor flanked on the far end by a heavy silver hospital-like door. There waited three other volunteers, Lara, Miriam and René, all friends of mine, who, with Phyllis, would comprise the tahara team.
Greetings were brief. We each donned two full-sleeved aprons with bibs -- the first yellow gauze, the second white plastic -- a pair of firemen's rubber boots to be worn over shoes, and two pairs of surgical gloves. A faded sheet with torn edges was taped to the outside of the door; each of us silently read its prayer that God help us perform this deed with the right intentions and facility. Help us? Not me. Help them. I'm watching.
Subdued and qualmish, I followed them through the door into an open, well-lit, white-tiled room. There on a spotlessly white gurney lay a stilled woman. Swaddled in white sheeting was Sarah bas Avraham, a woman well into her eighties. Her metal bed was waist high, slightly angled at its foot over a trough-like sink built into the floor. There were metal buckets and plastic buckets in the corners of the room, push brooms, hoses, and white cabinets filled with supplies: gauze, scissors, tape, sheets, strange-looking liquids, toothpicks, acetone, towels... Each labeled item had its labeled place. After we washed our hands at the sink, I backed into a corner with the brooms.
I was afraid to look at Sarah's face, but my eyes were pulled to her.
Phyllis, the leader of the team, began by murmuring the closest thing to conversation I was to hear for the next hour and a half. "Sarah bas Avraham, please forgive us if anything we do as part of the work of the Chevra Kadisha offends your dignity in any way."
Silently, carefully, she began cutting away Sarah's encasement. As the binding fell away, Lara and Miriam inspected the body for wounds that might require stanching lest the burial clothing, which must be kept spotless, become stained. The only sounds were the clip clip of scissors and René's whispered prayers for Sarah. Reading from a laminated, timeworn sheet, she said a prayer at each step of the tahara.
I was afraid to look at Sarah's face, but my eyes were pulled to her. I never saw her fully, as care was taken to keep her face covered. The Kabbalists tell us that although the eyes of the dead cannot see, exposure of the face in such a setting of helplessness is a source of humiliation to the Neshama, the soul. They say that the Neshama hovers about the body in confusion and pain until burial is completed.
Now the silence was broken by the quiet plash of water running down the gurney and into the trough as Phyllis, Miriam, Lara and René gently and methodically cleansed Sarah, section by small section. Only the part of her being washed was exposed at any moment; all else was kept covered by a clean white sheet. The women took care to save any cloth that had absorbed even a drop of Sarah's blood -- blood that had been the source of her life. Such cloths would be included in Sarah's casket.
I had inched over to the gurney and was facing Phyllis, when by way of hand gestures she asked me if I would care to remove Sarah's nail polish. There must be as few physical obstructions as possible between the body of the deceased and its ultimate home.
"No way!" I thought as my head nodded yes independently.
My throat turned to dust. This would be the first time I'd ever touched someone who was not alive.
My throat turned to dust. This would be the first time I'd ever touched someone who was not alive. But I was distracted from panic as Phyllis beckoned me to the head of the gurney where she would hand me cotton swabs saturated with acetone. It was odd. Why hadn't she just reach over and give me the swabs? I didn't know then that it is an insult to the deceased to hand articles over the body as if she were a thing, as if she had not been the vessel for a soul. Any exchange of objects is therefore conducted beyond the deceased, in deference to the body and soul that God had wed. I forced myself to pick up Sarah's right hand. It was surprisingly heavy and cool, frozen in a graceful curve. The experience was not at all macabre. My timorousness became wonder. What had she done with these hands? Had she cooked for a husband and children? Had she written letters? Played piano? Sown gardens? Carried grandchildren? Had she erred with these hands? With my own right hand I daubed the pink away, feeling an unexpected warmth for this stranger whose face I could only glimpse. And I felt a sense of privilege that would recur each time I would perform this part of a tahara, helping to prepare a Jewish woman for her endmost pilgrimage. I did not help with the culmination of the tahara -- purifying the body by way of water. All tasks up until this point had been in preparation for this. Sarah had to be slightly moved as wooden planks were positioned under her, lifting her from the gurney. Nor did I assist when in one swift movement Lara swept off Sarah's sheet, and René and Lara engulfed her in an unbroken watershoot from the buckets. "Tehora hi (She is pure), Tehora hi, Tehora hi," said the team, and it seemed to me that had the sanctifying waters spoken they would have answered, "Yes. Pure is She, Pure is She, Pure is She." Miriam shook out a fresh, dry white sheet and re-covered Sarah. The dressing process was very beautiful. Sarah was enshrouded in immaculate white cotton pants, undershirt, tunic and bonnet, in that order, each secured by the ladies with three-loop bows. The loops represent the three tines of the Hebrew letter Shin, the first letter of one of the Names of God. I took it upon myself to see that the bows lay spread out, flat and pretty -- another task I would eventually make mine -- while the other women beseeched Sarah bas Avraham in poignant Yiddish to remember herself as a Yiddishe tochter (Jewish daughter), and to recall her Hebrew name while on her final course.
I found the lavatory, and there I wept, deeply and profusely.
Ensconced in the casket -- a simple, unvarnished pine box lined with fragrant straw -- Sarah looked clean, warm and cared for. After closing the casket we gathered around and asked Sarah for pardon had we performed any of our work without the full respect due her. We spoke of our hopes that in the world of the living had she paid any debt of pain or suffering, and that her wayfare henceforth be one of reward. We slowly backed away and out of the room, facing the casket in final tribute to the body and soul of Sarah bas Avraham.
I found the lavatory, and there I wept, deeply and profusely. Had the Chevra Kadisha tending to my father do for him what this Chevra had done for Sarah? Had they treated him with the same care afforded Sarah? Did he finally lay clean and cared for like Sarah?
Waiting for me in the darkened sitting parlor; my friends gracefully refrained from comment when I rejoined them. We left the chapel. Emotions not quite sated, a flood of love for this mitzvah washed over me and the makings of a bond with these women of the Chevra had begun. But most remarkably, and I'm so grateful for this, I felt a strengthened security in God Who commands this Chesed shel Emes, this altruistic kindness, a security born of an internal quieting that makes me truly less afraid, somehow, of the passage of death.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/51979147.html
Care for the Dead
http://www.jewfaq.org/death.htm#Care
After a person dies, the eyes are closed, the body is laid on the floor and covered, and candles are lit next to the body. The body is never left alone until after burial, as a sign of respect. The people who sit with the dead body are called shomerim, from the root Shin-Mem-Reish, meaning "guards" or "keepers".
Respect for the dead body is a matter of paramount importance. For example, the shomerim may not eat, drink, or perform a commandment in the presence of the dead. To do so would be considered mocking the dead, because the dead can no longer do these things.
Most communities have an organization to care for the dead, known as the chevra kaddisha (the holy society). These people are volunteers. Their work is considered extremely meritorious, because they are performing a service for someone who can never repay them.
Autopsies in general are discouraged as desecration of the body. They are permitted, however, where it may save a life or where local law requires it. When autopsies must be performed, they should be minimally intrusive.
The presence of a dead body is considered a source of ritual impurity. For this reason, a kohein may not be in the presence of a corpse. People who have been in the presence of a body wash their hands before entering a home. This is done to symbolically remove spiritual impurity, not physical uncleanness: it applies regardless of whether you have physically touched the body.
In preparation for the burial, the body is thoroughly cleaned and wrapped in a simple, plain linen shroud. The Sages decreed that both the dress of the body and the coffin should be simple, so that a poor person would not receive less honor in death than a rich person. The body is wrapped in a tallit with its tzitzit rendered invalid. The body is not embalmed, and no organs or fluids may be removed. According to some sources, organ donation is permitted, because the subsequent burial of the donee will satisfy the requirement of burying the entire body.
The body must not be cremated. It must be buried in the earth. Coffins are not required, but if they are used, they must have holes drilled in them so the body comes in contact with the earth.
The body is never displayed at funerals; open casket ceremonies are forbidden by Jewish law. According to Jewish law, exposing a body is considered disrespectful, because it allows not only friends, but also enemies to view the dead, mocking their helpless state.
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Another gem Rachel- thank you.
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Both Ways
One who loves must learn fear. One who fears must learn love.
The thinker must do. The doer must think. The pacifist must fight, the fighter must find peace.
If you flow as a river, burn as a fire. If you burn as a furnace, flow as a river.
If you fly as a bird, sit firm as a rock. If you sit firmly, then fly as a bird.
Be a fire that flows. A rock that flies. Love with fear and fear with love.
For we are not fire, not water, not air, not rocks, not thoughts, not deeds, not fear, not love. We are G-dly beings.
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Marc,
I'm glad you enjoyed it.
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/959899/jewish/Jealous-Sister.htm
Jealous Sister
Dear Rachel,
I'm fourteen-years-old and I am having an issue I hope you can help with. I'm happy most of the time, I like my group of friends, and I'm excited that we're going to be starting high school this fall.
The problem is - I can't help being envious of my younger sister, because she is prettier than me. I love her, but I can't help feeling jealous towards her sometimes, even though I know it's stupid and I feel angry with myself for this. I just don't know how to stop feeling this way.
Jealous Sister
Dear Jealous Sister,
First off, the fact that you're mature enough to understand that it is inappropriate to feel this way, and the fact that you are seeking help to deal with these feelings, are signs that you are a very together young lady - and so, you're already ahead of the game.
Recognize your positive qualities The Torah tells us to "Love your fellow as yourself." The implication here is that you love yourself first, and then you love your fellow as you love yourself. This teaches us a vitally important lesson. We must love ourselves—have proper self-esteem and self-appreciation—in order to properly love another. Before you can look at your sister without jealousy, you need to look at yourself more honestly. Recognize your positive qualities: your strengths; your physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual attributes. Sure, it's nice to be pretty - but there are a lot of things that are way more important: to be caring, mature, sensitive, compassion, intelligent, loyal. By asking your question you have already demonstrated that you possess these vitally important qualities.
You should also know- as the old saying goes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You and your sister, like any two human beings, each have your own unique—and uniquely attractive—face. Still, that isn't the main quality that either of you has.
Back to the topic of loving ourselves and our fellows: why should we love ourselves?
Our rabbis have equated the commandment "Love your fellow as yourself" to the Tenth Commandment - "You shall not covet." What exactly is the connection between these two? On the surface, we can say that if we truly love someone we will be happy for them, and we will not be jealous of what they have.
But the connection goes much deeper. Why, in fact, is it wrong to be envious of someone's looks, talents, abilities, possessions, anything?
To understand the answer to that, we first need to understand - truly and deeply know - that G‑d created each and every one of us for a unique purpose in this world. This is the root and the reason for our self-love. If G‑d created us, then we are important. And if you could fulfill my mission in life, then one of us is unnecessary – but nothing that G‑d creates is unnecessary.
Nothing that G‑d creates is unnecessarySince each person has his own, individual, one-of-a-kind mission in life, it stands to reason that each person is sent down here with the unique combination of talents and capabilities that he or she needs to fulfill that mission. If you have artistic ability and I don't, that means that artistic ability is somehow necessary for you in order to do accomplish what you need to on this earth; for me, artistic ability is totally extraneous - sort of like a tail, or an extra ear. There are two sides to the coin- valuing my own uniqueness means both loving me with all my qualities, and loving the fact that those around me possess the qualities they possess.
"You shall not covet" is another way of saying "love yourself, because G‑d has created you in such a way that you are perfect for your job." Once we learn this lesson, the Torah further tells us "Love your neighbor as yourself." Now that you understand your own uniqueness, and that you are vital in G‑d's infinite plan for the world - understand that your fellow is also vital in the grand scheme of things, and is also endowed with the exact measure of physical, intellectual, and emotional attributes that he requires for his job.
I hope this has been helpful. Please feel free to contact me if you want to discuss this any further.
Rachel
"Dear Rachel" is a bi-weekly column that is answered by a rotating group of experts. This question was answered by Chaya Sara Silberberg.
Chaya Sarah Silberberg serves as the rebbitzen of the Bais Chabad Torah Center in West Bloomfield, Michigan, since 1975. She also counsels, lectures, writes, and responds for Chabad.org's Ask the Rabbi service.
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Saving Rabbi Lau
by Associated Press
(http://image.aish.com/RavLau2.jpg)
After 64 years, Rabbi Lau finds the person who saved his life.
After surviving the Holocaust as a child, Israel Meir Lau -- a former Isr
After 64 years, Rabbi Lau finds the person who saved his life.
After surviving the Holocaust as a child, Israel Meir Lau -- a former Israeli chief rabbi -- spent decades searching for the man who saved his life.
That journey ended with an Associated Press report about a recently discovered Nazi document confirming the identity of the teenager who shielded him from German gunfire when his concentration camp was liberated.
In an emotional ceremony on Tuesday, the Holocaust memorial Rabbi Lau now chairs posthumously granted Feodor Mikhailichenko Israel's highest honor for non-Jews.
"This closes a circle of 64 years. You look for this person, to whom you owe your life, and you don't know whom to thank," said Rabbi Lau, 72. "He was my childhood hero. A man with a huge soul and a heart of gold."
Rabbi Lau had previously identified a fellow inmate, a non-Jewish Russian named Feodor, as his savior in the Buchenwald concentration camp, but he never learned the 18-year-old's full name. He said Feodor stole and cooked potatoes for him, knitted him wool earmuffs to protect him from the bitter cold and lay on top of him as gunfire erupted when the camp was liberated on Apr. 11, 1945. At the time, Lau was an 8-year-old boy nicknamed Lulek.
"Feodor, the Russian, looked after me in the daily life like a father would for a son. His concern and feeling of responsibility gave me a sense of security," Lau wrote in his 2005 autobiography.
Mikhailichenko grew so close to Rabbi Lau that he wanted to adopt him as a son. But Rabbi Lau kept his word to his murdered family and emigrated to pre-state Israel on a ship of orphaned refugee children. He lost track of Mikhailichenko and despite many efforts could never trace him again.
The mystery began to unfold in June 2008 when Holocaust researcher Kenneth Waltzer of Michigan State University discovered the man's true identity through a Nazi document he discovered in a recently opened secret archive in the small German town of Bad Arolsen. The document had been stashed away for more than six decades. Rabbi Lau first learned the full name of his rescuer through an AP report about the discovery.
Mikhailichenko returned to Russia, where he became a prominent geologist. He died of cancer in 1993 at the age of 66. But his daughters, Yulia Selutina and Yelena Belayaeva, were quickly tracked down and confirmed that their father often spoke lovingly about a young Jewish boy name Lulek in Buchenwald.
After last year's discovery, Rabbi Lau invited both daughters to Israel and had them at his home for dinner. There, he introduced them to many of his eight children, 50 grandchildren and five great- grandchildren. "I told them, 'all of this I owe to your father. If it wasn't for your father, none of them would exist,'" he said. "I looked for him for decades and I never forgot him for a single day."
Selutina teared up Tuesday as she accepted a medal and a certificate on her father's behalf. She said her father never forgot Lulek either, and traveled to Buchenwald a year before his death seeking information about him.
Mikhailichenko was featured in a 1992 Russian documentary detailing how he and other Russian inmates helped Lau survive by doing his chores and protecting him from the wrath of German guards.
Mikhailichenko's daughters met with Israeli President Shimon Peres on Tuesday. "There are not a lot of daughters in the world who can be as proud of their father as you can. Your father acted with ultimate humanity when he saved one soul and risked his life," Peres told them. "The entire state of Israel is proud of you and your family and will be grateful to you our entire lives."
Nearly all of the Polish-born Lau's family members were exterminated in Nazi concentration camps. Rabbi Lau's older brother Naftali cared for the young boy until the two were separated upon arrival at Buchenwald in January 1945.
Mikhailichenko was already a veteran inmate of the camp, having been arrested by the Gestapo in 1942 for robbery. He knew the ropes and watched over Lau.
When Buchenwald was liberated by American troops, Lau was among its youngest surviving prisoners. He went on to become one of Israel's most prominent spiritual leaders. He served as the country's chief rabbi between 1993-2003 and is currently the chairman of the Yad Vashem Council, an advisory board to Israel's official Holocaust memorial.
Over 22,700 non-Jews have been recognized by Yad Vashem as "Righteous Among the Nations" since the designation was created in 1963. Those include Oskar Schindler, whose efforts to save more than 1,000 Jews were documented in the film "Schindler's List," and Raoul Wallenberg, a Swedish diplomat who is credited for having saved at least 20,000 Jews.
Mikhailichenko's name is now engraved alongside theirs in a garden at the memorial honoring their roles. Rabbi Lau said Mikhailichenko proved the goodness that exists in humans, regardless of nationality, religion or gender. "You see through him that there is a chance for humanity, there is hope for the world," he said. "Feodor is a lesson of morals, of ethics, of humanity."
Click here to view Aish.com's short film about Rabbi Lau.( Buchenwald's youngest survivor)
http://www.aish.com/v/hoi/52829197.html
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/jw/s/52820392.html
http://www.aish.com/v/hoi/52829197.html
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(http://media.aish.com/images/Guide_to_the_Jewish_Wedding_(medium)_(english).jpg)
Guide to the Jewish Wedding
by Chaplain (CPT) Shlomo Shulman
Learn the deeper significance, and print out a copy for the wedding guests, too!
Easy Print One Page Guide to Jewish Weddings
A traditional Jewish wedding is full of meaningful rituals, symbolizing the beauty of the relationship of husband and wife, as well as their obligations to each other and to the Jewish people.
The following guide explains the beauty and joy of these the Jewish wedding traditions.
The Wedding Day
The dawning wedding day heralds the happiest and holiest day of one's life. This day is considered a personal Yom Kippur for the chatan (Hebrew for groom) and kallah (bride), for on this day all their past mistakes are forgiven as they merge into a new, complete soul.
As on Yom Kippur, both the chatan and kallah fast (in this case, from dawn until after the completion of the marriage ceremony). And at the ceremony, the chatan wears a kittel, the traditional white robe worn on Yom Kippur.
[Sefardim do not have the custom to fast and wear a kittel.]
Kabbalat Panim
It is customary for the chatan and kallah not to see each other for one week preceding the wedding. This increases the anticipation and excitement of the event. Therefore, prior to the wedding ceremony, the chatan and kallah greet guests separately. This is called "Kabbalat Panim."
Jewish tradition likens the couple to a queen and king. The kallah will be seated on a "throne" to receive her guests, while the chatan is surrounded by guests who sing and toast him.
At this time there is an Ashkenazi tradition for the mother of the bride and the mother of the groom to stand together and break a plate. The reason is to show the seriousness of the commitment -- just as a plate can never be fully repaired, so too a broken relationship can never be fully repaired.
Badeken
Next comes the badeken, the veiling of the kallah by the chatan. The veil symbolizes the idea of modesty and conveys the lesson that however attractive physical appearances may be, the soul and character are paramount. It is reminiscent of Rebecca covering her face before marrying Isaac (Genesis ch. 29).
The Ashkenazi custom is that the chatan, accompanied by family and friends, proceeds to where the kallah is seated and places the veil over her face. This signals the groom's commitment to clothe and protect his wife.
(http://articles.aish.com/graphics/articles/chuppah.jpg)
Chuppah
The wedding ceremony takes place under the chuppah (canopy), a symbol of the home that the new couple will build together. It is open on all sides, just as Abraham and Sarah had their tent open all sides to welcome people in unconditional hospitality.
The Ashkenazi custom is to have the chuppah ceremony outside under the stars, as a sign of the blessing given by God to the patriarch Abraham, that his children shall be "as the stars of the heavens"(Genesis 15:5). Sefardim generally have the chuppah indoors.
The Ashkenazi custom is that the chatan and kallah wear no jewelry under the chuppah (marriage canopy). Their mutual commitment is based on who they are as people, not on any material possessions.
The chatan, followed by the kallah, are usually escorted to the chuppah by their respective sets of parents.
Under the chuppah, the Ashkenazi custom is that the kallah circles the chatan seven times. Just as the world was built in seven days, the kallah is figuratively building the walls of the couple's new world together. The number seven also symbolizes the wholeness and completeness that they cannot attain separately.
The kallah then settles at the chatan's right-hand side.
[At this point, the Sefardic custom is that the chatan says the blessing She'hecheyanu over a new tallit, and has in mind that the blessing also goes on the marriage. The tallit is then held by four young men over the head of the chatan and kallah.]
Blessings of Betrothal (Kiddushin)
Two cups of wine are used in the wedding ceremony. The first cup accompanies the betrothal blessings, recited by the rabbi. After these are recited, the couple drinks from the cup.
Wine, a symbol of joy in Jewish tradition, is associated with Kiddush, the sanctification prayer recited on Shabbat and festivals. Marriage, called Kiddushin, is the sanctification of a man and woman to each other.
Giving of the Ring
In Jewish law, a marriage becomes official when the chatan gives an object of value to the kallah. This is traditionally done with a ring. The ring should be made of plain gold, without blemishes or ornamentation (e.g. stones) -- just as it is hoped that the marriage will be one of simple beauty.
The chatan now takes the wedding ring in his hand, and in clear view of two witnesses, declares to the kallah, "Behold, you are betrothed unto me with this ring, according to the law of Moses and Israel." He then places the ring on the forefinger of the bride's right hand. According to Jewish law, this is the central moment of the wedding ceremony, and at this point the couple is fully married.
If the kallah also wants to give a ring to the chatan, this is only done afterwards, not under the chuppah. This is to prevent confusion as to what constitutes the actual marriage, as prescribed by the Torah.
Ketubah (Marriage Contract)
Now comes the reading of the ketubah (marriage contract) in the original Aramaic text. The ketubah outlines the chatan's various responsibilities -- to provide his wife with food, shelter and clothing, and to be attentive to her emotional needs. Protecting the rights of a Jewish wife is so important that the marriage may not be solemnized until the contract has been completed.
The document is signed by two witnesses, and has the standing of a legally binding agreement. The ketubah is the property of the kallah and she must have access to it throughout their marriage. It is often written amidst beautiful artwork, to be framed and displayed in the home.
The reading of the ketubah acts as a break between the first part of the ceremony -- Kiddushin ("betrothal"), and the latter part -- Nissuin ("marriage").
The Seven Blessings
The Seven Blessings (Sheva Brachot) are now recited over the second cup of wine. The theme of these blessings links the chatan and kallah to our faith in God as Creator of the world, Bestower of joy and love, and the ultimate Redeemer of our people.
These blessings are recited by the rabbi or other people that the families wish to honor.
At the conclusion of the seven blessings, the chatan and kallah again drink some of the wine.
Click here for audio versions of the Sheva Brachot, as well as a printable PDF of the text in Hebrew, English, and transliteration.
Breaking the Glass
A glass is now placed on the floor, and the chatan shatters it with his foot. This serves as an expression of sadness at the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, and identifies the couple with the spiritual and national destiny of the Jewish people. A Jew, even at the moment of greatest rejoicing, is mindful of the Psalmist's injunction to "set Jerusalem above my highest joy."
In jest, some explain that this is the last time the groom gets to "put his foot down."
(In Israel, the Ashkenazi custom is that the glass is broken earlier, prior to the reading of the ketubah. Sefardim always break the glass at the end of the ceremony, even in Israel.)
This marks the conclusion of the ceremony. With shouts of "Mazel Tov," the chatan and kallah are then given an enthusiastic reception from the guests as they leave the chuppah together.
Yichud
Yichud
The couple is then escorted to a private "yichud room" and left alone for a few minutes. These moments of seclusion signify their new status of living together as husband and wife.
Since the couple has been fasting since the morning, at this point they will also have something to eat.
[Sefardim do not have the custom of the yichud room; the chatan and kallah immediately proceed to the wedding hall after the chuppah ceremony.]
The Festive Meal (Seudah)
It is a mitzvah for guests to bring simcha (joy) to the chatan and the kallah on their wedding day. There is much music and dancing as the guests celebrate with the new couple; some guests entertain with feats of juggling and acrobatics.
After the meal, Birkat Hamazon (Grace After Meals) is recited, and the Sheva Brachot are repeated.
During the week following the wedding, it is customary for friends and relatives to host festive meals in honor of the chatan and kallah. This is called the week of Sheva Brachot, in reference to the blessings said at the conclusion of each of these festive meals.
If both the bride and groom are marrying for the second time, sheva brachot are recited only on the night of the wedding. The last bracha, Asher Bara, can be recited for three days.
Mazel tov!
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The Gift of Enough
An Elul Lesson
By Robyn Cuspin
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/555539/jewish/The-Gift-of-Enough.htm
Who is rich? He who is happy with his lot.
(The Ethics of Our Fathers 4:1)
Dinner is over, but my work is far from done. A small portion of spaghetti bolognaise waits for me on the floor, while an overturned bowl reveals only part of the story. My toddler likes spaghetti bolognaise. In fact, he loves it, which is why I made it for him tonight. The first two bowlfuls went down well. The trouble started when he requested a third bowl. Now, even very active toddlers have a limit to how much spaghetti bolognaise they can eat, and I had a suspicion that anything leftover would wind up on the floor.
I played it safe. I gave him another small spoonful. "More, more!" he responded, dangling his bowl over the side of his high chair tray. I added two more noodles. "More, more!" he insisted, continuing to hold his bowl over the side of his tray. His threat was obvious. I added a single additional strand, and said firmly, "That's it."
"More, more!" he insisted.
"No more," I responded firmly, "That's it."
He chucked the bowl onto the floor. Now he got the message. The problem is that he didn't like the message he was getting. He looked me in the eye, and very deliberately, turned the bowl upside down and dropped the contents on the floor. Then, for good measure, he chucked the bowl onto the floor as well. He looked at the mess he had made. Then he looked at me and smiled, as though to say, "Either you give me what I want on my terms, or I am not accepting anything from you at all."
I looked at the floor. It was a small mess. A contained mess. But it was also a wake-up call. I too am frequently the recipient of gifts that don't come on my terms. Looking at the blob of spaghetti on the floor, I wondered how often I respond to my Benefactor in the same way.
My life is filled with blessings. Yet I can easily pass an entire day focusing entirely on what I am lacking. I can get caught up in small frustrations and spend hours agonizing over miniscule losses. I can, in a sense, ignore the first two bowls of spaghetti and focus entirely on the fact that the third bowl is not entirely to my liking.
It's Elul, which is written with the Hebrew letters: Aleph, Lamed, Vov, Lamed. Written backwards it would spell: Lamed, Vov, Lamed, Aleph. Read this way, it spells two Hebrew words, the juxtaposition of which explain the entire struggle of this month. Lamed-Vov spells Lo – which means "for Him." Lamed-Aleph also spells Lo though the different letter changes the meaning to "No," a negation of our own self-interest. Elul poses the question: Who and what are we promoting in our life? Are we spending our time and our energy merely pursuing our own self-interests and self-advancement, or are we capable of accepting the challenge of Elul and recognizing that spiritual growth involves shifting our focus from the material realm and the realm of self-gratification in order to focus on the spiritual side of our existence, the side which concerns the meaning and purpose of our lives.
Allowing ourselves to become overly dependant on physical comforts can get in the way of our freedom to pursue spiritual goals. Sometimes G‑d helps us out by giving us a nudge in the right direction. He says "No" to something we want, which is in a sense saying "Enough of this already." The challenge of Elul means recognizing that G‑d is still speaking to us, even when He says "no."
The experience of satiety finally becomes possibleAs long as we continue to need more than we have, we remain in a state of incompletion, which we experience as an insatiable need for more. But when we begin to find fulfillment in what we already possess, then, for the first time, the experience of happiness and satiety finally becomes possible to us. G‑d wants us to experience the fullness and satisfaction lying just beneath the surface of our desire for more. So when He sees us getting caught up in the endless cycle of the bottomless more, he gives us a gift, the gift of a firm, "That's It. No More."
When this is the response we receive to our request for more, then, like the demanding toddler, we need to learn how to accept it gracefully, rather than emptying the rest of our bowl onto the floor. The difference between Jacob and Esau is that when comparing their wealth, Esau answered, "I have plenty," while Jacob, who had much less, answered, "I have it all" (Genesis 3:9). G‑d wants us, too, to experience the contentment of having it all. What prevents us from experiencing true satisfaction in our lives is our continual need for more.
This Elul, let's work on recognizing the blessing concealed in the gift of enough.
By Robyn Cuspin More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Robyn Cuspin is a therapist living in Israel.
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From the wisdom of the Navajo, here's a way to define happiness and well-being:
The Navajo word hozro ... means a sort of blend of being in harmony with one's environment, at peace with one's circumstances, content with the day, devoid of anger, and free from anxieties.
Tony Hillerman, The Ghostway, p. 146
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GM,
Thats very nice, Thanks for sharing
Shaloms's meaning of peace includes the idea of wholeness or completeness
The Judge and the Refugee
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2279/jewish/The-Judge-and-the-Refugee.htm
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
In the Torah-section of Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9) we read of the cities of refuge, to which a man who had killed accidentally could flee, find sanctuary and atone. The Chassidic masters note that Shoftim is always read in the month of Elul; for Elul is, in time, what the cities of refuge were in space. It is a month of sanctuary and repentance, a protected time in which a person can turn from the shortcomings of his past and dedicate himself to a new and sanctified future.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe analyzes an important feature of the cities: they were only to be found in the land of Israel, even though the judges and officers who executed Torah law were to be appointed wherever Jews live. Why does the law extend everywhere, while refuge belongs to the Holy Land? And what does this imply for the month of Elul, our place of spiritual refuge in the calendar of the Jewish year?
A Paradox
The Midrash Sifri interprets the opening verse of our Parshah, "You shall set judges and officers in all your gates" to apply to "all your dwelling-places," even those outside Israel. It then continues: One might think that cities of refuge were also to exist outside the land of Israel. Therefore the Torah uses the restrictive term "these are the cities of refuge" to indicate that they were to be provided only within Israel.
Nonetheless, the Sifri says that someone who committed accidental homicide outside the land of Israel and who fled to one of the cities of refuge would be granted sanctuary there. It was the cities themselves, not the people they protected, that were confined to the land of Israel.
The fact that the Sifri initiates a comparison between the "judges and officers" and the cities of refuge, indicates that they have a relationship to one another. It is this: The judges who applied the law and the officers who executed the sentences, did not aim at retribution, but at the refinement of the guilty. And the aim of the cities of refuge was to impose on the fugitive an atoning exile--atonement in the sense of a remorse which effaces the crime until he regains his original closeness to G-d's will.
We might then have thought that if this safeguard, this place of atonement, was available in the holy environment of the land of Israel, it would be all the more necessary outside its borders where it was easier to fall into wrongdoing. And yet only judges and officers were to be provided beyond the land of Israel's borders--only the agents of the law, not its refuge.
Transcendence or Empathy
There are two phases in teshuvah, or repentance. There is remorse over what has been done, and commitment to act differently in the future. These are inextricably connected. For the only test of sincere remorse is the subsequent commitment to a better way of life. To be contrite about the past without changing one's behavior is a hollow gesture.
This the deeper significance of the law that the city of refuge is found only in the land of Israel. For a man could not atone while clinging to the environment which led him to sin. He might feel remorse. But he would not have taken the decisive step away from his past. For this, he had to escape to the "land of Israel," i.e., to holiness. There, on its sanctified earth, his commitment to a better future could have substance.
Judges, however, could be appointed outside the land of Israel. For it is written in the Ethics of the Fathers, "Do not judge your fellow-man until you come to his place." A court which sits in the land of Israel cannot know the trials and temptations which exist outside, or the difficulties of being loyal to one's faith in a place of exile. The land of Israel is a land where "the eyes of the L-rd your G-d are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year." It is a land of Divine grace. One cannot judge a man by its standards if that man lives outside its protection.
So judges had to be drawn from the same environment as their defendants. They had not only to know what he had done; they had to experience for themselves the environment which brought him to it.
Rabbi DovBer of Lubavitch (the second Chabad Rebbe) was once giving private audiences, when he interrupted for some time before continuing. It transpired that a man who had had an audience wanted the Rebbe's help in setting right a particularly degrading act he had done. The Rebbe later said to one of his close disciples that one must discover some analogous quality in oneself--on however refined a level--before one can help someone to remedy his sin. His interruption of the audiences had been to attempt to find in himself this point from which he could identify with the sinner.
It was this principle that lay behind G-d's command to Moses when the Israelites had made the golden calf: "Go, get thee down, for your people have dealt corruptly." For at that moment, Moses was inhabiting the spiritual heights of Mt. Sinai, neither eating nor drinking, divorced from the world. The Israelites were degraded through their sin. But by telling him to "go down" to "your people" G-d created a bond between Moses and the people, on the basis of which Moses was able to plead on their behalf.
Three Degrees of Refuge
Although all the cities of refuge were to be in the land of Israel, they were not all in the same territory. There were the three in the land of Israel proper--the Holy Land. Three were in the territories east of the Jordan, where "manslaughter was common" (Talmud, Makkot 9b). And, in the Time to Come "the L-rd your G-d will enlarge your borders" three more will be provided, in the newly occupied land.
This means that every level of spirituality has its own refuge, from the relatively lawless eastern territories to the Holy Land, and even in the Time to Come. And this is true spiritually as well as geographically. At every stage of a man's religious life there is the possibility of some shortcoming for which there must be refuge and atonement. Even if he never disobeys G-d's will, he may still not have done all within his power to draw close to G-d.
This is the task of the month of Elul. It is a time of self-examination when each person must ask himself whether what he has achieved was all he could have achieved. And if not, he must repent, and strive towards a more fulfilled future. Businessman and scholar--he who has lived in the world and he who has spent his days under the canopy of the Torah--both must make Elul a time of self-reckoning and refuge.
It is the way of the Western world to make Elul--the month of high summer--a time for vacation from study. The opposite should be the case. It is above all the time for self-examination, a time to change one's life. And the place for this is the city of refuge in the "Holy Land", which, in the geography of the soul, is a place of Torah.
Each Jew should set aside Elul, or at least from the 18th onwards (the last 12 days, a day for each month of the year), or at any rate the days when Selichot are said, and make his refuge in a place of Torah.
A refuge is a place to which one flees: That is, where one lays aside one's past and makes a new home. Elul is the sublimation of the past for the sake of a better future. And it is the necessary preparation for the blessings of Rosh Hashanah, the promise of plenty and fulfillment in the year to come.
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
From Torah Studies (Kehot 1986), an adaptation of the Lubavitcher Rebbe's talks by Britain's Chief Rabbi, Dr.Jonathan Sacks
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Thank you Rachel.
For some time now my attention has focused on The Ten Commandments. This little "thought for the day" piece addresses one of them.
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The Autograph
By Tzvi Freeman
When He had finished His world, complete and whole, each thing in its place, the earth below and the heavens beyond,
…it was then that the Artist signed His holy name, with a stillness within the busy painting, a vacuum in time, so that the Infinite Light could kiss the finite world and enter within. And He called it Shabbat.
In each thing there is a Shabbat, an opening that allows life to enter, a desire to receive from Beyond. In each being there is a sense of wonder, of knowing that there is something greater. Of knowing something it will never truly know. And with that perception it receives life, for it allows entry to the Infinite.
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A Brief History of Shabbat
By Yanki Tauber
1. Creation
"In the beginning G-d created the heavens and the earth..." (Genesis 1:1)
For six days G-d created. "And G-d saw all that He had made and, behold, it was very good...
".... It was evening and it was morning, the sixth day. And the heavens and the earth were completed, and all their host. And G-d completed on the seventh day His work which He had done; and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done.
"And G-d blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it; because in it he rested from all his work which G-d had created, to make..." (Genesis 1:31-2:3)
Hebron, 18th Century BCE
2. Sarah's Shabbat Lamp
(c) Michoel Muchnik
Thirty-eight centuries ago, Abraham and Sarah embarked on a journey to bring the idea and morals of monotheism to a predominantly pagan world. Their journey took them from their native Ur Kasdim to Charan (Mesopotamia) and from there to the Land of Canaan, where they settled first in Beer Sheba and later in Hebron. They pitched their tents at the desert crossroads, and offered food, drink and lodging to all wayfarers of every tribe and creed. Wherever they went, they taught the truth of the One G-d, creator of heaven and earth. (Genesis ch.12; Talmud, Sotah 10a; Midrashim)
In Sarah's tent, a special miracle proclaimed that Divine presence dwelled therein: the lamp she lit every Friday evening in honor of the Divine day of rest miraculously kept burning all week, until the next Friday eve. When Sarah died (1677 BCE) the miracle of her Shabbat lamp ceased. But on the day of Sarah's passing, Rebecca was born. And when Rebecca was brought to Sarah's tent as the destined wife of Sarah's son, Isaac, the miracle of the lamp returned. Once again the light of Shabbat filled the tent of the matriarch of Israel and radiated its holiness to the entire week. (Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 60)
Egypt, 1373 BCE
3. A Day of Rest
(c) Zalman Kleinman
Sarah and Rebecca's descendents are now in Egypt, slaves of a cruel king. Moses, their destined leader, is rescued from the river by Pharaoh's daughter and is raised in the royal palace. "Then it came to pass in those days that Moses grew up and went out to his brothers, and saw their suffering" (Exodus 2:11)
The Midrash relates: "Moses saw that they had no rest, so he went to Pharaoh and said: 'If one has a slave and he does not give him rest one day in the week, the slave will die. These are your slaves -- if you do not give them one day a week, they will die.' Said Pharaoh: "Go and do with them as you say.' So Moses ordained for them the Shabbat day for rest." (Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 1:32)
Marah, Nissan 24, 1313 BCE
4. Mitzvah at Marah
G-d appears to Moses in a burning bush and empowers him to take the Children of Israel out of Egypt. After ten plagues and much nudging, Pharaoh finally lets them go. They cross the (miraculously split) Sea of Reeds and come to Marah. "There G-d gave them statutes and laws" -- including the commandment to observe the Shabbat. (Exodus 15:25; Talmud, Sanhedrin 56b)
Zin Desert, Iyar 15, 1313 BCE
5. Double Manna
A month after the Exodus, the matzah that the Children of Israel took with them from Egypt was finished. For the next forty years, the Israelites were sustained by the manna. "In the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. The layer of dew went up, and behold, on the surface of the desert, a fine, bare substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the children of Israel saw it, they said to one another, 'It is manna,' because they did not know what it was. And Moses said to them: 'This is the bread that G-d has given you to eat.'" (Exodus 16:13-15)
The manna came each day and provided that day's precise needs. "Whoever gathered much did not have more, and whoever gathered little did not have less; each one according to his eating capacity, they gathered." Indeed, it was forbidden to leave manna from one day to the next. (Exodus 16:18-19)
Every day, that is, except Friday. "It came to pass on the sixth day that they gathered a double portion of bread, two omers for each one. The leaders of the community came and reported it to Moses. And [Moses] said to them: 'That is what G-d has said: Tomorrow is a rest day, a holy Shabbat to G-d. Bake whatever you wish to bake, and cook whatever you wish to cook, and all the rest leave over to keep until morning.' So they left it over until morning... And Moses said, 'Eat it today, for today is a Shabbat to G-d; today you will not find it in the field.'" (Exodus 16:22-26)
"See, G-d has given you the Shabbat. Therefore, on the sixth day, He gives you bread for two days. Let each man remain in his place; let no man leave his place on the seventh day. So the people rested on the seventh day." (Exodus 16:29-30)
Today, we place two challah loaves on the Shabbat table and cover them with a cloth, to represent the dew-covered, double portion of mannah that came down from heaven in honor of Shabbat.
Mount Sinai, Sivan 6, 1313 BCE
6. "Remember" and "Keep"
"Moses brought the people out toward G-d from the camp, and they stood at the bottom of the mountain. And the entire Mount Sinai smoked, because G-d had descended upon it in fire... and the entire mountain quaked violently. The sound of the shofar grew increasingly stronger... And G-d spoke all these words, saying..."
Ten Commandments were spoken that day at Sinai, ten mitzvot that form the core of the Torah. The fourth commandment concerned the Shabbat:
"Remember the Shabbat day to sanctify it. Six days may you work and perform all your labor; but the seventh day is a Shabbat to the L-rd your G-d: you shall do no work -- neither you, your son, your daughter, your manservant, your maidservant, your beast, nor your sojourner who is in your cities. For [in] six days G-d made the heaven and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and He rested on the seventh day. Therefore, G-d blessed the Shabbat day and sanctified it." (Exodus 19:17-20:1; 20:8-11)
When Moses reviews the Ten Commandments (in Deuteronomy 5), the fourth commandment begins: "Keep the Shabbat day...." The Talmud explains: "Zachor ('remember') and Shamor ('keep') were said by G-d in a single utterance -- something which the human mouth cannot articulate and the human ear cannot hear...."
We remember the Shabbat by proclaiming its sanctity over a cup of wine in the Kiddush and Havdalah rituals; we keep the Shabbat by abstaining from work. But the "positive" and "negative" aspects of Shabbat are one -- two faces of its singular essence -- as demonstrated by the two-as-one Divine utterance.
Sinai Desert, Tishrei 11, 1313 BCE
7. The Tabernacle: Work Defined
"You shall do no work" was the Divine command. But what constitutes "work"?
Four months after the revelation at Sinai came the request from G-d, "They shall make for me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell amidst them," accompanied with detailed instructions as to how this sanctuary is to be constructed. And on that same occasion, the commandment to keep the Shabbat was reiterated -- "Six days shall work be done, but on the seventh day you shall have sanctity, a day of complete rest to G-d" (Exodus 35:2). Teaching us -- explain our sages -- two things: 1) That the work we are enjoined and empowered to do six days a week is, in essence, the work of making a home for G-d out of the materials of our physical lives; 2) That this work is the work we must cease on Shabbat.
Studying G-d's detailed instructions to Moses for the making of the Sanctuary, the Mishnah (Talmud, Shabbat 73a) identifies thirty-nine melachot -- categories of creative work -- that were involved in the making of the Sanctuary. These include: all stages of agricultural work from plowing and sowing to reaping and winnowing and baking; weaving and sewing, writing, building, and lighting a fire.
The 39 melachot and their derivatives form the basis and core of the laws of Shabbat rest.
Sinai Desert, Tishrei 11, 1313 BCE
8. Shabbat Torah Reading Instituted
To convey G-d's instructions regarding the making of the Sanctuary and the observance of Shabbat, "Moses gathered together the entire community of the Children of Israel." in doing so, "Moses instituted for all generations that Jews should gather in their synagogues to read from the Torah on Shabbat" -- as Jews throughout the world do to this very day. (Exodus 35:1; Yalkut Shimoni, on verse)
The annual Shabbat Torah reading cycle is more than a weekly lesson; it's how we "live with the times" -- finding in the current week's Torah portion ("parshah") direction and inspiration for every event and action in our daily lives. (Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi)
The Holy Land, 2nd Century BCE
9. The Invention of Cholent
No one knows who was the first person to put up a pot of cholent on Friday afternoon. But this trademark Shabbat dish has its origins in the dispute between the Torah-faithful Jews and a breakaway Jewish sect called the Tzedukim.
The Tzedukim (also known as the Sadducees) accepted the Written Torah but rejected the Torah She-Baal Peh ("Oral Torah") -- the traditional interpretation of the Torah which Moses received at Sinai and which was handed down through the generations from teacher to disciple. When the Tzedukim read in the Torah, "You shall not burn any fire in all your homes on the Shabbat day" (Exodus 35:3) they understood the verse literally -- and spent the entire Shabbat in the cold and dark. Their Shabbat meals were bereft of the glow of candlelight, and while the food cooked before Shabbat may have retained some of its warmth for the Friday night meal, their Shabbat day meal consisted of cold food only. The traditional interpretation, however, is that it is forbidden to light a fire on Shabbat (the creation of fire being one of the 39 melachot), but one can certainly derive benefit from fire that was lit before Shabbat.
Thus, the Jews who were faithful to the Sinaitic tradition made it a point include at least one hot dish in their Shabbat daytime meal, which was cooked and placed on the fire before Shabbat and simmered on a covered flame1 all night long -- both to honor and pleasure the Shabbat, and to express their rejection of the Tzedukim's false interpretation. Hence cholent: a stew (typically of meat, beans and potatoes, but also made with a great variety of stewable foods) that is eaten in the daytime meal.
"Caesar asked Rabbi Jushua ben Channanya: Why do Shabbat foods smell so good? said he to him: We have a special spice, 'shabbat' is its name..." (Talmud, Shabbat 119a)
Israel and Babylonia, 100 BCE - 300 CE
10. Preparing for Shabbat
(c) Shoshannah Brombacher
By instruction as well as by personal example, the sages of the Talmud taught to honor and pleasure the Shabbat.
"It was said of the sage Shammai that all his days he ate for the honor of the Shabbat. How so? For when he found a prime specimen, he would say, 'This is for Shabbat.' Then, if he found a better one, he would set aside that one for Shabbat and eat the first one...." (Talmud, Beitza 16b)
"Said R. Judah in the name of Rav: So was the custom of R. Judah bar Illa'i: On Friday, they would bring before him a tub filled with hot water, and he would wash his face hand and feet; he then wrapped himself in fringed sheets and would have the appearance of an angel of G-d." (Talmud, Shabbat 25b)
Rava would personally prepare the fish for Shabbat. Rav Chisda chopped vegetables. Raba and Rav Yosef chopped wood. Rav Nachman bar Yitzchak would be seen running about on Friday carrying bundles on his shoulders. Many of these were wealthy men who had numerous servants to do their work; yet they insisted on personally toiling in honor of the Shabbat (Talmud, Shabbat 119a; Shulchan Aruch, Laws of Shabbat)
Worldwide, 151 BCE to Date
11. Sacrifice and Martyrdom
Shabbat is the eternal soulmate of the people of Israel, and our source of strength and endurance. This was recognized by friend and foe alike. Throughout the generations, our enemies have repeatedly attempted to take away the Shabbat from us.
When the Syrian-Greeks ruled the Holy Land, they forbade Shabbat observance. Many Jews fled the cities to live in the caves of the Judean hills so that they could keep the day of rest. Many were discovered and killed. Finally the Jews revolted and fought for the right to keep their religion. Their miraculous victory is celebrated to this day with the festival of Chanukah. (Book of Hashmoneons; Talmud)
The Jew continued to sacrifice for Shabbat throughout the long night of exile. In Rome, Jewish slaves were beaten for refusing to work on Shabbat. In Inquisition-era Spain, secret Jews ("marranos") gathered in underground cellars to light the Shabbat candles and make Kiddush. Under Soviet rule, Jews suffered hunger, imprisonment, exile to Siberia and worse for being a "religious parasite" -- i.e., one who wouldn't work on Shabbat. Even in Auschwitz, Jews went to superhuman lengths to sanctify the holy day.
And yet it has also been said that, "more than the Jews have kept the Shabbat, the Shabbat has kept the Jews."
United States, 1920-1950
12. The Shomer Shabbat Movement
In the decades that closed 19th century and opened the 20th, hundreds of thousands of Jews fled the pogroms, persecutions and crushing poverty in Eastern Europe in search of a better life in America. But the "New World" offered its opportunities at a steep spiritual price. Shabbat was still a regular workday in the United States; "blue laws" forbade the opening of businesses on Sunday; and the "melting pot" credo preached the abandonment of "non-American" religions and cultures. A primary casualty was the Shabbat. Many Jews felt that they could not earn a living in America without working on Shabbat; others saw it as a hindrance to the dream of assimilation within, and acceptance by, American society. The Jew's thousands-year tenacious hold on the Shabbat was slipping.
In the1920s and 30s the tide began to turn. Jewish labor leaders campaigned for a five-day workweek. Rallies were held in support of Shabbat observance. Consumer groups formed pledging to support businesses that kept the Shabbat; soon Shomer Shabbat ("Shabbat Observant") signs were being displayed in shop windows. Shabbat clubs were conducted for Jewish children. Slowly, the momentum built, laying the groundwork for large-scale return to Judaism and Shabbat observance in the decades to come.
Israel, 1948
13. Shabbat Goes Legal
Though conceived as a "secular" state, the modern state of Israel passed a law, shortly after its establishment, declaring Shabbat the official day of rest. In most localities, commercial businesses are closed and public transportation does not operate on Shabbat; government agencies and government-controlled corporations are officially Shabbat observant.
New York, 1974
14. The Shabbat Candles Lighting Campaign
In 1974, the Lubavitcher Rebbe launched a world-wide Shabbat Candles campaign to encourage Jewish women and girls to bring the light of Shabbat into their home by fulfilling the mitzvah of lighting Shabbat candles on Friday evening, 18 minutes before sunset. In particular, the Rebbe campaigned to restore the age-old custom (dating back to the matriarch Rebecca) that young girls, too, should light their own candle. In a time of increasing darkness, the Rebbe declared, we must respond with an increasing of light.
In the years since, the Rebbe's followers and emissaries across the globe have distributed millions of Shabbat candle-lighting kits and have introduced countless thousands of Jewish women and girls -- and their families -- to the beauty and holiness of Shabbat.
The Immediate Future, Everywhere
15. The World to Come
(c) Michoel Muchnik
Shabbat, our sages tell us, is "a taste of the World to Come." As the six-day workweek culminates in Shabbat, so, too, will the six millennia of our work and toil to make to world a home for G-d culminate in the Messianic Era -- "the day that is wholly Shabbat and tranquility, for life everlasting." (Talmud, Berachot 57b; Nachmonides on Genesis 1; Grace After Meals)
"And at that time, there will be no hunger or war, no jealousy or rivalry. For the good will be plentiful, and all delicacies available as dust. The entire occupation of the world will be only to know G-d... For the earth shall be filed with the knowledge of G-d, as the waters cover the sea..." (Maimonides' Mishneh Torah, Laws of Kings 12:5)
May it be now.
FOOTNOTES
1. The melachah of lighting a fire also includes adding fuel to a fire or stoking its embers or coals so as to increase its heat. Thus, a rabbinical ordinance forbids leaving food on an open flame, lest one forget and, out of habit, inadvertently violate the Shabbat by stoking the fire (or turning up the flame, etc.). Hence the blech -- a metal sheet placed over the fire upon which the cholent pot (and any other food that one wishes to keep warm for Shabbat) is placed. The fact that the flame is covered makes it less accessible and serves to remind us that it is forbidden to tamper with it.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Yanki Tauber is content editor of Chabad.org.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1280/jewish/The-Lady-the-Tiger-and-Freedom-of-Choice.htm
The Lady, the Tiger and Freedom of Choice
By Yanki Tauber
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/804.jpg)
You're standing in the center of a large arena. Tiers of spectators rise steeply on all sides. Directly in front of you are two massive doors (thick oak planks, huge iron fittings). Behind one door is life and bliss; behind the other awaits excruciating death.
The princess up in the grandstand catches your eye and is about to indicate the door leading to life and bliss (yes, folks, now it can be revealed: she's decided to transcend her selfish feelings and save his life). But at that moment Mr. Philosopher appears at her elbow.
"No!" he hisses into her ear. "Stop! Don't you want your heart's beloved to be free?"
"Of course I do. That's why I want to tell him..."
"If you tell him, you'll deprive him of his freedom! Right now, he's free to choose whichever door he wants. But if you tell him which door to open, he'll cease to have any choice in the matter -- he'll have to open that door..."
Freedom of choice is the most precious of gifts granted to man. It is also one of the most misunderstood.
As commonly perceived, freedom of choice means an uncompelled choice between two (or more) options. If the choice is in any way influenced in either direction by anything outside of the chooser, it's not truly free.
According to this line of thinking, anyone telling you what to do is impinging on your freedom. And if the person telling you what to do is doing so from a position of authority (as a parent, teacher, government official, etc.), your acceptance of such authority means that you are relinquishing your freedom of choice.
But the only way that you can be faced with a truly equal choice between two possibilities is if your choice is being made in absolute ignorance. The moment you know anything about the nature of what lies behind those two possibilities, your choice is going to be influenced by that knowledge.
Ignorance, however, is not freedom -- it's the very opposite of freedom. Placing a person in front of two blank doors while depriving him of the knowledge of what lies in store for him behind them does not make the person free -- it enslaves him to the cruel caprice of chance.
By granting the man in the arena the knowledge of what lies behind each of the doors, we grant him the ultimate freedom to choose: not to choose between two possibilities (we've just deprived him of that choice), but to choose the one possibility which is most consistent with his deepest, truest desire.
The Exodus of the Children of Israel from Egypt has come to represent humanity's inextinguishable striving for freedom. The image of Moses standing before Pharaoh demanding "Let my people go!" has inspired campaigners for human freedom and equality throughout the generations.
Look up that scene in your bible, however, and you'll discover some interesting details. Moses does not say "Let my people go!"; he demands in the name of G-d, "Let My people go, so that they may serve Me." G-d, revealing Himself to Moses in the burning bush, does not say to Moses, "Get them out of totalitarian Egypt and bring them to Athens to found the world's first democracy "; He says: "Bring them to Mount Sinai, where I'm going to give them lots and lots of commandments."
So why do we celebrate the anniversary of the Exodus as our annual "Festival of Freedom"?
Because at Sinai we became truly free. At Sinai we were granted the gift of knowledge: we were told which pathways and actions lead to the fulfillment of our soul's most deep-seated desires, and which pathways and actions are contrary to them.
Having glimpsed these truths at Sinai, we are definitely more inclined toward the right door than to the wrong. We have fewer choices, but far more freedom.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Better or Bitter?
by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
Five-year-old Lily shows us how to get through life's challenges.
"Sometimes it really hurts when the doctor puts a needle in my arm."
I am visiting five-year-old Lily, whose mother attends my parenting classes. Last summer, Lily had some awful headaches. One night, they became so terrible that Lily woke up her parents in middle of the night. The shock upon receiving a diagnosis of a brain tumor was beyond.
Lily's initial treatments included six weeks of radiation and chemotherapy, and then some more chemotherapy. Besides treatment days, Lily never complained or even missed a day of school. This summer, Lily has just been put on a clinical drug trial.
We are sitting across from each other, beautiful Lily, her incredibly gracious mother, Felicia, and I. Lily is chatting and busy coloring a white tzedakah box that I had brought over.
She stops for a moment as her soft voice grows serious. "Sometimes it really hurts, you know. And I get scared."
Felicia leans towards Lily. "That's okay sweetie, we sometimes all get scared. I'm scared of spiders, did you know that?"
Lily's eyes open wide.
"And I'm scared of big bugs," I add. "Not only that, but one of my children jumps from loud thunder and lightning. It's okay to sometimes be afraid."
Lily giggles. I want to scoop this precious child into my arms and kiss all her fears away.
Driving home, I cannot get Lily out of my mind. I am trying hard to find some profound thoughts to come away with. While spending time with Lily and Felicia, I feel as if I've been privy to a most priceless moment in time. I am moved by this child and her sweet innocence as she confronts a most difficult challenge.
Our Choice
There is no life that will be spared adversity. True, some challenges are more arduous then others, but for each person, their challenge is an uphill battle. Health issues, financial problems, marital stability, difficulties while raising children, are just a few of the struggles that may come our way. We cannot choose our life challenge. But we can choose how to get through the challenge. Will we become better or bitter? That is up to us.
We cannot choose our life challenge. But we can choose how to get through the challenge.
The Hebrew word for challenge is ‘nisayon.' The root of the word is 'nes,' which can also be defined as ‘miracle' or ‘banner.' My mother once explained to me that as we go through our nisayon , our life test, and then emerge stronger and wiser, we have created our own personal banner. We have unearthed a part of ourselves that until now remained concealed deep within us. We've discovered our hidden potential. And that becomes the miracle of life.
Our banner is our legacy through which we are remembered. When going through difficulties, instead of being miserable and sinking into despair, let us ask ourselves, "How have I colored my banner?" Did I choose to create a banner filled with colors of faith, courage, and strength, or did I pull up the covers and become overwhelmed with my sadness? Did I reach out to others in my life or did I only have room for myself?
A Kindness a Day
Felicia told me that Lily's preschool class had embarked upon their own tzedakah project this year. After collecting coins, the class discussed where the charity should go. Lily's teacher called to say that Lily raised her hand and expressed her wish. She described going to the doctor and finding children in the office who had just a few toys and crayons to play with as they waited. Some toys were broken and old.
"Can we give the charity to my doctor's office?" she asked.
The decision was unanimous.
If this child, amidst her pain, can think of others and see their needs, what about us?
If this child, amidst her pain, can think of others and see their needs, what about us? Can we not sensitize ourselves despite the stress and burdens that we shoulder, to open our eyes and bring a kindness each day into this world of ours?
Parents, especially, need to remember that the greatest kindness begins at home. There are times that we have patience for the world but our own children and spouses remain longing for a compassionate word or a sympathetic ear. The next time your daughter asks for a bedtime story or your son for a game of catch, just say yes. And say it with a smile, as if you really do want to spend time together. Take a moment to call your spouse during the day, even send a text. Don't get into your daily aggravations or which bills need to be paid. Instead, simply say "I love you." "I can't wait to see you".
Lights for Lily
Jennifer, a mother who is an old college friend of Felicia's, wanted to ‘do something' for Lily, but what?
Recognizing the power of doing mitzvahs in the merit of another, Jennifer started a campaign called ‘Lights for Lily.' Each week she sends out hundreds of emails that are then forwarded to hundreds more, asking women to light their Shabbos candles and add a special prayer for Lily. Some of these women have never lit Shabbos candles before. Some have never even really prayed. But we are a family and we are responsible for each other.
So this week, and each week to come, as you kindle your Shabbos lights, please close your eyes and pierce the heavens above. Take a moment and say a prayer for Leah Chana bas Frayda Rochel. Choose a new mitzvah, do an act of kindness, give charity, and think of this little girl who has taught me how to handle life's challenges while thinking of others. And when you are done reading this article, pass it on. Let us join together as one people.
Lily has surely painted a most incredible banner. Now it is our turn.
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Falling in Love in Elul
by Rabbi Jason Gelber
What's love got to do with it?
The month of Elul is an acronym of a verse from Song of Songs, "Ani L'Dodi V'Dodi Li," "I am for my beloved and my beloved is for me. This concept -- loving God and feeling His love for us -- is a central theme of Elul. But this month doesn't have one love-inspiring holiday in it! What is it about this month that represents the relationship of love between us and the Almighty?
We all know about the natural love that a parent has for a child. Even before birth, the mother is giving of herself, literally, and the giving never stops.
But what about a child's love to his parents? When does the child begin to truly love the parent?
I discovered the answer when my oldest son was born. The physical and emotional exhaustion of caring for a newborn -- one that liked to cry, and didn't like to sleep -- was like nothing my wife and I had ever encountered before. Thinking about everything our parents had done for us -- happily, too! -- there was no way we could ever repay them. The sheer enormity of their caring for us was bigger than we were. In these life-changing weeks following the birth of our first child when we transformed from being children into parents ourselves, our appreciation and love for our own parents transformed as well.
When the child becomes a parent himself and experientially feels how much his parents have done for him, that's when the child begins to truly love and appreciate his parents. To the degree that the child recognizes how much his parents have given him, to that degree his love for his parents will grow.
Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe writes, "Gratitude awakens love in the receiver and naturally inspires it in the giver as well."
This is the key to understanding the experience of love in Elul.
Every year on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur we humbly submit our prayers and supplications to God, begging to be inscribed and sealed for a good year. As the season of the High Holidays draws to a close, the rest of the year we watch as our fate unfolds. It is at that last point of the year, the final month of Elul, that we can look back and see the entire past year spread out before us. That's when we can fully appreciate that we were indeed sealed in the Book of Life. We can see the myriad blessings that God heaped upon us and our loved ones. And the more we savor the details of the blessings God bestowed upon us, the more our appreciation will grow.
In Elul we come full circle, back to where we started from, and see with a new depth of feeling the enormous gift of love that God has showered upon us. In that moment of gratitude to Him we can feel a deep love for Him. I am for my beloved, and my beloved is for me.
In all of our relationships -- marriage, friendship, business -- we are natural experts at seeing what those around us are doing wrong. We have to make a real effort to focus on what's going right. But it is only when we re-train our eyes to see how much the other is actually doing and giving for us that our feelings of gratitude and love will grow.
Rabbi Wolbe recommends engaging in daily exercises to strengthen our "gratitude muscle," the most potent of which is a verbal recognition of another's kindness. Three times a day practice saying thank you to people who may perform everyday kindness to us. And if you look carefully, you'll see that there are more than enough opportunities. There is the postman who delivers the mail, the cashier who scans our food at the supermarket, and the salesman who helps us find what we need at the store. We are in fact receiving all the time -- from God and others around us, and have so much to be grateful for.
Let's use this Elul as an opportunity to recognize the kindness that others have done for us, and especially to reflect on how much our Father in Heaven has done for us in the past 12 months. As we head into the month of Elul, followed by the High Holidays, may our hearts be so full of appreciation and love for the Almighty, and may we all be inscribed in the Book of Life.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/hh/e/54274867.html
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http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/57973927.html
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It’s A Wonderful Life
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
The film's powerful Rosh Hashana message.
It's a wonderful life.
At least that's what a movie by that title, considered a classic of American cinema, wants us to believe. George Bailey, the hero of the film powerfully acted by James Stewart, finally decides upon suicide as his only recourse to solve his financial problems. Because he has a $15,000 life insurance policy he feels he's worth more dead than alive. Acting on his desire to help his family he's ready to jump off a bridge when the angel Clarence intercedes not only to save his life but to make him realize that it is really worth living.
The way the angel accomplishes this incredible transformation from a man anxiously seeking his own annihilation to a person perceiving the true value of his existence and the ultimate meaning of his life contains a powerful Rosh Hashana message.
How should we fulfill our obligation to better ourselves as we reach the 10 days of repentance on the Hebrew calendar? Many of us emphasize focusing on our sinfulness. It is a time to seek out our flaws, to seriously consider our failings. And of course that must be part of our personal stock taking.
First become aware of the positives in your life.
But that cannot be the whole story. If we spend our time only in self-condemnation we stand in danger of losing sight of the ways in which we have been successful. If we stress only the ways we've gone wrong we won't ever be able to notice our accomplishments. We need to first become aware of the positives in our lives.
This point explains the sequence of the days book-ending our spiritual journey from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur we fast. We beat our breasts in confession of all of our sins. We cry out to God, “Who are we? What is our lives? We come from the dust of the earth and we return to the dust of the earth.” It is a recognition of how much we have failed, how far we have come from reaching our fullest potential. Yom Kippur is a necessary restraint to our egos. Before we can feel fully reconciled with God it is essential for us to demonstrate our understanding of our imperfection.
But it is not Yom Kippur that begins the process of our purification. The 10 days of repentance start with Rosh Hashana for good reason. Rosh Hashana doesn't mark the first day of creation, but rather the last -- the day on which the first human beings were created. Just as a host fully prepares for his guests before they enter his home, so too, the Midrash explains, God filled the earth on the first five days of creation with everything people might need before He brought them into being. Adam and Eve were created on the sixth day to endow them with a sense of their uniqueness and spiritual stature. It is we who were created in the image of God. Realizing this is a necessary prelude to leading a life worthy of our divine origin and our sacred nobility.
So on Rosh Hashana we begin getting closer to God by reminding ourselves that we are Godly, that we have a pure soul. On Yom Kippur we conclude the journey by acknowledging that we have not yet achieved all that of which we are capable.
Rosh Hashana asks us to remember how much we are worth to God, to our families, to our friends, and to the world. We feast as an expression of the joy we find in our life. And that understanding must precede the Yom Kippur emphasis on our failings that prompt us to fast and to cry over our imperfections.
To lead our lives only from a Yom Kippur perspective is to insure discontent and despondency. To be overwhelmed by a constant feeling that we are failures is to invite the pernicious desire to end it all. Why bother going on if we can never do anything right, why continue the struggle if we are doomed to always losing the battle? Suicide is the response chosen by those weighed down by a devastating sense that they accomplished nothing in their lives. It goes against God who as the ultimate giver of life decided that we still have a positive role to play here on earth. (Article continues below.)
Click below to watch a trailer for "It's a Wonderful Life"
http://www.aish.com/h/hh/gar/58432817.html
In the film, after suffering a financial setback of $8,000 that puts his small saving and loans bank at risk, George feels his life is worthless. Despite the serious consequences this entails, if George would have framed his life as a balance sheet of accumulated good versus the mistakes and bad things he has done, he would have been able to put events in a more balanced perspective and not judge himself so harshly.
In the cosmic balance sheet of one's life, sin does not wipe out the positive gains.
In business, your losses can wipe out your balance sheet. But in the cosmic balance sheet of one's life, sin does not wipe out the positive gains. You are not your business or profession.
When George bitterly wept that he wished he would never have been born, Clarence, with his angelic power, showed him what the world would have been like if his wish really came true. He showed him his life's balance sheet. George never realized how many people he had affected during his lifetime. He had no idea how different his community, his family, his friends, his neighbors, and indeed the world would have looked had he never been on earth.
When George comes to realize how many lives he has touched and how much of an impact he has had on so many others, he can at last acknowledge the truth of his brother’s toast that he is “the richest man in town.”
There are countless “Georges” among us. There are all too many who deserve to be recognized as successes when we consider the ripple effects of their deeds translated into the achievements of others. And perhaps most relevant of all, in the time of our own introspection, as we feel ourselves burdened by the sins of our failures, we ought to make room for the contentment and peace of mind that comes from knowing that God also weighs the good we inspire in all those around us.
Perhaps the most powerful irony associated with “It's a Wonderful Life,” is the message implicit in its reception when it was released in 1946. The movie was a box office failure leading critics to say that Frank Capra, producer and director, was past his prime and no longer capable of producing a major motion picture. What an incredibly mistaken evaluation for a film that today is ranked by the American film industry as one of the top 10 classic movies in its genre ever made. What appeared at first glance to have been a failure is in retrospect one of the most outstanding successes. Isn't that the whole point of the film itself?
As we reflect upon the meaning of our earthly existence before the High Holy days, keep in mind that sometimes it takes years for the beauty of our own lives and its significance to be fully recognized.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/hh/gar/58432817.html
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High Holidays Trailer
I thought it was pretty funny
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsew-eWzMPg&feature=channel
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsew-eWzMPg&feature=channel[/youtube]
Divine Dreams
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/935477/jewish/Divine-Dreams.htm
By Mendy Herson
Think about your deepest wish. I don't mean an ice cream sundae or new shoes; I mean something really close to your heart, a deep-seated desire that strikes at your very core.
Develop this idea, so that you're imagining it in detail. Focus on it, emblazoning its image on the backdrop of your mind.
Now, how would you feel if someone made this wish a reality? Can you imagine the feeling?
Well, that's how G‑d feels when we live right.
The Torah teaches that "divine dreaming" is what gives rise to our entire existence. Before creation, G‑d "craved" something – a deep desire burned into the "divine psyche" – and created the world to "satisfy" this "craving."
[G‑d obviously doesn't have a "craving" as we understand the sensation. "Craving" is a Rabbinic metaphor for "deep-seated desire beyond our (human) understanding." So read craving as: deep-seated-beyond-the-human-ken desire].
What image is "emblazoned on the divine mind"? What is so monumental that it could grant G‑d "divine satisfaction"?
You.
And me.
And our struggles to live the purpose of our Creation.
I believe we all struggle. Maintaining a healthy perspective and balancing our values/priorities isn't easy, so morally-conscious people struggle to maintain their higher vision and balance.
For some of us, it's too many distractions. For some, it's the existential distress that comes with having too few distractions. But a meaningful life has its price: The Struggle.
And that struggle is what G‑d finds so precious.
In the Torah's Creation-narrative, we find G‑d's creative process metaphorically depicted as Divine Speech: "Let there be light."
G‑d "spoke" the world into being. But, thought usually comes before speech, so what was G‑d thinking?
Our Sages say that G‑d was contemplating a very deep-seated wish: That deep "mental image" was you and I finding the strength to do the right thing.
Sometimes it's "How do I deal with that annoying situation?" Sometimes it's "I know I have that family responsibility, but I'm just too tired."
Sometimes it will involve finding the moral strength to light Shabbat candles or lay tefillin.
So, at any given moment, recognize that you have something productive to do. Remember that G‑d contemplated this very moment.
And make His dream come true.
By Mendy Herson More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Mendy Herson is director of the Chabad Jewish Center in Basking Ridge, New Jersey.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Barrels in the Snow
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/3075/jewish/Barrels-in-the-Snow.htm
By Tuvia Bolton
The story is told about a chassid who, every year on the first day of Elul, would begin walking by foot to his Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch (1789-1866), in order to spend the High Holidays with the Rebbe.
Now this was no easy task, because the weather was usually freezing and snowy at that time of year in Russia. It became even more difficult as our chassid grew progressively older each year, but he kept it up. Until finally, one year, on a lonely road in the middle of some snowy forest his "batteries finally ran out"; his legs simply would not move another step.
"Nu, at least I'm dying on the way to the Rebbe," he consoled himself. "I just hope I'll get a Jewish burial and the animals don't eat me." He was on the verge of collapsing in the snow when suddenly he heard something in the distance.
It was a wagon! It sounded far away but the sounds were unmistakable: wheels crunching on the snow and the plodding of horses. Occasionally the wind wafted a few notes of the song the driver was singing. It didn't take long until it reached him; it was a wagon filled with large barrels, and it stopped before the freezing Jew. "Hey Moshke!" The wagon-driver yelled (that is what the non-Jews called all the Jews). "Hey! Want a ride? If you can find a place, jump in!" he stuck out his hand. With renewed strength the old chassid gratefully grabbed the hand, pulled himself up onto the wagon, then onto the barrels, and finally wedged himself down between them as the wagon began to move.
But his gratitude did not keep him warm. After a few minutes huddled between the barrels he was abruptly reminded that he was freezing, and not being able to move didn't help any.
That was when he noticed a small spigot sticking out of one of the barrels.
"Maybe it's wine, or vinegar, or maybe something else," he thought to himself. "But, it might be...".
With a shivering hand he turned the handle over the spigot. No, it wasn't wine or oil, not vinegar or anything else, it was...vodka! "Ivan" he yelled to the driver "I need a little of your merchandise here, I'm freezing! I'll pay, I promise. Can I take a small cup?" "Of course, my friend" shouted the driver over his shoulder. "As much as you need! Sure is cold out here!"
The second cup was better than the first, and in a minute he was warm. He was happy! He was going to the Rebbe! G-d made him a miracle! He began singing. In no time the driver was singing with him and, needless to say, the ten-hour drive passed like minutes.
Before he knew it they had reached Lubavitch. The driver helped him out of his "seat" gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and they warmly parted. Our Chassid made straight for the Shul (synagogue) where he immediately gathered everyone around him and said he wanted to tell them something.
"Today I learned a very great lesson." He began, occasionally rubbing his hands to warm up. "You know that the Torah is compared to water, right? But the Torah is supposed to make you warm and happy, and that is why the Baal Shem Tov and all the Rebbes began teaching Chassidus -- to make Jews warm and happy, right? Torah includes all kinds of water, so Chassidus must be the vodka of Torah, right? The part of Torah that makes you warm and happy, right?" No one knew exactly what he was getting at but everyone respected him because of his age and waited for him to continue. "Well, I just discovered that a chassid can be surrounded by barrels of Chassidus, by a sea of Torah, and still be cold, even freezing to death.
"But...if just a little bit goes INSIDE... Ahhh. That is a completely different story! Then he becomes warm and alive. In fact then, he can even warm up the whole world around him as well..."
By Tuvia Bolton More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
A popular teacher, musician and storyteller, Rabbi Tuvia Bolton is co-director and a senior lecturer at Yeshiva Ohr Tmimim in Kfar Chabad, Israel
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Every time I read the Binding of Isaac I am uncomfortable. I think that is part of the point.
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2538/jewish/The-Binding-of-Isaac.htm
Chassidic Masters
The Binding of Isaac
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
The founder of Chabad Chassidism, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, once related:
In Mezeritch, it was extremely difficult to be accepted as a disciple of our master, Rabbi DovBer. There was a group of Chassidim who, having failed to merit to learn directly from our master, wanted to at least serve his pupils: to bring them water to wash their hands upon waking, to sweep the floors of the study hall, to heat the ovens during the winter months, and so on. These were known as "the oven stokers."
One winter night, as I lay on a bench in the study hall, I overheard a conversation between three of the "oven stokers." "What was so special about the test of the akeidah?" the first one asked. "If G-d had revealed Himself to me and commanded me to sacrifice my only son, would I not obey?"
Answering his own question, he said: "If G-d told me to sacrifice my only son, I would delay my doing so for a while, to keep him with me for a few days. Abraham's greatness lay in that he arose early in the morning to immediately fulfill the Divine command."
Said the second one: "If G-d told me to sacrifice my only son, I, too, would waste not a moment to carry out His command. But I would do so with a heavy heart. Abraham's greatness lay in that he went to the akeidah with a heart full of joy over the opportunity to fulfill G-d's will."
Said the third: "I, too, would carry out G-d's will with joy. I think that Abraham's uniqueness lies in his reaction upon finding out that it was all a test. When G-d commanded him, 'Do not touch the child, and do nothing to him,' Abraham was overjoyed--not because his only child would not die, but because he was being given the opportunity to carry out another command of G-d."
Rabbi Schneur Zalman concluded: "Do you think this was mere talk? Each of them was describing the degree of self-sacrifice he himself had attained in his service of the Almighty."
This particular question--what is it that sets apart the akeidah from the countless other instances of human martyrdom and self-sacrifice?--is raised by almost all the commentaries and expounders of Torah.
For the binding of Isaac has come to represent the ultimate in the Jew's devotion to G-d. Every morning, we preface our prayers by reading the Torah's account of the akeidah and then say: "Master of the Universe! Just as Abraham our father suppressed his compassion for his only son to do Your will with a whole heart, so may Your compassion suppress Your wrath against us, and may Your mercy prevail over Your attributes of strict justice."
And on Rosh Hashanah, when the world trembles in judgment before G-d, we evoke the binding of Isaac by sounding the horn of a ram (reminiscent of the ram which replaced Isaac as an offering) as if to say: If we have no other merit, remember Abraham's deed. Remember how the first Jew bound all succeeding generations of Jews in a covenant of self-sacrifice to You.
Obviously, the supreme test of a person's faith is his willingness to sacrifice his very existence for its sake. But what is so unique about Abraham's sacrifice? Have not countless thousands of Jews given their lives rather than renounce their covenant with the Almighty?
One might perhaps explain that the willingness to sacrifice one's child is a far greater demonstration of faith than to forfeit one's own life. But in this, too, Abraham was not unique. Time and again through the generations, Jews have encouraged their children to go to their deaths rather than violate their faith. Typical is the story of "Chanah and her seven sons," who, seeing her seven children tortured to death rather than bow before a Greek idol, proclaimed: "My children! Go to Abraham your father and say to him: You bound one offering upon the altar, and I have bound seven offerings..."
Furthermore, while Abraham was prepared to sacrifice his son, in thousands of akeidot throughout our history Jews actually gave up their lives and the lives of their entire families. And, unlike Abraham, G-d had not directly spoken to them and requested their sacrifice. Their deeds were based on their own convictions and the strength of their commitment to an invisible and often elusive G-d. And many gave their lives rather than violate even a relatively minor tenet of their faith, even in cases in which the Torah does not require the Jew to do so.
Nevertheless, as the Abrabanel writes in his commentary on Genesis, it is the binding of Isaac "that is forever on our lips in our prayers... For in it lies the entire strength of Israel and their merit before their Heavenly Father..." Why? What about the many thousands who made the ultimate sacrifice in reiteration of our loyalty to G-d?
The same question may be asked in regard to Abraham himself. The akeidah was the tenth and final "test" in Abraham's life. In his first test of faith, Abraham was cast into a fiery furnace for his refusal to acknowledge the arch-idol of his native Ur Casdim, the emperor Nimrod, and his continued commitment to teaching the world the truth of a one, non-corporeal and omnipotent G-d. All this before G-d had revealed Himself to him and had chosen him and his descendents to serve as a "light unto the nations" and the purveyors of His word to humanity.
This early act of self-sacrifice seems, in a certain respect, to be even greater than the latter ones. A man, all on his own, comes to recognize the truth and devotes himself to its dissemination--to the extent that he is even willing to sacrifice his very life to this end. All this without a command or even sign from Above.
And yet, the binding of Isaac is considered the most important test of Abraham's faith. The Talmud asks: "Why did G-d, in commanding Abraham regarding the akeidah, say 'Please, take your son'?" Answers the Talmud: "G-d said to Abraham: 'I have tried you with many tests and you have withstood them all. Now, I beg you, please withstand this test for Me, lest they say that the earlier ones were of no substance'" (Talmud, Sanhedrin 89b).
Again we ask, Why? Granting that the akeidah was the most demanding test of all, why are the others "of no substance" without it?
The Chassidic masters explain the significance of the akeida with a metaphor:
Once there was an untamed wilderness. Not a trail penetrated its thick underbrush, not a map charted its forbidding terrain. But one day there came a man who accomplished the impossible: He cut a path through this impregnable land.
Many trod in his footsteps. It was still a most difficult journey, but they had his charts to consult, his trail to follow. Over the years, there were some who made the journey under even more trying conditions than those which had challenged the first pioneer: While he had done his work in broad daylight, they stumbled about in the black of night; while he had only his determination for company, they made the trip weighed down by heavy burdens. But all were equally indebted to him. Indeed, all their attainments could be said to be but extensions of his own great deed.
Abraham was the pioneer of self-sacrifice. And the first instance of true self-sacrifice in all of history was the binding of Isaac.
For to sacrifice one's self is not the same as to sacrifice one's life--there is a world of difference between the two.
The human story includes many chapters of heroic sacrifice. Every generation and society has had its martyrs--individuals who gave their lives for their faith, for their homeland, and for virtually every cause under the sun. They did so for a variety of reasons. For some it was an act of desperation. To them, their lives were not worth living unless a certain objective could be attained. Others believed that their deed would be richly rewarded in the hereafter, so they readily exchanged the temporal benefits of physical life for the soul's eternal gain. Finally, there were those for whom their cause had grown to be more significant to them than their lives. They had come to so completely identify with a certain goal that it became more integral to their "self" than their existence as individuals.
In all the above cases, the martyr is sacrificing his life, but not his self. Indeed, he is sacrificing his physical life for the sake of his self, whether it is for the sake of the self projected by his obsession, the spiritual self of his immortal soul, or a broader, universal "self" he has come to identify with. Ultimately, his is a selfish act, "selfish" in the most positive and altruistic sense of the word--here is an individual who has succeeded in transcending the narrow, material definition of "self" which dominates our corporeal world--but selfish nonetheless.
Abraham was a man with a mission. A mission for which he sacrificed everything, a mission more important to him than his own life.
For many years he had agonized over the fact that there was no heir to this mission, that his work of bringing the beliefs and ethics of monotheism to a pagan world would cease with his passing from the world. Then came the Divine promise: miraculously, at the age of 100, he will have a son, out of whom will stem the people of Israel. "You shall call his name Isaac," said G-d, "and I shall establish My covenant with him for an everlasting covenant, and with his descendants after him."
And then G-d told him to destroy it all.
When Abraham bound Isaac upon the altar, it was not in the service of any calling or cause. In fact, it ran contrary to everything he believed in and taught, to everything he had sacrificed his life for, to everything G-d Himself had told him. He could see no reason, no purpose for his act. Every element of his self cried out against it--his material self, his spiritual self, his transcendent, altruistic self. But he did it. Why? Because G-d had told him to.
Abraham was the pioneer of self sacrifice. Before Abraham, the self was inviolable territory. Man could enlighten the self's priorities, he could even broaden and sublimate it, but he could not supersede it. Indeed, how could he? As a creature of free choice, man's every act stems from within. His every deed has a motive (conscious or otherwise), and his every motive has a rationale--a reason why it is beneficial to his own existence. So how could he be motivated to annihilate his own self? The instinct to preserve and enhance one's self is the source and objective of a creature's every drive and desire--man could no more transcend it than lift himself up by pulling on the hair of his own head.
Yet Abraham did the impossible. He sacrificed his self for the sake of something beyond the scope of the most transcendent of identities. Had he not done so, no other act of self-sacrifice--previous or subsequent, of his own or of his descendents--could be presumed to be of any "substance," to be anything more than a product of the self. But when Abraham bound Isaac upon the altar, the heavenly voice proclaimed: "Now I know that you fear G-d." Now I know that the will of G-d supersedes even your most basic instincts. Now I know that all your deeds, including those which could be explained as self-motivated, are, in essence, driven by the desire to serve your Creator. Now I know that your entire life was of true, selfless substance.
So when we speak of the akeidah, we also speak of those who trod the path this great deed blazed. Of the countless thousands who died for the creed of Abraham, of the many millions who lived for its sake. Their sacrifices, great and petty, cataclysmic and everyday, may, on the surface, seem but the outgrowth of their personal beliefs and aspirations: commendable and extraordinary, but only the fulfillment of an individual soul's identity. But the akeidah revealed them to be so much more than that.
For Abraham bequeathed to his descendents the essence of Jewishness: that at the core of one's very being lies not the self but one's commitment to the Creator. And that, ultimately, one's every choice and act is an expression of that "spark of Divinity" within.
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Rachel:
Have you ever read Carl Jung's "Answer to Job"? I've recently started it. Very deep.
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Marc
I have not read the Jung book. I will have to check it out.
The Crime I Didn’t Commit
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
Change for the New Year starts here.
Circuit Court Judge Alice Gilbert had an innovative idea. She required every person convicted in her courtroom -- for crimes ranging from manslaughter to passing bad checks -- to write a 2,000-word essay answering four questions:
1.How did my crime affect me?
2. How did my crime affect my family?
3. How did my crime affect the community?
4. What can be done to prevent such crimes in the future?
On a recent visit to Michigan, I stayed with Judge Gilbert (who happens to be my cousin). I was intrigued by her brilliant idea of requiring convicts to confront the consequences of their actions, which surely had reduced recidivism in her district. Judge Gilbert, after 28 years on the bench, is now retired, but she keeps two boxes of the compulsory essays (with names deleted) in her basement. Always interested in the process of changing human behavior, I asked to read some of the essays.
I picked out the most severe crimes: a drunken driver who had killed a teenage girl; a high school student who had given birth to a baby, stuffed him into her closet and went off to school; a guy who had robbed a gas station and killed a hapless customer. With great anticipation, I sat down to read these dramatic confrontations of human beings with their shadow selves, these epiphanies of the damage they had caused to themselves and their loved ones, and the flood of contrition surely unleashed by such honest soul-searching.
No go! What I read instead was essay after essay explaining why the writer was not really guilty of the crime. Totally ignoring the four questions, each convict wrote at length -- some far exceeding 2,000 words -- of how events had conspired to produce the horrific outcome and that it was absolutely, positively not the fault of the writer.
Why is it so hard for people to admit they did wrong?
The drunk driver, whom I’ll call Frank, started by complaining that although it was sad that “this young girl, who should be alive, isn’t,” (he could not even own up to the word “dead,”) that was no reason that her friends and relatives should be harassing him with telephone calls and notes, both at home and at work. Frank went on to describe what had really happened that dark night when he was driving the pick-up truck. It was the fault of the weather; the rain made for low - in fact, no -- visibility. It was the fault of the girl herself and the man who was with her; they had hit a dog (proving no visibility!) and she was sitting in the middle of the road trying to help the dog, while the man was doing a lousy job of redirecting traffic around her. It was the fault of the police, who failed to test Frank’s breath, which would have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that the two glasses of wine he had drunk could not have inebriated a man of his weight.
(And why, pray tell, did the police not test Frank’s breath? Because both Frank and his companion Doris claimed that Doris was driving the pick-up. So the police tested Doris’s breath. Only later investigation revealed that Frank was indeed the driver.) Frank was adamant that the incompetent police should have figured out at the scene of the accident that he was driving (despite his own lies) and they should have given him a breath test immediately.
As for the high school girl and the dead baby, she didn’t realize she was pregnant until the baby started coming out, and she did everything she could to save the baby’s life, and ...
Why is it so hard for people to admit they did wrong? The first step in the process of teshuvah, of changing one’s behavior, is to admit, “I did it!” A Jew confesses transgressions not to a priest or any other human being, but to God. Trying to change without admitting wrong-doing is like trying to ski without snow.
THE SHREK FALLACY
Three major obstacles keep us humans from that simple act of admitting wrong-doing. The first is a sense of “I’m as rotten as my sins.” The human ego is too wobbly a table to load it up with a couple hundred pounds of wrong-doings. If I admit that I cheated on my exams, then I’m a despicable, dishonest cheat. If I admit that my outbursts of anger traumatize my children/employees/friends, then I’m an out-of-control, savage ogre. My wrong actions are not simply the garments that clothe my essential self; they become my image of who I really am.
This misconception derives from the “Shrek fallacy.” As Shrek famously declared, “Ogres are like onions. They have layers,” meaning that they are complex beings with multiple layers of personality components. Since human beings, too, have layers, the faulty syllogism is that human beings are like onions. This is a lethal analogy because, if you take an onion apart, layer by layer, in the end you will find... nothing.
This fear, that we are nothing but the sum total of our personality traits and actions with nothing inside, leads to the existential angst that fuels justification and rationalization at the expense of truly admitting our faults. Justification and rationalization are splintery boards to bolster up the wobbly table.
The soul is like a candle flame. It cannot be tarnished, soiled, or stained in any way.
Judaism counters the Shrek fallacy with the assertion that a human being is essentially a Divine soul. If you take off the layers of personality and actions, you will find shining within a perfect, pure, immutable Divine soul.
The soul is like a candle flame. It cannot be tarnished, soiled, or stained in any way. Transgressions are like curtains strung around the flame. Many layers of thick curtains, especially room-darkener curtains, can shroud the flame so that its light is totally invisible, but the flame is unaffected.
The more a person, through the spiritual practices enjoined by the Torah, identifies with this inner core of spirituality, with this perfect, immutable Divine soul, the more courage the person will have to admit wrongdoing. The person realizes that sin adheres to the essential self as little as dirt adheres to fire -- not at all. Thus teshuvah is predicated on establishing a sense of oneself as a soul, on connecting to one’s inner core of good. From that bulwark, confession of wrongdoing proceeds not as a paralyzing, guilt-inducing exercise, but as the first step in taking down the curtains that veil the soul.
THE “I CAN’T CHANGE” FALLACY
My daughter and I are planning a trip to Hawaii. I spent more than three mind-boggling hours yesterday on the internet, comparing flight prices, researching vacation packages, reading descriptions about various hotels, exploring the possibilities for kosher food, and investigating tours of Maui. I never would have invested so much time and energy if I didn’t believe that my daughter and I would eventually get to Hawaii. If I were toying with travel to an impossible destination -- impossible because the place, like Shangri-la, is a fantasy that does not exist or because the place, like North Korea, is off limits to American citizens -- I would not have invested myself in planning the journey.
To admit your wrongdoings in order to plunge into the journey called teshuvah requires belief that you can actually arrive at the destination: real change. This conviction is undermined by the fallacy that your actions are determined by heredity and environment, and therefore you cannot change. If teshuvah is your Shangri-la or North Korea, you’ll never embark on the journey.
Judaism insists that human beings have free will in the moral sphere. Yes, everything is determined by God except your choices between right and wrong. You can choose not to cheat on your exams, not to yell at your children, not to gossip, not to carry a grudge, etc. Free choice is, in fact, what distinguishes humans from the animal kingdom.
People can change. Don’t we all know someone who smoked for decades and then, after a heart attack, never picked up another cigarette?
The “I Can’t Change” fallacy is fueled by your past failures at reaching your desired destination. Mark Twain quipped, “Quit smoking? It’s easy! I’ve done it dozens of times.” If you have tried to stop smoking (or yelling or cheating or gossiping) many times, and each time you succumbed to the habit, then you are easy prey for the “I Can’t Change” fallacy.
But don’t we all know someone who smoked for decades and then, after a heart attack, went cold turkey and never picked up another cigarette? Don’t we all know a recovering alcoholic who, through persevering in a 12-step program, stopped drinking? I personally know people who, through the Jewish method of Mussar, changed themselves from screaming banshees who yelled at their kids several times a day to parents who almost never yell at their kids.
The travel brochure for the destination called “Teshuvah“ promises that it’s a long and arduous journey, but you can get there. And when you do, you’ll realize it was worth the trip.
THE “GOD IS TOO SMALL” FALACY
The third obstacle to honestly admitting our transgressions is our hopelessness that the mess we made can ever be cleaned up. The life-altering process of teshuvah changes who we are so fundamentally that God erases our past. The result of our teshuvah is that God performs the miracle of expunging our sin. It's as if it never happened. If we do the requisite steps of confession, regret, and making a concrete plan to change (and, when another person was involved, asking forgiveness and making restitution), then God cleans up the mess.
Unfortunately, many of us believe that God can clean up a little marinara sauce spilled on the kitchen floor, but not six tons of oil spilled in the ocean. We have to remind ourselves that God is God, which by definition means that God can do anything.
Years ago a woman whom I’ll call Beth came to Jerusalem bearing a deep dark secret. Beth enrolled in one of the programs that teaches Judaism to adults with minimal Jewish background. When the month of Elul (the month preceding Rosh Hashana) rolled around and Beth started learning about teshuva, she recoiled. She had committed a sin so grievous that she was sure that teshuvah was impossible. When Beth was 19 years old, she had had an affair with one of her college professors.
You think God is too small to forgive big sins.”
This professor was married, with children. For young Beth, the affair was an escapade, but it turned out that the professor was serious about their relationship. He divorced his wife, who proceeded to have a nervous breakdown. Beth, however, had no intention of getting married at that age. She ditched the professor, but he did not return to his family. As the years passed, Beth was haunted by what she had done. When she eventually learned about teshuvah, she was sure that there was no way to cleanse from her soul the stain of destroying an entire family.
One of Beth’s teachers took her to a prominent rabbi. He told her, “Your problem is that you think God is too small to forgive big sins.” He explained that her sin was indeed big, but she had to realize that God is bigger. Beth protested that she could not possibly fix the damage she had caused. The rabbi advised her to learn the laws of lashon hara (proper speech). When other women would see that Beth never gossiped or divulged secrets, they would come to her to confide their conflicts. Eventually a woman who was grappling with the same temptation would confide in her, and Beth would be able to guide the woman away from committing that sin. That would be her expiation.
With an infinite God, teshuvah is always possible. Once we realize that our sins do not define us, that we can indeed change, and that God can absolve us for even the worst misdeeds, we can be brave enough to admit that we did wrong. That’s the beginning of teshuvah.
Sara Yoheved Rigler’s next American lecture tour will be in November. She still has a few dates available for Shabbatons and workshops. If you would like to bring her to your community, please write to slewsi@aol.com.
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Best Wishes for a Sweet and Happy New Year
Shana Tova!
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G1s4iwrc2Rw[/youtube]
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Tashlich's Subtle Message
by Dovid Frankel
The antidote to wallowing in self pity.
The yearly tradition begs the question, what's up with Tashlich? We go out to a river, lake or pond and say a brief prayer followed by the token "throwing in of our sins." The kids accumulate stale bread for weeks to be able to have lots of ‘sins' to throw in. Kind of strange if you think about it. Judaism isn't about symbols and rituals; it's a lot deeper than that.
The answer is very simple yet so refreshing. Man is good. Man is beautiful. Man is extraordinary. At the very essence, the human being is pure and holy. Created in God's image with the capacity to soar to the heights of Godliness, we aren't sinners, but rather we sin.
Unfortunately, throughout the travails and temptations of daily life, we ‘acquire' many sins and transgressions. They come to us in times of despair or acts of arrogance. We purchase them in fits of anger or digest them in moments of weaknesses. We might own them. We might carry them. And we might even relish some of them. But they never become us. They never become who we are. And they definitely aren't what we really want to be.
They are always a separate entity that can be disowned, disavowed and cast away at any time. The symbolic act of throwing away our sins brings that message home in a dramatic, concrete manner.
Tashlich is the biggest antidote to wallowing in self pity. When we think about our habits we throw up our hands in the air and tell ourselves, "It's been years! There's no way I can change now." Or "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." Tashlich teaches us otherwise. Yes we can change. We can improve because we are at our core holy and pure -- a spark of the divine.
The good struggle is to scrub away that superficial coating of sin. Scrape away the cynicism, repudiate the negativism and snap out of our disenchantment. As long as we can grasp the immeasurable greatness and potential of our souls, then nothing can stop us. If we would only begin to comprehend that the love God has for us is unfathomable and limitless, then and only then, can we truly begin our journey to complete and credible repentance.
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...For the Sin of Sexual Immorality
by Bracha Goetz
Silence may be golden, but not when abuse is involved.
Karen's older brother told her that there was nothing wrong with him touching her body. And he seemed to know a lot more at age 14 than she did at age six. This progressed gradually and steadily from touching above the clothes to actual rape that continued for years. Eventually Karen's older brother went on to get married and have a family, appearing just fine to nearly everyone in the community. He left his younger sister, now in her late twenties, emotionally, sexually and spiritually crippled.
There are 50 young women with backgrounds similar to Karen's in just one recently formed support group for women. They all grew up in Jewish homes and they have all been sexually abused. These are the ones who have the courage to step forward.
Thank God it is now beginning to come to light, and victims are starting to learn that they are not the only ones with this secret corrosive problem. We have the opportunity to take necessary constructive actions. Not only can we support those who are already victims, we can implement effective prevention education to stop the growth of abuse in our communities.
It's not only teenage older brothers or cousins with characteristically raging hormones who can become abusers. Approximately 80% of sexual abuse is committed by a trusted family member or family friend, with roughly 15% being committed by teachers, coaches, youth group leaders or clergy. Less than 5% of sexual abusers are strangers to their victims. This makes sense because gaining the trust of the victim is a prerequisite in the grooming process leading to sexual abuse occurring and not being reported.
Silence may be golden, but not when abuse is involved. Abuse thrives in silence.
Karen, at age six, needs to be taught that she has the right to say “No!” to any unwanted touch.
Karen, at age six, needs to be taught that she has the right to say “No!” to any unwanted touch -- even if it's from an older brother or an uncle. David, at age four, needs to be told that nobody should touch him in the private areas that are covered by his bathing suit, unless it is for health or hygienic purposes, no matter who the person is. Debbie, at age nine, needs to learn to tell a trusted parent as soon as possible if anybody attempts to touch her in a confusing way.
The Seventh Commandment
On Yom Kippur, a day when we face our transgressions, we read a portion of the Torah that explicitly delineates many sexually immoral acts. And every one of these immoral acts can be summarized by the seventh of the Ten Commandments, "Lo Teenof" (Exodus 20:13). It is usually translated narrowly as “Do not commit adultery,” but it is more broadly interpreted by most Torah commentators as “Do not engage in illicit sexual activities.”
It is interesting to observe that the Ten Commandments do not appear as one list of ten; they appear, instead, in two columns. The first five focus on the relationship between an individual and God, while the second five focus on the relationship between people, with the directive to honor parents being the perfect segue way between the two.
And each commandment between an individual and God corresponds to the directive that is in the parallel column, between individual people. So the seventh commandment against engaging in illicit sexual activity corresponds to the second one -- to not go after other gods. Engaging in idol worship involves surrendering one's self to powerful destructive forces, just as engaging in illicit sexual activities does as well
Someone who betrays the marital relationship betrays God as well. Engaging in illicit sexual activities basically comes down to demonstrating disregard for another's rights, and since we are all made in the image of God, each illicit act demonstrates a disregard for the reality of God as well.
Judaism is not about denying physical pleasures. It's about recognizing spirituality within physicality, thereby enhancing one's pleasure as much as possible. Every material blessing in our lives contains within it the potential to bring us to the greatest spiritual heights. Intimacy is a God-given gift, and when used to reinforce a sense of oneness and unity in marital relationships, it has the potential to simultaneously draw people closer to each other and closer to God.
Involvement in prostitution, pornography, incestuous relationships, molestation -- all abusive behaviors -- come under the umbrella of sexual immorality. Not only do these behaviors cause the perpetrators to deny their own spiritual essence, as well as that of the individual being victimized, they also cause the victim to lose sight of the connection to his or her spiritual essence.
We can see more clearly how this operates through focusing on one of the basest examples. A small and innocent child learns to trust from trusting those who are older, wiser, and bigger than he is. A child also learns to trust in God from trusting those older than him. When an adult or older teen in this child's life abuses him, he learns repeatedly not to trust in God because he feels that he is not being protected in the most intimate ways.
When a young person has been repeatedly abused, the child very often stops thinking of God as being loving. God comes to be viewed as unjust and cruel, like those he trusted who turned out, instead, to darken his life. Little by little, the child's image of God becomes drained of its light.
Thankfully, even when children are sexually abused, their spiritual essence can never be completely destroyed. The pure flame within can be dimmed, but no matter what, the indestructible spark remains in each child. That spark, that neshama, that spiritual essence is what we need to strive to recognize. And it is what the survivors of abusive, illicit relationships need to work hard to re-discover within themselves.
When we make a choice to follow our divine directions, instead of careening toward danger, we can be aroused to recognize the spiritual essence of every physical blessing. Through respecting and appreciating the Divine connection that we all share, we can achieve the greatest heights of genuine lasting pleasure.
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Man and Woman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/92136/jewish/Man-and-Woman.htm
By Tzvi Freeman
It is a mistake to consider man and woman two separate beings. They are no more than two halves of a single form, two converse hemispheres that fit tightly together to make a perfect whole. They are heaven and earth encapsulated in flesh and blood.
It is only that on its way to enter this world, this sphere was shattered apart. What was once the infinity of a perfect globe became two finite surfaces. What was once a duet of sublime harmony became two bizarre solos of unfinished motions, of unresolved discord.
So much so, that each one hears in itself only half a melody, and so too it hears in the other. Each sees the other and says, "That is broken." Feigning wholeness, the two halves wander aimlessly in space alone.
Until each fragment allows itself to surrender, to admit that it too is broken. Only then can it search for the warmth it is missing. For the depth of its own self that was ripped away. For the harmony that will make sense of its song.
And in perfect union, two finite beings find in one another infinite beauty.
By Tzvi Freeman
From the wisdom of the Lubavitcher Rebbe; words and condensation by Tzvi Freeman. To order Tzvi's book, "Bringing Heaven Down to Earth, click here.
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The Rabbi's Shofar and the Dog
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00vFNzlXmNU&feature=player_embedded
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00vFNzlXmNU&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
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Nice post and nice clip.
That said, I'd like to jump back for a bit to the prior post on the Seventh Commandment.
In modern life, people often wait 10-20 years after sexual maturity before having children.
What are they to do during these years?
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Marc,
The article actually does not mention having children as a reason for intimacy. Being fruitful and multiplying is very import in Judaism but it not the only reason for intimacy
The article said
" Intimacy is a God-given gift, and when used to reinforce a sense of oneness and unity in marital relationships, it has the potential to simultaneously draw people closer to each other and closer to God."
The articles I normally post for this thread are from Orthodox sources and I am not Orthodox. If you were to ask an Orthodox Rabbi about the issue I believe he would tell you that the modern world is wrong and you should get married early. Very religious Jews often marry young and marry quickly. Couple often get engaged after a few months and wedding are planned by the parents in a few months.
When I was 22 and in Israel I was asked by my 5 year old Orthodox cousin why I wasn't married yet. I said I was too young and he said no you're not.
However where does that leave us living in the modern world. It is very easy to preach no intimacy before marriage when you are married and getting your emotional and physical needs met
My Rabbi who is Conservative Jew (don't be confused that is one of those liberal sects) gave an interesting sermon a few years about how Judaism doesn't let you opt out. No matter where you are or what you are doing you still have an obligation to make the best moral choice you can. Living together before marriage (lets assume he was being euphemistic for other acts as well ) doesn't mean you get opt out of making moral choices.
I think casual sex is wrong and intimacy should be meaningful. I don't believe all non-marital intimacy is casual. The best advise I have heard is --- At all times you have a choice between chasing meaning and chasing non-meaning. Chase meaning.
A slight related article
Why Do We Fall in Love?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1211/jewish/Why-Do-We-Fall-in-Love.htm
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/996.jpg)
Why Do We Fall in Love?
By Simon Jacobson
What lies behind the attraction between the sexes? Sexuality is a subject about which no one is neutral. Everyone has a sexual nature, everyone has a need for sexuality, everyone has a sexual personality that has been formed by home, schooling, the trial and error of life experience, and whatever they pick up along the way from the subtle and not-so-subtle influences of the society in which they live.
In seeking to make sense of our sexuality we must look to its origins. Where does our sexuality come from? In this article, I would like to look at two approaches to that question.
Is the mystique and the romance, the music and the moonlight, just nature's way of hoodwinking men and women to reproduce? One is the prevalent, contemporary, scientific approach. And then we'll contrast it with the Torah approach - specifically, the Kabbalistic-Chassidic perspective on Torah.
There are, of course, numerous secular-scientific theories of sexuality. Let us examine what is probably the most dominant one: the biological or evolutionary theory which is essentially based on the idea that "the survival of the fittest" is the primary force in nature and the source of any given creature's particular characteristics, from single cells right up the "evolutionary chain" to animals and humans.
From this perspective, our sexuality derives from the fact that the perpetuation of the species is achieved through a sexual relationship between a male and a female. The male will therefore search for the female that is most fertile, and that will bear the healthiest offspring; and the female will search for a male that provides the healthiest seed, that is the most virile and that will protect the young.
This theory explains many things about our sexuality. It explains why men and women seek out and mate with each other. It explains why certain features in the woman or in the man are extremely enticing to the opposite sex because they reflect on elements of fertility or signs of health that are important for the perpetuation of the species.
What this theory essentially says is that behind the mystique and the beauty, the romance and the sensuality in which human sexuality comes enveloped, behind it all really lies a primal force: the need to exist, and to perpetuate that existence. Since the human being is an animal with a certain degree of sophistication, human sexuality has evolved to address that sophistication. Modern man is not prepared to think of him or herself merely as production machines to bear children, so in order to entice two people into a union, evolution and biology have conspired to imbue the sexual act not only with pleasure but also with a mystique that compels us along the romantic journey.
Gazing into a loved one's eyes across a candlelit table-for-two, the human being may think that he or she has risen above a survival-of-the-fittest mode of existence; but, in truth, this "rising higher" is just nature's way of packaging that drive. Two human beings courting each other are essentially the same as two bees courting each other. One bee will buzz a certain way or give off a certain scent, but what it comes down to is that these are tactics to get them together to mate and bear offspring. By the same token, the accouterments of human sexuality, the romance, the flowers, the music, the moonlight are really just nature's way of getting two people together.
Sexual attraction between human beings is driven by a completely different force: their search for their divine image
Nature is ruthless. Nature must prevail. So nature finds the means to get a male and a female to mate.
This, basically, is the scientific approach to human sexuality. Let us now contrast this with the Torah's approach.
The Torah's conception of human sexuality is expressed in the opening chapters of Genesis, and states that sexual attraction between human beings is driven by a completely different force: their search for their divine image, for their quintessential self.
The Torah describes man as originally having been created as a "two-sided" being: "Male and female He created them and He called their name: man." G-d then split this two-sided creature into two, and ever since, the divided halves of the divine image seek and yearn for each other.
They're not half individuals; man is a full-fledged personality and woman is a full-fledged personality. But there are elements in their transcendental persona, in their completeness, that remain incomplete if they don't find each other. There's something missing in each of them; they were once part of a greater whole.
To put it in more mystical, or more divine, terms: they're really searching to become one with G-d.
The human race is in essence one entity, a male-female singularity. When man and woman come together and unite in a marital union, they recreate the divine image in which they were both formed as one.
We have a split of two energies, and a yearning and inclination to become one whole
The teachings of Kabbalah take this a step further, seeing the male/female dynamic not just as two sexes within a species. According to the Kabbalah, these are two forms of energy that, in the most abstract form, are referred to as an internal energy and a projective energy. Feminine energy and masculine energy exist in each man and in each woman, and in every part of nature.
Even G-dliness is sometimes described in the feminine and sometimes in the masculine. Contrary to the common perception of the "patriarchal" G-d of the Bible, many of the divine attributes are feminine, such as the Shechinah, which is the feminine dimension of G-dliness.
So what we have here is a split of two energies, and a yearning and inclination to become one whole. The human race was created in the divine image, but that human race is half male and half female, and through their union they become that larger whole, that divine image that searches for union with G-d, that seeks a higher reality.
This is the soul of sexual attraction. This attraction, which manifests itself in many physical sensations, from a faster heartbeat to a physical attraction to another person, is essentially the attraction of male to female and female to male to become a complete, divine whole, connecting to their source in G-d. Not that they've ever been completely disconnected; but consciously, people can go off on their own individual narcissistic, even selfish, path. And here, there's a voice in you saying: I yearn for something greater. When a man is physically attracted to a woman, or a woman to a man, it may seem a very biological thing, but from a Jewish, Torah perspective, it's just a physical manifestation of a very deep spiritual attraction.
This is not to say that the Torah's concept of sexuality is not intrinsically tied in to the objective of creating new life. It certainly is. But perpetuation of the species is not the sole end of our sexuality. Rather, it's the other way around: the divine nature of our sexuality - the fact that the union of male and female completes the divine image in which they were created - is what gives us the power to bring life into the world.
So there is something divine about the union itself. This is reflected in Halachah (Torah law) which extends the sanctity of marriage also to circumstances in which the generation of offspring is not a possibility (such as in the case of a man and/or woman who are beyond childbearing age, or who are physically unable to bear children). If sexuality were simply the mechanism for childbearing, one might argue: "Hey, no perpetuation of the species, what's the point of marriage and sexuality? Just a selfish pleasure? Where's the holiness?" The answer is, yes, sexuality qua sexuality is holy. Male and female uniting is a divine act, a divine experience.
By Simon Jacobson More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
© The Meaningful Life Center. Rabbi Simon Jacobson is the author of the best-selling Toward a Meaningful Life: The Wisdom of the Rebbe (William Morrow, 1995), and the founder and director of the Meaningful Life Center.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Self-Pity
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By Tzvi Freeman
Self-pity is nothing less than an impulse to destroy yourself. And this is its script:
"This is the way you were made. These are the facts of your situation. It's bad. Worse than anybody else in the whole world. In fact, it's so bad, it's impossible to do anything about it. And therefore, you are free from any responsibility to clean it up. Nobody can blame you for anything."
Self-pity is a liar and a thief. A liar, because everyone is granted the power to clean up his own mess, if only he will try. A thief, because as long as it sits inside you, it is stealing away the days of your life.
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http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/317731/jewish/Forgiveness.htm
Forgiveness
By Jay Litvin
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/800.jpg)
These were the days before Yom Kippur. I was lonely and couldn't figure out why. The loneliness had been there for months.
Things were good with my wife and kids. I'd been on the phone with my sisters and in close contact with my friends.
So, what was the source of this loneliness?
I was missing G-d.
I was and had been feeling distant from Him. A strange feeling for me. Even in my late teens I had been able to connect with Him when I needed to. He always answers my calls. Sometimes I don't even need to call. I just feel his companionship as I journey through life.
We share the same disease, so we never have to worry about boring each other
But these last months had been lonely. I had been separate from Him, unable even to call out. And I didn't know why.
Just before Yom Kippur, I received an e-mail from a friend. He's not a religious Jew, though we discourse often about G-d and Torah. He's a writer and has a way with words. We also share the same disease, and talk much about our symptoms, history, fears, treatments and aches. There's a special something that happens with people who share the same disease. We never have to worry about boring each other. All our concerns and obsessions about the daily changes in our health or symptoms, our latest internet discoveries about new cures and clinical trials may bore others, but are continuously fascinating to us.
At the end of this email my friend wrote: "Jay, this Yom Kippur, I don't think you should go to shul and ask G-d for forgiveness. This Yom Kippur you should stay home and G-d should come crawling on His knees and beg you to forgive Him for what He's done to you."
When I read these lines I laughed. My friend is a sacrilegious provocateur. He believed what he said, but he mainly wrote those words to shock me. I filed his words, but paid them little attention.
As Yom Kippur drew close, I continued to wonder what was taking place between G-d and me. I worried that this day of prayer and fasting would be void of the usual connection that Yom Kippur brings.
And then in a flash I realized that I was angry at G-d. And had been for some time. I was angry about my disease and I was angry that I was not yet healed. I was angry about my pain. And I was angry at the disruption to my life, the fear, the worry and anxiety that my disease was causing my family and those who loved and cared about me. I was angry about the whole thing, and He, being the boss of everything that happens in the world, was responsible and to blame.
And so, I entered Yom Kippur angry at G-d.
I put on my kittel and my tallit and I went to shul. I had received permission from my doctors and rabbi to fast. I beat my chest and listed my sins. I asked forgiveness. And yet, no matter how long the list of sins was, no matter how much I sought forgiveness, I could not find any act so heinous as to deserve the punishment that I felt was being inflicted upon me.
I prayed for G-d's forgiveness, and in my prayer book I read the words that promised His forgiveness. He would forgive me, I read, because that was His nature. He is a forgiver. He loves me. He wants me to be close to Him. And so He forgives me not for any reason, not because I deserve it, but simply because that is who He is. He is merciful and forgives and wipes the slate clean so that we -- He and I -- can be close again for the coming year.
I read these words, nice words, yet my anger remained.
Then I again remembered the email. In his cynicism, my friend had hit the mark: I needed to forgive G-d. I needed to rid myself of my anger and blame for the sickness He had given me. I needed to wipe the slate clean so that He and I could be close once again.
I realized that I was angry at G-d
But how? On what basis should I forgive Him? If He was human, I could forgive Him for His imperfections, His fallibility, His pettiness, His upbringing, His fragility and vulnerabitity. I could try to put myself in His shoes, to understand His position. But He is G-d, perfect and complete! Acting with wisdom and intention. How could I forgive Him?!
As I continued my prayers throughout the day, with my anger and inability to forgive foremost in my mind, the words in my prayer book began to transform from pleas for forgiveness to instructions on how to forgive. Could it be that on this Yom Kippur, G-d was teaching me how to forgive Him? Were these words lessons on forgiveness from the Master of Forgiveness?
The instructions seemed clear: Forgive for the sake of forgiveness. Forgive not because there is a reason that you understand (for you may never understand My ways) nor because I deserve it (for the ways that I manifest are often terrible and frightening). Forgive solely out of love, so we can be close once again. Forgive because you, created in My image, are also a forgiver. I created you with that capacity so that always, no matter what happens in your life, you and I can be close, so that you and whomever you love, despite what transpires between you, can always reunite and begin again, clean and pure, ready for a new start.
The message and instructions were there and I began to hear through the prayers G-d speaking to me, reaching out for reconciliation, waiting for my forgiveness, providing instruction on how to forgive Him.
Again I remembered my friend's provocative e-mail. No, G-d was not crawling. But was He begging? Was He beseeching me for forgiveness and reconciliation? Was our unity more important to Him than any sin I had committed against Him or any pain He had inflicted upon me?
Still, I could not do it. Even seeing the extent to which He was reaching out to me, I was incapable of forgiveness. Though I wanted to forgive, on this day of truth, I saw that I could not. What He had done to me remained too terrible, too intentional to forgive.
As the closing Ne'ilah prayer approached, I was in despair. It all seemed hopeless. When I presented my case before my invisible set of internal of judges I carry with me, I was judged right, He guilty. He deserved my distance and rejection and I would stubbornly and righteously continue it.
As the sun began to set I felt completely alone. The loneliness was intolerable.
The feeling reminded me of times when I argue with my wife. We fight about some injustice or hurt that has occurred. I present my case before my internal judges and I am proven right. I withdraw in righteousness, punish her with rejection and distance. Sometimes it will last a few hours, sometimes a couple of days. But finally, the loneliness sets in. The distance becomes unbearable. The withdrawal demands an end. My desire for reconciliation and reunification overpowers any need to be right or to punish. And so, without needing to even speak about what it was we were fighting about, eventually we forgive each other so that we can be together again, loving again, carrying on our lives and relationship and family in good will and with a fresh start. We don't forgive because of any reason, nor out of our acceptance of each other's human pettiness or frailty or imperfection. We forgive simply from the desire to love and reunite. Simply so we can be together again. So that things will be the way they should.
We forgive simply from the desire to love and reunite
And in the last minutes of Yom Kippur, out of my unbearable loneliness and separation from G-d, I found my ability to forgive. I forgave simply so that we -- G-d and I -- could be close again. So that we would return to the unity that is meant to be between us. Out my love for Him, my need of Him, my inability to carry on without Him I found the capacity somewhere in me. I reached out to Him in forgiveness and in that moment the pain and blame began to recede.
For me, Yom Kippur has not ended. This forgiveness business is not so easy as to be learned and actualized in a day. My anger and resentment, frustration and intolerance still flare, still cause damage. On my bad days it is hard for me to accept all that is happening, changing, challenging my life. But some new dynamic has entered the process. A softening. An acceptance. A letting go. A…. forgiveness.
For, you see, the last thing I want during the fragility of this time in my life is to be separate from G-d or from those whom I love or from the rising sun or a star-filled night.
I don't want anger and blame to ruin any moment of my life nor rend me from the unity with which G-d has created the world and that only I have the power to destroy.
Thankfully, G-d has provided me with the capacity to forgive and, now, in these days since Yom Kippur, he has provided me with the opportunity to reveal that forgiveness. He knows that both He and I, and all those that He and I love, will eventually, continuously do unforgivable things to each other. And despite the pain we will cause each other, we will need to forgive each other.
To not forgive would be an unbearable breach of the unity of creation.
By Jay Litvin More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Jay Litvin was born in Chicago in 1944. He moved to Israel in 1993 to serve as medical liaison for Chabad's Children of Chernobyl program, and took a leading role in airlifting children from the areas contaminated by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster; he also founded and directed Chabad's Terror Victims program in Israel. Jay passed away in April of 2004 after a valiant four-year battle with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and is survived by his wife, Sharon, and their seven children.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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http://www.myjewishlearning.com/practices/Ritual/Shabbat_The_Sabbath/Themes_and_Theology/Sanctuary_in_Time_Prn.shtml
Shabbat as a Sanctuary in Time
The Sabbaths are our great cathedrals, the Jewish equivalent of sacred architecture.
By Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel
Judaism's particular genius is in consecrating time, in the view of one influential Jewish thinker. This theme, too, like many other concepts of Shabbat, has its roots in the Bible. Reprinted with permission from The Sabbath: Its Meaning for Modern Man, published by Noonday Press.
Judaism is a religion of time aiming at the sanctification of time. Unlike the space-minded man to whom time is unvaried, iterative, homogeneous, to whom all hours are alike, quality-less, empty shells, the Bible senses the diversified character of time. There are no two hours alike. Every hour is unique and the only one given at the moment, exclusive and endlessly precious.
Judaism teaches us to be attached to holiness in time, to be attached to sacred events, to learn how to consecrate sanctuaries that emerge from the magnificent stream of a year. The Sabbaths are our great cathedrals; and our Holy of Holies is a shrine that neither the Romans nor the Germans were able to burn; a shrine that even apostasy cannot easily obliterate: the Day of Atonement. According to the ancient rabbis, it is not the observance of the Day of Atonement, but the Day itself, the "essence of the Day," which, with man's repentance, atones for the sins of man.
Jewish ritual may be characterized as the art of significant forms in time, as architecture of time. Most of its observances--the Sabbath, the New Moon, the festivals, the Sabbatical and the Jubilee year--depend on a certain hour of the day or season of the year. It is, for example, the evening, morning, or afternoon that brings with it the call to prayer. The main themes of faith lie in the realm of time. We remember the day of the exodus from Egypt, the day when Israel stood at Sinai; and our Messianic hope is the expectation of a day, of the end of days.
In a well-composed work of art an idea of outstanding importance is not introduced haphazardly, but, like a king at an official ceremony, it is presented at a moment and in a way that will bring to light its authority and leadership. In the Bible, words are employed with exquisite care, particularly those which, like pillars of fire, lead the way in the far-flung system of the biblical world of meaning.
One of the most distinguished words in the Bible is the word kadosh, holy; a word which more than any other is representative of the mystery and majesty of the divine. Now what was the first holy object in the history of the world? Was it a mountain? Was it an altar?
It is, indeed, a unique occasion at which the distinguished word kadosh is used for the first time: in the Book of Genesis at the end of the story of creation. How extremely significant is the fact that it is applied to time: "And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy." There is no reference in the record of creation to any object in space that would be endowed with the quality of holiness.
This is a radical departure from accustomed religious thinking. The mythical mind would expect that, after heaven and earth have been established, God would create a holy place--a holy mountain or a holy spring--whereupon a sanctuary is to be established. Yet it seems as if to the Bible it is holiness in time, the Sabbath, which comes first.
When history began, there was only one holiness in the world, holiness in time. When at Sinai the word of God was about to be voiced, a call for holiness in man was proclaimed: "Thou shalt be unto me a holy people." It was only after the people had succumbed to the temptation of worshipping a thing, a golden calf, that the erection of a Tabernacle, of holiness in space, was commanded. The sanctity of time came first, the sanctity of man came second, and the sanctity of space last. Time was hallowed by God; space, the Tabernacle, was consecrated by Moses.
While the festivals celebrate events that happened in time, the date of the month assigned for each festival in the calendar is determined by the life in nature. Passover and the Feast of Booths [Sukkot], for example, coincide with the full moon, and the date of all festivals is a day in the month, and the month is a reflection of what goes on periodically in the realm of nature, since the Jewish month begins with the new moon, with the reappearance of the lunar crescent in the evening sky. In contrast, the Sabbath is entirely independent of the month and unrelated to the moon. Its date is not determined by any event in nature, such as the new moon, but by the act of creation. Thus the essence of the Sabbath is completely detached from the world of space.
The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. It is a day on which we are called upon to share in what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation, from the world of creation to the creation of the world.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, Ph.D. (1907-1972), born in Warsaw and educated in Poland and Germany, was Professor of Ethics and Mysticism at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. Among his books are Man Is Not Alone, God in Search of Man, The Earth is the Lord's, and Israel: Echo of Eternity.
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http://www.aish.com/h/hh/yk/60649942.html
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This prayer is read in our synagoguge every year on Yom Kippur and it is one of my favorites.
Confederate Soldier's Prayer
http://www.chosunjournal.com/confed.html
I asked God for strength, that I might achieve,
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked God for health, that I might do greater things,
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.
I asked for riches, that I might be happy,
I was given poverty, that I might be wise.
I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men,
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.
I got nothing that I asked for
- but everything I had hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am among men, most richly blessed.
http://www.chosunjournal.com/confed.html
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Outstanding!!!
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Marc, I'm glad you liked the poem,
Choosing Happiness
by Judy Gruen
Make the joy of Sukkot a daily part of your life.
It's ironic that of all the Jewish holidays, only Sukkot is singled out as the "season of our happiness." Why not Passover, when we were finally freed from Egyptian bondage? Why not Purim, when Haman's genocidal plot against us was foiled? How can we be commanded to be happy on this holiday, especially when we are told to leave our comfortable homes and dwell in our sukkahs?
In fact, Sukkot reveals that we will never find true happiness in even the sturdiest material possessions, such as our homes. And we know from painful, tumultuous economic events how quickly material wealth can also disappear. During Sukkot, we celebrate the only "wealth" that is permanent: our spiritual connection and God and His abiding love for the Jewish people. It brings home the idea that happiness isn't about having; it's about our attitudes.
During Sukkot, the Almighty's Clouds of Glory protected the Jews during 40 long years of desert wanderings. These Clouds of Glory, and the manna that fed us, were tangible proof of God's care and protection. That up-close and personal connection between the Jewish people and God is the source of real, transcendent happiness, and we have a special opportunity to tap into it, even when sitting in a flimsy sukkah.
Is it possible to hold on to the happiness of Sukkot and make it part of our lives all year-round? Tal Ben-Shahar, Ph.D., a happiness expert who teaches positive psychology and education at the Interdisciplinary Center in Herzilya, Israel, believes we can.
As an undergraduate at Harvard, Ben-Shahar excelled academically, athletically, and socially. Still, he wasn't happy. Given everything he had going for him, "it didn't make sense," he recalls. "I should have been happy, and I was baffled. I realized something was missing, and decided to look closely at my life." As part of his search for answers, Ben-Shahar switched majors from computer science to philosophy and psychology. In the process, he found not only the keys to happiness, but a career in helping others find it as well.
Ben-Shahar went on to earn a Ph.D. in organizational behavior from Harvard, and for four years taught one of the university's most popular elective courses, on positive psychology. As a professor at Harvard, Ben-Shahar found that today's students shared the same struggles he once did, and that being affluent and smart enough to attend one of the world's most prestigious universities was no guarantee of happiness.
"Happiness and unhappiness do not discriminate," he explains. "They are distributed evenly across society, age and economic sectors. But the United States leads the pack in terms of the pressure that is put on students to get high grades, to always think about the future. Adults in the work world face similar pressure. But with all this emphasis on the future, many people end up missing the present."
In addition to his courses, Ben-Shahar is the author, most recently, of The Pursuit of Perfect. Through his books and lectures, he shares what he has learned attaining the often elusive goal of happiness. Much of his advice runs counter to the vaunted values of American society, such as material success.
"Additional pay and professional accolades don't make us happier. More quality time off to savor the joy we already have does."
"Working more hours may make us more money, but we'll pay the 'ultimate currency' if we do," he explains. "The fact is, additional pay and professional accolades don't make us happier. More quality time off to savor the joy we already have does. We all feel more time pressures today, and part of it is economic, but part of it involves the choices we make about how we spend our time."
Numerous studies on happiness have consistently confirmed many of the same happiness boosters, and Ben-Shahar notes that all of these are built in to the fabric of Jewish life. One of them is a day of rest. "We know that people who take a day of rest are happier and more productive than those who don't, because we have to 'recreate' if we want to create. This is not only a value but also a tool to success."
A second one is gratitude. "Research shows that people who express hakarat hatov, gratitude for what they have, are happier people and more generous as well," he observes. And from the moment a Jew wakes up, he or she has unlimited opportunities to express gratitude, from saying "modeh ani" upon arising from bed, to making a blessing after going to the bathroom for a healthy body, to blessings for food, and innumerable others included in daily prayers, even for "small" things such as being able to see and stand up straight.
Practicing rituals and having a sense of spirituality also make people happier, Ben-Shahar notes. "Going to a synagogue is valuable, as is spending time with family around the dinner table. Rituals are part of most happy people's lives."
Some philosophers in earlier generations wrongly predicted that science and technological innovation would become the new god. While it brought wealth, it didn't bring happiness for those who bought into the philosophy. "Viktor Frankel called living without God an 'existential vacuum,'" Ben-Shahar says, adding that secularists who like to point to Nietzsche's famous quote that "God is dead" completely misunderstand his meaning. "Nietzsche didn't say this with satisfaction, but with pathos. He realized that a life without God meant a deep existential emptiness for many." Rabbi Nachum Braverman, Executive Director of Jerusalem Partners and the author of The Bible for the Clueless but Curious -- A Guide to Jewish Wisdom for Real People, observes that these undisputed ingredients for happiness: gratitude, community, observing a day of rest, and a spiritual basis, are all built on a framework for living that transcends the self. "Living only for yourself and about yourself is a cramped and diminished way to life," he explains. "That's why happiness is not a goal, it's a byproduct of living well. When it becomes a goal, it's just another form of egotism: it's all about me, and if that's the case, you can never find it. Jewish values and practice keep people focused on something broader than their own egos, and from living as impetuously as their emotions might dictate. Living in a community that gives context and offers meaningful relationships with people with shared values is a surer path to happiness."
A happy life is not a pain-free life.
But a happy life is not a pain-free life, both teachers agree. "The only people who don't experience painful emotions are either dead or psychopaths," Ben-Shahar explains. "A full life has sadness, anger, envy, fear, and disappointment. If we don't give ourselves permission to experience painful emotions, they intensify, become toxic and they stick. When we let them flow through us, they weaken and dissipate."
Still, the experience of happiness is very subjective, in part because we choose how to respond to pain and disappointment. "I believe that people can make the best of things that do happen," Ben-Shahar notes. "Resilient people look for and create growth from difficult situations. You can choose to be devastated by events, or you can derive benefit from them."
Ultimately, Ben-Shahar says, happiness results from the innumerable choices we make, including choosing to feel gratitude even during hard times: "Do I focus on the fact I have my health and food on the table, or do I focus on the fact that I have to sell my Ferrari? Focus on the yesh versus the ain (what I have versus what I do not have)." There are few better opportunities for this kind of focus than during Sukkot, when we eat, and possibly even sleep, in little booths that are built for contemplation, not construction awards.
Rabbi Braverman adds that living a meaningful life helps us to cope with loss, even incomprehensible loss. "When the Mishna asks the famous question, 'Aizeh hu ashier?' (Who is wealthy?) it means that we have all been dealt a different portion in life, with individual tests and opportunities. When you stop fighting against your portion, you can realize it for the opportunity it is."
If you want to ensure that the joy of Sukkot lasts longer than your sukkah decorations, try some of Ben-Shahar's tools for happiness: start a gratitude journal, exercise, meditate, learn therapeutic cognitive techniques, simplify your life, set goals, identify your strengths and find your passion. Not enough? Here are more from his web site:
1. Give yourself permission to be human. Accepting emotions -- such as fear, sadness, or anxiety -- as natural, we are more likely to overcome them. Rejecting our emotions leads to frustration and unhappiness.
2. Happiness lies at the intersection between pleasure and meaning. Whether at work or at home, the goal is to engage in activities that are both personally significant and enjoyable. Make sure you have happiness boosters throughout the week that provide you with both pleasure and meaning.
3. Happiness is mostly dependent on our state of mind, not on our financial or social status. Our well being is determined by how we choose to interpret external events. For example, do we view failure as catastrophic, or do we see it as a learning opportunity?
4. Simplify! We are trying to squeeze in more and more activities into less and less time. We compromise on our happiness by trying to do too much.
5. Remember the mind-body connection. Regular exercise, adequate sleep, and healthy eating habits lead to both physical and mental health.
6. Express gratitude, whenever possible. We too often take our lives for granted. Learn to appreciate and savor the wonderful things in life, from people to food, from nature to a smile.
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Rachel et al:
For some reason :wink: the Creator seems to be putting messages about happiness in my path. From your post, to a Dennis Prager talk CD I just shared with my son, to this:
"The natural state of man, the way G-d created us, is to be happy. Look at children and you will see."
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A Sukkah of Peace
by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
Finding serenity under the stars.
Warren Buffet says that we have gone through an economic Pearl Harbor. We've read about our ‘financial tsunami', ‘recession sized depression', and ‘crisis of a lifetime'. I glance at today's paper and the New York Times screams out at me: "Jobless, Sleepless, Hopeless".
"I am not married, my parents have passed away, so I am quite scared of what will happen if I do not land a job within the next couple of months...The thing I identified with most -- my work -- has left me feeling lost."
We have come to define ourselves through our jobs and our bank accounts and when that is diminished we feel ourselves diminished as well. We live in a society where we equate our possessions with our self worth.
The article goes on to say that the Rutgers University survey of the unemployed found most respondents lives corroded by despair.
77% say they are stressed.
68% are depressed.
61% feel helpless.
55% are angry.
54% feel hopeless.
We are living through most challenging times. If you're not worried then you surely know someone who is. Those who never had to think twice now bag their lunch and hold back on vacations, new clothing, and eating out. Debt collectors call about missed credit card payments and mortgages. Tuition bills loom as parents stay awake wondering how they will manage it all. We are witness to personal devastation and it is a frightening sight to behold.
Without Peace <
Where can we possibly find peace?
There is yet another type of anguish that erodes the home. When couples live with strife, when we knock each other down through biting words or long silent treatments, fissures form in our marriage. This is one battle that never yields any winners. There are, sadly, only losers. Destructive emotions in our homes destroy all that is sacred and holy inside. The lights within begin to dim.
Dear Slovie, I am having a hard time falling asleep. My husband is not talking to me. He ignores me in front of our children or talks to me through them. We had a big fight, I don't even know about what anymore. I am so anxious. Help me.
It is more than just a job or a good night's sleep that we are seeking. We are seeking serenity. In Hebrew it's called ‘menuchat hanefesh' -- peace within our soul. But in this difficult world of ours where can we possibly find peace?
A Spiritual Embrace
How easy it would be to just give up and say, "It is what it is." But we Jews never give up. We never lose hope. Inside each and every one of us lies a flicker of a light; a spark that never dies. And as we kindle our Shabbat and holiday candles, we bring blessing and light into our lives even though it may feel as if we are living in the blackest of nights. Dawn brings its radiant glow only after the night seems long and unilluminated.
Bearing this faith we are now ready to enter the sukkah, dwelling under God's protection. The Torah tells us that for one week we are to leave our permanent homes and live in a temporary residence. We eat in the sukkah, we talk in the sukkah, we read in the sukkah, and some people even sleep in the sukkah. As comfortable as we may feel inside its walls, we never really forget that this sukkah-dwelling is only temporary. Now we get it! Our world here is only a temporary residence.
Nothing lasts forever. We are simply visitors, just passing through.
Material security is left behind as we contemplate our spiritual security. The sukkah replaces our homes and we are struck with the thought that ‘all this' is transient. Nothing lasts forever. We are simply visitors, just passing through.
And all those things that we thought were so important? Those things we craved and thought we just can't live without? The giant flat screen TV, the leather sofa for our den, the must-have sweater and shoes? Guess what? They are not important anymore.
In this temporary residence, we are forced to ask these life changing questions: What have I devoted myself to? What can I never live without? What happens when I leave my possessions behind? What remains of me? I am forced to confront myself and ask: "Who am I?"
Am I not so much greater than the amount of money I earn or the type of car that I drive?
A New Yorker I know spent the summer in Jerusalem. She lived with a family in their tiny apartment, loving each and every moment. She studied Torah and immersed herself in Judaism for the very first time in her life. When she returned to her Madison Avenue apartment, she could not believe how much time she had been giving to thinking about the shade of her wood floors and grand kitchen renovation.
"What was I busy with? How much time did I devote to nonsense? Who needs all this? I was dedicating myself to my body while neglecting my soul."
Sitting in the sukkah under the stars, we realize that possessions and stuff do not bring peace. That life in this world is transient and we will never find serenity in that which is fleeting. We can understand that it's living with purpose that will bring us a sense of lasting peace.
What Really Counts
You're sitting in your sukkah surrounded by family and friends. As you look around, you realize the bottom line -- this is what counts in life. Here lies my legacy and all the rest just doesn't matter.
The fight that you had with your husband over taking out the garbage or the argument you had with your wife because she forgot to pick up your suit from the dry cleaners just isn't worth it. Why hurt the ones I love?
According to Jewish law, our sukkah must have at least three walls. It is as if God is wrapping his arm around you, welcoming you with His embrace. Come, step out of your home and all the anxiety that lies within. Never stop believing. Never give up hope. You are here for a reason. Think about your legacy, the purpose of your moments here on earth.
As we enter the sukkah, we offer a most beautiful prayer: "May it be your will, my God and God of my forefather's, that You cause Your Presence to reside amongst us; that You spread over us the sukkah of Your peace..."
Enter your sukkat shalom,'your sukkah of peace. Each day, as you sit inside its walls, take a moment. Look around. See the blessings that surround you. Define your mission; seek true purpose in your days.
We have all been given tools to fulfill our own personal mission. Not so that we may accumulate possessions or live for temporary pleasures. Our sukkah helps us focus on that which is everlasting; our spiritual goals. It helps us focus on the blessings and joy that lie right before our eyes. We can then realize a sense of serenity and peace that has long been elusive.
And when the holiday is over don't forget that you have been embraced in a place filled with God's presence. Hold onto your sukkah of peace and allow it to guide your journey throughout the year.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/su/tai/59980962.html
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Just Leave Home Without It
by Rabbi Yaakov Salomon
A Sukkot perspective.
I hate packing. You never really know what to take, which bag to use, and how to stuff it all in. And you never get it right.
There is, however, one thing worse than packing -- packing to go home. Ugh.
And so, there I was engaging in my annual grim chore of 'closing up' the summer bungalow and packing to go home.
It's such a familiar scene. Valises and garbage bags strewn all over the cabin, the usual confusion between laundry just washed and laundry not yet washed, six or seven very lonely, widowed socks, and the occasional whine and whimper, "I just can't believe it's over!"
This year was no different -- except for one observation. I was tossing some shirts into my bag when I realized just how many of them I had actually never worn the entire summer. I remembered when I had brought them thinking how essential they would be.
"Can't leave this one home."
"Oh, this one is perfect for paddle ball in the scorching sun."
"I'll wear it to the pool."
As it turns out, I wore something else to the pool... and to the paddle ball court.
Next to my bag lay a small open box with a few books awaiting transport. I gingerly squeezed in a few more hardcovers and paused. Most of them would be returning as they arrived, untouched and undisturbed.
And then there's the ultimate experience of over-preparation -- the plane ride.
"It's a four hour flight? Finally, I'll get some work done. Folders, files, laptop, correspondence, editing, review, old statements, home renovation plans etc. That's good for the first hour. Then there's that fat, old novel that's been sleeping comfortably under my bed for six years, and oh -- my ethical will -- perfect time to sink my teeth into that. And with the time remaining I'll study the weekly Torah portion and recite a few dozen Psalms."
Need I reveal the truth of what I actually accomplish on that trip? I'm lucky if I return home not leaving the novel on the plane. But we are creatures of habit. I know the routine all too well, and I'll probably continue to plan... and to fail.
Which brings us to the trip we call life. The more serious among us utilize the final days and weeks of the year to pack our belongings for the journey into the New Year. What shall we take along and what shall we leave behind? Which actions, relationships, and thought processes are honestly essential to our growth and which habits are just getting in the way?
Why are we still lugging around the same burdens and empty resolutions?
Some of us never 'find the time' to take this inventory -- how tragic. But those who do are often the creatures of habit. This year's list looks oddly familiar to last year's... and the year's before. Indeed, at year's end, when we unpack our suitcase, we find that so many of the contents have remained untouched. They are stale, dusty, and sadly, quite familiar.
We stare down at our luggage and shake our heads. We become despondent, frustrated, and downcast. What happened to all of our good intentions from last year? Why are we still lugging around the same burdens and empty resolutions?
The problem is that we don't know how to pack. Instead of just transferring our entire wardrobes from closet to suitcase, we need to carefully select just a few essentials that will realistically be utilized. When we plan to change everything, we often change nothing. In other words, if the luggage is overweight, a penalty is assessed. Everything needs to fit into your 'carry on.'
The Sukkot Solution
But God, of course, understands. He knows how we're wired. (After all, He wired us.) So He provides a solution. It's called Sukkot. The High Holy Days' Express has hardly come to a full stop when the Sukkot journey begins. He didn't have to make it that way. He could have waited a few weeks and then given us Sukkot. But no, He wanted to give us a chance to act on our resolutions immediately.
As most of us know, Sukkot is the time of year when we leave our sturdy, secure homes and transfer our dwelling to a structure that is insubstantial and frail. Many of us leave 6 or 7 room apartments or homes to spend significant time in huts that are no larger than 8' by 10'. We cast our ever-present need for protection to the heavens and demonstrate our belief in God by placing our bodies and souls in His purview and domain.
But no matter how physically elaborate our actual sukkah may be, there are obvious limitations on what we can bring along. We endeavor to create an atmosphere that is radiant and cozy -- but most of our comforts must be left behind. So we must choose carefully, weighing our decisions and defining what is truly indispensable.
When we bring too much, most of the stuff never really gets used. And when we try to change too much, it just doesn't work.
We need to separate out the myriad gadgets that distract us and strip life down to the essentials.
It is an exercise that is designed to help us prioritize.
"Do we really need that stemware in the sukkah?"
"Will one sweater suffice? Which one?"
"Which chairs are best suited for a meal of two hours?"
Sukkot teaches us that unlike the American Express card, we must leave home without it. When we bring too much, most of the stuff never really gets used. And when we try to change too much, it just doesn't work. It is a recipe for disappointment and frustration.
Most prudent is to choose wisely and realistically. Plan to complete one task, or perhaps, two and then feel really good about it. That great feeling of accomplishment gives us the fuel for future and greater journeys.
That is the beauty of Sukkot. We move out, but we don't take everything along.
Then we can sit in our smaller but simpler Sukkot, peer out between the delicate bamboos, see the vast heavens and bask in His love -- endless and supreme. We do so with the prayer that this year will be different. That we will truly tap into our potential.
Sukkot is coming. Just in time.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/su/tai/62544527.html
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From the Chassidic Masters
Broken and Whole
Why were the broken Tablets preseved in the Holy Ark?
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/70512/jewish/Broken-and-Whole.htm
By Tzvi Freeman
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/11691.jpg)
And there arose not since a prophet in Israel like Moses, whom G-d knew face to face; [who performed] all the signs and wonders which G-d sent [Moses] to do in the land of Egypt... [who equaled] that mighty hand, those great awesome things, which Moses did before the eyes of all Israel (closing verses of the Five Books of Moses, Deuteronomy 34:10-12)
"That which Moses did before the eyes of all Israel" -- that his heart emboldened him to break the Tablets before their eyes, as it is written, "[I grabbed hold of the two Tablets and threw them from my two hands] and I broke them before your eyes." (Rashi's commentary on verse)
Which is Higher?
Which takes precedence, the Torah or the Jewish people? Are the people only here in order to fulfil the Torah? Or is the Torah only here to reveal the richness of the soul? Or are they an indivisible whole?
When Moses saw the people standing below reveling in their worship of a golden calf, two options lay before him. On the one hand, Torah; on the other, his people. But he could not have both. Because if his people would receive the Torah in the state to which they had descended, they would be destroyed.
Without hesitation, Moses threw down the tablets and saved his people.
Meaning that there is something about these people that is present even when they are committing the gravest sin. Something that makes them more valuable than even the Torah, than G-d's innermost wisdom.
It would seem, then, that the soul is greater than the Torah.
Yet, how do we know that this is so? How do we know the value of any human life? Only because the Torah tells us this story. Without the Torah, we would not know the greatness of the soul and of the people.
So we have two sides of the coin: The soul cannot realize its greatness without the Torah. And the Torah cannot be fathomed to its depths until it is shattered for the sake of the people.
Therefore, the ultimate Torah, as G-d truly wanted it to be received, could only enter once Moses had sacrificed it for his people. Only then came the Torah as it made room for forgiveness, for human input, for that which is beyond the letter of the law. The essential Torah, as it is one with the people who are receiving it.
Breaking Limits
Everything Man is given comes in a finite package. True, the Unknowable, the source of wisdom and blessing, is infinite. But we are not. So, we can only receive wisdom and blessing piece by piece, in parcel form.
Even the tablets Moses carried down from Mount Sinai were defined and bounded. There was a limited set of laws, no more and no less. If you obeyed them, you were good. If not, you were bad. And that was that.
And so, when G-d saw Moses mourning over the broken tablets, He told him, "You have done well by smashing the tablets. For now you will receive a Torah that you may extend wider than the sea."
With the second tablets came the ability for the human mind to extend the Torah within the framework of the Oral Law. As well, there came the possibility that a Jew could fail and yet restore his place with G-d.
So, too, with every failure. In truth, there is only one thing that can put you further ahead than success, and that is failure. When you are successful, you are whole and complete. That is wonderful, but with wholeness you cannot break out beyond your own universe.
When you fail, you are broken. You look at the pieces of yourself lying on the ground and say, "This is worthless. I must go beyond this."
Now you can escape. Now you can grow to join the Infinite. The shell is broken, the shell of a created being. Now you discover that G-d Himself was hidden inside. You discover the Infinite.
The Whole Torah
Why not remain broken? When broken, you can achieve the highest heights. When you are nothing, you can receive everything.
But you are not made only to receive. You must also face the real world and challenge its chutzpah over and over. To do that, you need supreme wholeness, as though you were Adam in the Garden before his fall. You need wholeness, as the second tablets were whole.
Once the people had achieved forgiveness and atonement for their failure, Moses was told to carve a second set of tablets. These were not the work of G-d, as the first ones. Rather, they were the achievement of human work. They were merited through the repentance of the people and the stubborn pleading of Moses. These remained whole.
Living a Paradox
Both the second, whole tablets and the original, broken ones were placed together in the Ark. So too, in the Ark of your heart lie two sets of tablets, one broken and one whole. After all, when you find the Infinite, where will you put it? In your broken vessel? It will not stay. In a new, whole one? It will not fit.
So you allow your heart to feel broken in bitterness for its confines. And yet it is whole in the joy of a boundless soul.
And if you should say, "But it is impossible! It is beyond the capacity of a created being to be both something and nothing at once."
You are right. It is impossible. That is precisely the advantage that Man holds over the angels: Only the human heart can be broken and whole at once. That is why G-d created you. To join heaven and earth. Nothingness and Being. To make the impossible real.
By Tzvi Freeman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe; rendered by Tzvi Freeman
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Off the Face of the Earth
by Peter Lane Taylor
The remarkable story of a group of Holocaust survivors who hid in one of the world's largest caves.
The night of October 12, 1942, when the Stermers finally ran for good, was moonless and unseasonably cold. The roads in and out of the town of Korolowka, deep in the farm country of western Ukraine, were empty of the cart traffic that had peaked during the fall harvest days. After a month of backbreaking work, most residents had already drifted off to sleep.
Zaida Stermer, his wife, Esther, and their six children dug up their last remaining possessions from behind their house, loaded their wagons with food and fuel, and, just before midnight, quietly fled into the darkness. Traveling with them were nearly two dozen neighbors and relatives, all fellow Jews who, like the Stermers, had so far survived a year under the German occupation of their homeland. Their destination, a large cave about five miles to the north, was their last hope of finding refuge from the Nazis’ intensifying roundups and mass executions of Ukrainian Jews.
The dirt track they rode on ended by a shallow sinkhole, where the Stermers and their neighbors unloaded their carts, descended the slope, and squeezed through the cave’s narrow entrance. In their first hours underground, the darkness around them must have seemed limitless. Navigating with only candles and lanterns, they would have had little depth perception and been able to see no more than a few feet. They made their way to a natural alcove not far from the entrance and huddled in the darkness. As the Stermers and the other families settled in for that first night beneath the cold, damp earth, there was little in their past to suggest that they were prepared for the ordeal ahead.
* * *
At the surface, Priest’s Grotto is little more than a weedy hole in the ground amid the endless wheat fields stretching across western Ukraine. A short distance away, a low stand of hardwoods withers in the heat and is the only sign of cover for miles around. With the exception of a shallow, 90-foot-wide depression in the flat ground, there’s nothing to indicate that one of the longest horizontal labyrinths in the world lies just underfoot.
On the afternoon of July 18, 2003, I am standing with Chris Nicola, a leading American caver, at the bottom of the sinkhole, sorting our gear. It has taken us four days, traveling by jet, train, and finally ox cart, to get here from New York City. Our guides, 46-year-old Sergey Yepephanov and 24-year-old Sasha Zimels, are standing next to the rusting three-foot-wide metal entrance pipe that leads underground.
I’ve come here to explore Priest’s Grotto for the first time. For Nicola, a 20-year veteran of major cave systems in the U.S. and Mexico, our expedition is the culmination of a journey that began in 1993, soon after the fall of the Soviet Union, when he became one of the first Americans to explore Ukraine’s famous Gypsum Giant cave systems. His last excursion was here, to the cave known locally as Popowa Yama, or Priest’s Grotto, because of its location on land once owned by a parish priest.
At 77 miles, Priest’s Grotto ranks as the tenth longest cave in the world.
At 77 miles, Priest’s Grotto is the second longest of the Gypsum Giants and currently ranks as the tenth longest cave in the world. Yet what Nicola found fascinating about the cave was located just minutes inside the entrance: Soon after they’d set out, his group passed two partially intact stone walls and other signs of habitation including several old shoes, buttons, and a hand-chiseled millstone. Nicola’s guides from the local caving association told him the campsite had already been there when their group first explored that portion of the cave in the early 1960’s.
“My guides called the site Khatki, or ‘cottage,’” Nicola, now 53, recalls. “They told me that it was settled by a group of local Jews who had fled to the cave during the Holocaust. But that’s where the story ended. No one else could remember what had actually happened there or even if the Jews had survived the war at all.”
Intrigued, Nicola began asking questions in the nearby towns. Western Ukraine is a region where the Gypsum Giants have long been revered as national landmarks and where uncomfortable memories of the Holocaust still linger. Some local villagers told him that, after the Russian troops pushed back the Germans in 1944, the survivors were seen stumbling back to town, covered in thick, yellow mud. Others said the Jews never saw daylight again.
On a later trip, Nicola learned more. “Rumors kept developing that at least three families did survive,” he says. But how had they lived in such an inhospitable environment, Nicola wondered, and where were they today? As a caver, he was awed by the courage and resourcefulness that such long-term survival underground must have demanded. And he was amazed that the story wasn’t better known, even among Holocaust experts.
Back home in Queens, New York, Nicola intensified his efforts to locate a Priest’s Grotto survivor. He added information about the story to his Web site on Ukrainian caves (www.uaycef.org), hoping that anyone searching the Internet for the topic would contact him. For four years he got no response. Then, one evening in December 2002, Nicola received an email from a man who said that his father-in-law was one of the original Priest’s Grotto survivors and was, in fact, living just a few miles away in the Bronx. “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing,” Nicola says, “I was afraid to even touch the print key in case I were to accidentally erase it.”
Seven months later we are standing outside the cave itself. Our two dozen duffels contain over 200 pounds of photographic and survey gear and enough supplies to remain underground for three days.
* * *
“My mother always said, ‘We are not going to the slaughterhouse.’ She said to my brother, Nissel, ‘Go to the forest, find a hole, anything.’ Thanks to him, we survived.”
"‘Go to the forest, find a hole, anything.’ Thanks to him, we survived.”
Shulim Stermer leaned forward across the dining room table as he spoke, his eyes side through heavy prescription glasses. His brother Shlomo, their sister Yetta Katz, and his niece Pepkale Blitzer sat respectfully on either side of him, surrounded by Shulim and Shlomo’s wives and several children and grandchildren. At 84, Shulim is the oldest living survivor from Priest’s Grotto.
After Chris Nicola met that first Priest’s Grotto survivor, Solomon Wexler, in the Bronx, Wexler had introduced him to his Canadian cousins and fellow survivors, the Stermers. Throughout 2003, Chris and I made five trips to Montreal to interview the Stermer family. Over the course of several long conversations we learned that the facts of their story were even more extraordinary that the rumors. The Stermers and several other families had escaped the Holocaust by living in two separate caves for close to two years. The first was a tourist cave known as Verteba. Only later did their group -- which eventually swelled to 38 people -- discover and inhabit the then unexplored Priest’s Grotto, where they lived for 344 days. Though some of the survivors lost touch with each other in the years after the war, the Stermers, their in-laws the Dodyks, and Sol Wexler remained close. In all, we were able to make contact with six living survivors: the two Stermer brothers (Shulim, 84, and Shlomo, 74); their sister, Yetta, 78; their cousin, Sol Wexler, 74; and their nieces Shunkale, 70, and Pepkale, 65.
Shulim Stermer’s ninth-floor apartment was spacious and airy, with high ceilings and eight-foot plate glass windows running the length of the western wall. Hung on one wall was a large, striking photography of the six Stermer children with their parents, Esther and Zaida, taken a few years before World War II. On the dining room table lay one of their most precious family treasures: a memoir of their survival, originally written in Yiddish by their mother, Esther, and then privately published in English in 1975.
“My mother never trusted authority,” Shulim told us. “The Germans, the Russians, the Ukrainians. It didn’t matter. She taught us early on that no matter who it was, if they told you to do one thing, you always did the opposite. If the Germans said, ‘Go to the ghettos, you’ll be safe there,’ you went to the forest or the mountains. You went as far away from the ghettos as you could go.”
In the early 1930’s, Esther Stermer was the proud matriarch of one of the most well-regarded families in Korolowka. Her husband was a successful merchant. It was a rare time of opportunity for many Jews in Western Ukraine; Jewish cultural life and Zionist and socialist movements were thriving.
But with the rise of Nazi power in Germany, and increasing anti-Semitic violence at home, all that soon came to an end. In 1939 the Germans seized Czechoslovakia and then invaded Poland. Threatened by Hitler’s eastward advance, the Russians countered by invading western -- or Polish -- Ukraine. For a short time, a cynical non-aggression pact between the Germans and the Russians kept the region quiet even as the rest of Europe erupted in war. That shaky peace collapsed in June 1941, when Hitler’s armies stormed the border from Poland and rolled across Ukraine’s open plains toward Stalingrad and the oil fields of the Caspian Sea. Almost immediately, German Einsatzgruppen paramilitary units began roaming the country, executing Jews and others at will.
The Stermers’ town of Korolowka was officially declared judenfrei -- “free of Jews” -- in the summer of 1942, and the Germans stepped up their efforts to eliminate the Jewish population. During the holiday of Sukkot, the Gestapo encircled the town, forced the Jews to dig mass graves, and executed them dozens at a time. Though the Stermers and a few other families managed to escape, their fate seemed inevitable. No Jew would get out alive.
“Death stalked each step,” Esther wrote of that autumn. “But we were not surrendering to this fate.... Our family in particular would not let the Germans have their way easily. We had vigor, ingenuity, and determination to survive.... But where can we survive? Clearly, there was no place on Earth for us.”
The true record for surviving underground was set by the women and children of Priest’s Grotto, who never ventured out of the cave during their entire 344-day ordeal.
The longest period of time a human is recorded to have survived underground is 205 days. The record was set in Texas’ Midnight Cave in 1972 by Frenchman Michel Siffre, as part of a NASA-sponsored experiment studying the effects of long-duration space-flight. Yet, in listening to the survivors, Chris Nicola and I had realized that the true record was set by the women and children of Priest’s Grotto, who never ventured out of the cave during their entire 344-day ordeal. Modern cavers require special clothing to ward off hypothermia, advanced technology for lighting and travel, and intensive instruction in ropes and navigation to survive underground for just a few days. How did 38 untrained, ill-equipped people survive for so long in such a hostile environment during history’s darkest era? That was the question our expedition had come some 7,000 miles to answer.
* * *
The Stermers’ first underground home, the tourist cave of Verteba, was a temporary refuge at best. At worst, it was a death trap. The cave had poor ventilation and no dependable water source. And the families would almost certainly be discovered when the snows melted in April and the local peasants (many of whom had welcomed the invading Germans) returned to their fields near the mouth of the cave.
“Our situation at that time was really, really bad,” recalled Shlomo Stermer, the younger brother. “We didn’t have any water, and we had to catch the rips that came off the walls in cups. We also couldn’t cook inside without choking on the smoke. We had no idea how we were going to survive.”
Much of the heavy labor fell to the Stermer men: the father, Shabsy – whom everyone called Zaida, or Grandpa – and his three sons, Nissel, age 25, Shulim, 22, and Shlomo, 13. Esther Stermer and her adult daughters Chana and Henia took charge of domestic chores with the help of Yetta, 17, the family’s youngest girl.
Before fleeing with their families to the cave, Zaida, Nissel, and Henia’s husband, Fishel Dodky, had received special permission to collect scrap metal under official protection from the local police. It was perilous, humiliating labor. But their ability to return to their houses, move freely in public, and buy supplies on the black market represented their families’ only lifeline. Week after week, they drove their wagons to the cave under cover of darkness through the deep snow. At the edge of the sinkhole, they descended the icy slopes carrying hundred-pound sacks of flour, potatoes, kerosene, and water on their backs, and then dragged them through the mud inside the cave. Through the winter of 1942-43, the families’ survival hung in a precarious balance between the secrecy of their location and the security of their supply lines. The men warned their families that the Germans were intensifying their hunt for Jews, and in February 1943 the group decided to move even deeper into the cave. They sealed themselves in a low, sickle-shaped room more than a thousand feet from daylight and began to search for a second, secret exit in case the Gestapo attempted to blockade them inside. The Stermer brothers discovered a small fracture in the ceiling of a nearby passage and feverishly began digging with picks and axes. Day after day, the men tunneled upward, finally breaking through to the surface after four weeks. It was the first time many of them had seen the sky in months.
Before returning underground, Shulim concealed their exit with earth and logs and suspended a long chain down to the cave’s floor below. If the Nazis discovered their refuge, his family could escape by climbing up the chain using small kick steps in the walls for support. After roughly 150 days of living in perpetual terror of being discovered, the Stermers and their neighbors finally began to feel they might have a chance of surviving.
* * *
Four weeks later, the Jews’ optimism was shattered by the sound of bootsteps and rattling guns. “The Germans are here!” someone suddenly yelled in Yiddish. “They’ve discovered us!”
“The Germans are here!” someone suddenly yelled in Yiddish. “They’ve discovered us!”
Young Shlomo was sleeping closest to the entrance of the chamber and was caught helpless before he had the chance to run. In the glare of the Gestapo’s flashlights he could see that others had been captured, too. At the entrance to their refuge, Shlomo’s mother, Esther, was standing toe-to-toe with the Gestapo’s commanding officer. Shlomo could hear her speaking in German.
“Very well, so you have found us. What do you think?” Esther said. “Do you think that unless you kill us the Fuhrer will lose the war? Look at how we live here, like rats. All we want is to live, to survive the war years. Leave us here.”
Sixty years later, Shlomo rose out of his chair to imitate his mother as he quoted her. “I couldn’t believe what I was hearing!” he continued. “Here was my mother, in the middle of the war, standing up to the Germans!”
As Esther confronted the soldiers, stalling for time, the rest of her children and the other survivors slipped away into the dark maze of passageways branching off from the campsite. In the end, the Germans managed to seize just eight of the Jews and began to march them back to the cave’s entrance at gunpoint. Miraculously, six of the prisoners, including Esther, were able to escape and eventually return to their families. But Sol Wexler would soon learn that his mother and nine-year-old brother had been forced into an open grave and shot.
For those who remained inside the cave, the next three hours were spent in a state of terror and confusion. Few of the survivors had kept track of how far they had fled in the dark, and many ended up out of earshot of one another, lost without matches, candles, water, or any idea of how to find their way back to camp.
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For the middle son, Shulim, in particular, the shock of being discovered was cataclysmic. When Esther finally found her way back to the encampment, she was horrified to see her middle son lying paralyzed at the bottom of the exit shaft he had dug just weeks earlier.
“I saw that all had climbed through the exit except Shulim, who was sitting on the ground trembling, head thrown back,” she wrote. “I ran to him, spoke to him, but he did not reply. His eyes were glazed, his teeth clenched and he was drooling at the mouth.”
Back in Montreal, Shulim grew quiet when we raised the topic of his breakdown.
“I had a complete shock. It was a miracle that I even survived.”
“I was almost destroyed in the first cave,” he finally offered. “I had a complete shock. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t take a spoon and pick it up to my mouth. It was a miracle that I even survived.”
It was the worst possible time for Shulim to break down. No one else knew how to open the trap door at the top of the exit shaft. Shulim’s sister, Chana, and Sol Wexler were the first to reach the top, but they were unable to move the logs that locked the door in place. As the other survivors began to bottleneck near the surface, panic set in.
Finally, with one last effort, Sol and Chana succeeded in breaking through to the surface, and everyone rushed from the exit. Outside, the air was cold and wet, and many of the survivors began to shiver uncontrollably. To the north, they could see the Gestapo and their dogs running search grids around the sinkhole looking for a secret exit. Shulim was the last to leave, carried up the shaft on his brothers’ shoulders. Then the survivors slipped away through the grass and fled into the darkness.
* * *
Throughout the month of April 1943, the Jews lived like outlaws in their own community. The Stermers moved along the back roads at night between the boarded-up remains of their house in Korolowka and a hidden bunker in a barn.
Desperate to find a permanent refuge, the Stermers’ eldest son, Nissel, sought the counsel of his friend, Munko Lubudzin, a forester who lived in the woods near Korolowka. Though many Ukrainian Christians willingly participated in the Holocaust -- and the Ukrainian police actively collaborated with the Nazis -- Munko Lubudzin faithfully assisted the Stermers throughout the war. Munko told Nissel about a sinkhole a few miles outside of town, located in the fields of a local parish priest. At the surface, there was nothing remarkable about the place. Unlike at Verteba, there was little indication that the sinkhole might contain an entrance to a sizable cave. It was only a hole in the ground where farmers their dead livestock to rot.
Nissel knew there were several caves in the area that had a history of ancient human habitation. Based on this slim hope, Nissel and brother Shulim left Korolowka at first light on May 1, 1943, along with their friend, Karl Kurz, and two of the Dodyk brothers. The men raced through the fields north of town to the edge of the sinkhole. “When we came there, there was some nice, nice grass, like a golf course.” Shulim remembered, his voice rising excitedly. “And then you have a big ravine about 40 feet deep and water used to drip in.”
The men descended the loose dirt at the top using an open old rope, then clambered down the last 20 feet using logs as a makeshift ladder. At the bottom, the mud came up to their knees, and the stench of the rotting livestock made the men gag, but they could see a small opening, about the size of a fireplace. Nissel was the first to squeeze through. Inside, it was completely black, but by the dim light of their candles the men could see that they were in a small room surrounded by large boulders. “After that,” Shulim said, “the cave just kept on going.”
“The cave just kept on going.”
Seventy-five feet farther on, the men crawled into a chamber so large that their candles could scarcely light the walls or the ceiling overhead. After their six months in Verteba, they were now experienced cave explorers. They pulled out a coil of rope, tied one end to a bounder, and began searching the network of passages for a suitable place for camp. Three hours later, disoriented and fatigued, Shulim dragged his foot over a small ledge, dislodging a stone, which rolled downhill and splashed into a clear underground lake. The men laughed for the first time in months: They had found a water source.
“By the time we went into the second cave, I think there was truly no place else that we could go,” Pepkale said. “It was judenfrei. Any Jew who was seen anywhere could have been shot by anybody. It was just a godsend that they found this place.”
Four days later, on May 5, the Stermers, their in-laws the Dodyks, and various other relatives and friends packed up their last supplies and fled to Priest’s Grotto. The group now numbered 38 in all. The oldest was a 75-year-old grandmother; the youngest included Esther’s four-year-old granddaughter Pepkale and a toddler. They descended the sinkhole one by one in silence, climbing hand over hand down the rocky faces and stepping on the slippery wet logs for support. At the bottom, the complete darkness inside the narrow entrance was terrifying, and the youngest children started to cry as they crawled through the opening. It would be the last time many of them would see the sky for nearly a year.
* * *
For their new home, the survivors chose a series of four interconnected rooms far to the left of the cave’s main passageways. Compared with the world they had left above them, the initial security of their new refuge must have seemed like heaven. For the smallest children, Priest’s Grotto was the first taste of real freedom they had ever experienced. “We would sing and play in the grotto,” Pepkale recalled back in Montreal. “It was the only I had ever felt safe.”
“Long ago,” Esther wrote of their refuge, “people believed that spirits and ghosts lived in ruins and in caves. Now we could see that there were none here. The devils and the evil spirits were on the outside, not in the grotto.”
It wasn’t long, however, before the Jews’ initial relief was overshadowed by the question of how they were going to survive. Drawing on the lessons of Verteba, the families found a ventilated chamber for their cooking fire, isolated their water sources, and constructed beds of wooden planks. Reestablishing their supply lines was their next urgent priority. The men had lost their scrap-metal exemption, and there was only enough kerosene, flour, and other supplies to last two weeks.
The three Stermer brothers made their first foray out of the cave accompanied by several other men. At the top of the sinkhole they sprinted through the high grass to the edge of the woods a thousand feet away, where they crouched down and waited. Overhead, a thin crescent moon lay hidden behind a dark skin of low clouds, and the wind blew across the plains with a persistent moan. From behind the trees, Nissel scanned the horizon to see if anyone had seen them come out of the sinkhole. But the landscape was quiet, a few smoldering buildings the only signs of life.
On Nissel’s cue, the men scattered into the woods and began to dismember 20 large trees, working frantically with axes and saws in almost total darkness. Half the men chopped off the branches and cut the trunks into five-foot lengths, while the others carried the logs back to the cave across the open fields.
“This was terrible danger,” Shulim exclaimed. “You hear ...you listen. And you hear the cutting with the ax: ‘Pow! Boom! Bam!’ So much noise!” As he spoke, Shulim cut his hands through the air, a sense of defiance still lingering in his voice.
Their second covert mission took place a few days later. The men left the cave as a group and then split up at the edge of the sinkhole to secure food and other vital reserves for their own individual families. Nissel and Shulim sprinted west through the fields, staying near the trees for cover. It was a three-mile round-trip journey from Priest’s Grotto to their friend Munko Lubudzin’s house, where the brothers traded a few remaining valuables for cooking oil, detergent, matches and flour.
“When we got out, there was the Big Dipper,” Shulim told us when we asked how they kept time without watches. “The Big Dipper was like that” -- in the empty space in front of him, he circumscribed a wide arc with his arms across the table. “It was turning, turning, and when it was almost horizontal we knew it would soon be morning. We knew we had to get back.”
The next day, the men slept for 20 uninterrupted hours.
When Nissel, Shulim, and the other men finally returned to the cave, they whispered a password to one of the younger boys, posted just inside of the entrance, who quickly dislodged a large boulder to let them back in.
The next day, the men slept for 20 uninterrupted hours, while Esther and her daughters piled the Stermers’ rations neatly upon shelves they’d built under their wooden bunks. In all, the men had secured enough supplies for another six weeks.
As Shulim finished his story, Yetta turned to face him. She had been watching her older brother intently while he spoke. “We wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for them!” she finally burst out through a surge of tears. “Every time we needed something, they brought the flour and potatoes so I could make the soup.”
Shulim smiled at his sister.
“Yetta made the best soup in the world,” he said softly.
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As summer 1943 arrived, World War II raged across Europe more fiercely than ever. Poland’s remaining ghettos were liquidated and Jewish resistance crushed. All the while, the Stermers and their neighbors lived in a state of near-hibernation under the fields of Ukraine. The combination of the cave’s naturally high humidity and the moisture from their own respiration kept their tattered clothes constantly damp; even the slightest breeze could induce hypothermia. They slept for up to 22 hours at a time, lying side by side on their plank beds and rising only to eat, relieve themselves, or attend to other rudiments of staying alive.
The combination of stress and sensory deprivation the Jews endured was almost without parallel.
Survival expert Kenneth Kamler, M.D., author of Surviving the Extremes, believes the combination of stress and sensory deprivation the Jews endured was almost without parallel. “Their experience was analogous to long-duration spaceflight. They had no day-night rhythm, and because of the lack of light, slept for extensive periods, but they could never relax.”
During their waking hours, the Stermers worked on improving their home, digging stairs and trenches to make walking easier. They limited their use of candles and lanterns to two or three brief periods each day, often working in complete darkness. The family obeyed a chain of command that began with Esther and extended down through her eldest sons with military precision. In explorer Ernest Shackleton’s account of his ship’s long imprisonment in the Antarctic sea ice, he stressed the importance of maintaining shipboard routines and adhering to a strict code of responsibilities. Esther’s memoir reveals a similar attitude toward discipline. “Inside our cave, each one of us did his assigned duties,” she writes. “We cooked, we washed, we made needed repairs. Cleanliness was of the utmost importance. Life in our grotto went on with its own normality.”
In early July, however, the survivors’ rising confidence was shattered by the sound of one of the Dodyk men screaming.
“The entrance to the cave is blocked!” he shouted, scrambling into Khatki. “We will die here of starvation!”
The other men jumped from their beds and crawled quickly to the entrance, discovering a wall of earth and boulders trapping them inside. From underground, it was impossible to know if some of the men had been spotted in the woods, or if a Gestapo patrol had followed their tracks to the entrance. Instead of storming the entrance, whoever it was had simply sealed them in.
The men found a narrow gap between two rocks a few feet from the blocked entrance and frantically started to dig for daylight. For the next three nights they tunneled upward, chiseling away at the stones at the loose fracture gradually turned toward the ceiling. On the fourth day, Nissel pried a large rock from the top of the shaft and felt the wind rush in from outside, carrying with it the warm, tangy aroma of a passing thunderstorm.
A group of Ukrainian villagers had blocked the entrance to the cave.
The survivors later learned that a group of Ukrainian villagers had worked with picks and shovels until they filled the ravine and blocked the entrance to the cave. “Some of the Ukrainians helped us to survive,” Shulim said simply. “But some of them were very bad.”
With their refuge no longer a secret, the Jews stood steady guard with sickles and axes at the bottom of the entrance shaft and listened constantly for the sound of strange voices. It was impossible to know whether the Nazis or local police were planning to ambush the cave or if they had given its inhabitants up for dead.
Nissel and Shulim ventured even deeper into the cave’s labyrinths, looking desperately for a breach where they could begin digging for a secret exit. By this time the two oldest brothers were finely attuned to the state of sensory deprivation underground. They could walk for hours without tracing their steps, recognizing each passageway merely by feel. It took two weeks to find a suitable spot, and more weeks to tunnel through layers of rock, gravel, and clay. As they reached the 50-foot mark, however, the shaft started to collapse, showering the men with rock and debris. After two serious cave-ins, they gave up for good.
Though exhausted from their failed effort, the Jews could no longer put off restocking their supplies for another long winter. The plains of Ukraine yield an unimaginable bounty every September and October. Yet the risk of being caught above ground had never been greater. The lack of food over the summer had made the men weak, and during harvest the nearby fields were crowded with farmers and prowled by Nazi patrols.
“In the fall the farmers harvested potatoes and made big pile,” Shulim said. “Twelve of us went out with sacks and carried potatoes all night long. We would come up to a pile and say, ‘Good evening. Is anyone there?’ And if no one answered, we would get to work.” The men collected enough potatoes to last through the winter and hauled them to Priest’s Grotto, where the younger boys and women were waiting to drag them back to Khatki.
* * *
On November 10, 1943, the older Stermer men went to their friend, Semen Sawkie, who, like Munko Lubudzin, faithfully sold them food and fuel throughout the war. Sawkie sold them 250 pounds of desperately needed grain and helped them transport it to the woods near Priest’s Grotto in his wagon. Nissel then ventured to the cave entrance, where his youngest brother, Shlomo, was waiting to make sure all was clear. Soon the men were lugging the heavy sacks to the cave.
Unknown to them, the Ukrainian police had watched them approach and were preparing for an ambush. When Nissel and Shulim reached the edge of the sinkhole, they slipped down the entrance shaft and, with Shlomo’s help, began pulling the sacks into the cave from below. “But one of the sacks got stuck,” Shulim said suddenly, shoving his shoulder against an imaginary obstacle in front of him. “And the entrance was blocked. No one could get in our out.”
Then the men heard footsteps above them. “We’re all here,” the men in the cave said to themselves. “So who’s outside?”
There was a barrage of bullets ricocheting into the cave’s narrow opening.
The next thing Shulim and Shlomo remember hearing was a barrage of bullets ricocheting into the cave’s narrow opening. The men took cover behind the boulders that had been used to blockade the entrance. Other than barring entry to the bottom of the shaft, the men were helpless against a full-scale assault.
But after the initial round of gunfire, the survivors never heard another shot. Local peasants who gathered around the grotto after the attack told the Ukrainian police that the Jews were armed and had secret exits all over the place, information that they believed to be true. Scared of what might await them at the bottom of the sinkhole, the officers didn’t attempt to enter but instead swept the fields looking for another way in. They found nothing.
“If that sack didn’t get stuck, we wouldn’t be here,” Shullim finally said. “It was one of many miracles.”
* * *
As the first snows began to fall across western Ukraine, the sinkhole drifted over, leaving no trace of the entrance. Underground, with enough food and fuel for more than two months, the men moved a massive boulder in front of the entry shaft and barricaded it with logs.
After seven months underground, the Jews’ fight for survival was becoming a war of attrition. Their meager diet of grain and soup lacked protein, calcium, and crucial vitamins, leaving them vulnerable to jaundice and scurvy. “I remember that I was always hungry,” the Stermers’ granddaughter, Pepkale, said. “I knew I mustn’t ask for more, but I used to say to my mother, ‘Couldn’t I have just a little bit more bread?’ But that was the ration for the day.” Many of the survivors would eventually dwindle to two-thirds their normal weight.
Yet, surrounded by family, the Stermers were able to draw on more than just physical courage and endurance to keep themselves alive. “We knew that our family would always be loyal to one another,” Pepkale said. “Even when things were at their words, you could always look around and see your sister, your mother, and the rest of your family. It helped us to remember what we were fighting for.”
Survival expert Kamler suggests that Pepkale’s view is more than sentiment. “The one thing that’s common to every survival story is the belief in something greater than yourself,” he says. “For the Jews hiding in the cave, it was their need to save their families. There’s no doubt that family was the number one factor in their survival.”
* * *
With only a few hours remaining until our planned rendezvous with our surface support team, Sergey appears in the entry room. During a two-hour soul, he’s rediscovered a chamber a half mile from Khatki that has graffiti written on the walls. Chris, Sasha, and I reach the room a few minutes later and find Sergey kneeling under a large crack between two sheets of bedrock. He rolls his face skyward, sending a curtain of soft orange light across the ceiling, where there are at least ten different inscriptions scrawled into the stone.
The first words Chris and I see are written in Ukrainian, some as recently as 2000. The others are the names of various local cavers who first explored this region of the cave some 40 years ago. When Chris first saw this chamber on one of his early trips, led by legendary Ukrainian caver Valery Rogozhnikov, these names were just graffiti. Now he sees something different. “My God,” I hear him whisper.
Directly above him, written in charcoal on the ceiling, are the words: “Stermer,” “Dodyk,” “K. Kurz,” “Salomon,” and “Wekselblad” – a name we knew was later anglicized to “Wexler.” Two feet farther down on the ceiling is the date “1943.”
The unique thing about caves, as compared with other environments, is the way history survives underground, almost as if in a vacuum. Above ground, buildings decay, memories fade, the past is gradually lost. But over our heads the five names look as bold as the day they’d been written: only a faint encrustation of tiny gypsum crystals – which grow continually on the cave walls – betrays the intervening six decades. Chris gazes at the names for a long while. After ten years of searching for the survivors, months of interviews, and three days of reconstructing the smallest details of their lives here in the cave, his mission is nearly complete.
* * *
As the winter of 1944 turned to spring, their friend, Munko, told the Stermer men that he could see bright, orange explosions over the eastern hills at night. Though it would be another year until the final collapse of Hitler’s Third Reich, the Russian front was quickly advancing west.
The message in the bottle read simply: “The Germans are already gone.”
The survivors greeted the news of their potential liberation with a mixture of elation and dread. Overhead, the front passed back and forth over the entrance to the sinkhole in a volley of artillery and small-arms fire, but beneath dozens of feet of solid bedrock, the Jews had no way of knowing when it was safe to come out. One morning in early April, Shlomo approached the bottom of the entrance shaft and saw a small bottle in the mud. The message in the bottle, dropped by a peasant friend, read simply: “The Germans are already gone.”
For ten more days the Stermer and their neighbors waited for the chaos to subside; then, on April 12, 1944, they stashed their tools and supplies deep inside the cave and squeezed one by one through Priest’s Grotto’s narrow entrance. Heavy snow had fallen over the previous week, and ice-cold water flowed into the shaft from above, covering them with mud. Outside the entrance, the Jews scaled the steep banks of the sinkhole and rose to stand in the blinding sunshine for the first time in 344 days.
At first, they stood motionless, barely able to recognize one another in the brilliant light reflecting off the snow. Their faces were jaundiced and drawn, their clothes were tattered, and they were caked with thick, yellow mud. In the distance, the road to Korolowka was littered with burnt-out German tanks and machinery, but for Esther and her family, the sight of their war-torn homeland was one of the most beautiful things they had ever seen.
Sixty years later, in the soft afternoon light of the Stermers’ living room in Montreal, the survivors recounted their memories of their liberation with quiet awe. Shulim was silent for the first time all afternoon, and Shlomo said repeatedly, “It was a beautiful, beautiful day.”
“When we came out the sun must have been shining,” Pepkale said. At five years old, she had spent nearly a third of her life underground. “I told my mother, I said, ‘Close the candle! Turn out the light!’ I couldn’t believe it. I had forgotten completely what the sun was.”
Their town of Korolowka had been almost completely destroyed. Of the more than 14,000 Jews that lived in the region before World War II, barely 300 had survived. Even with the Germans gone, Ukraine remained a dangerous place. After surviving the Nazi Holocaust, both Zaida Stermer and Fishel Dodyk were killed that summer by local Ukrainians.
Of the more than 14,000 Jews that lived in the region before World War II, barely 300 had survived.
The Stermers told no one about their underground refuge; who knew when they might need to take to it again? They abandoned Korolowka forever in June 1945, finally arriving at a displaced-persons camp in Fernwald, Germany, in November. They spent the next few weeks eating, showering, and sleeping securely for the first time in more than half a decade. Family photos from that period show the survivors dressed in tailored shirts and jackets and posing defiantly, as if nothing in the world could defeat them.
In 1947 the Stermers arrived in Canada. Nissel took up work as a butcher. Shulim found a factory job. Esther and her daughters became homemakers. The three brothers eventually found success in the construction business, drawing on many of the skills they had learned underground. Yet even among their closest friends, they talked little of their experiences.
Today, the Stermers’ survival saga continues to shape virtually everything about their lives. Some, like Pepkale, travel with small stashes of food to safeguard against the possibility of going hungry. Many of the survivors remain devoutly religious, both in spite of and because of their time underground.
As Chris and I prepared to leave, the Montreal skyline was going dark. Most of Shulim’s relatives were gone, and his apartment was still and quiet.
“When we get together like this and I see the grandchildren, and it’s an affair,” he said at the door, “I see the family and I see nice kids. And I say to myself, ‘It was worth the fight to survive.’ “
Click here to purchase "The Secrets of the Priest's Grotto: A Holocaust Survival Story," by Peter Lane Taylor, with Chris Nicola
Photo credits: Peter Lane Taylor, copyright 2003
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ho/p/63053312.html
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To See or Not To See
When your fellow is but a mirror of yourself, and when he's actually a window...
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1005697/jewish/To-See-or-Not-To-See.htm
By Mendel Kalmenson
And Noah, the man of the earth, debased himself and planted a vineyard. He drank of the wine and became drunk, and he uncovered himself within his tent. And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father's nakedness and told his two brothers outside. And Shem and Japheth took a garment, laid it upon both their shoulders, and they walked backwards, and covered their father's nakedness; their faces were turned backward, and they saw not their father's nakedness—Genesis 9:20-24.
What's puzzling about this narrative is the seeming redundancy in its last verse: "Their faces were turned backward, and they saw not their father's nakedness." Isn't it obvious that – unless possessing eyes in the back of their heads – if "their faces were turned backward," "they saw not their father's nakedness"?
What you see in your fellow reflects nothing but what you yourself possessTaking into account the Torah's calculated use of words, we can only conclude that the apparent surplus of words is not, in fact, excessive, but is rather indicating something.
The Mirror
The holy Baal Shem Tov taught: "When you see ill in your friend, it is your own ill that you are observing." Like a mirror that reflects nothing but what you place before it, so too what you see in your fellow reflects nothing but what you yourself possess.
In different words: People tend to project their own issues, shortcomings, deficiencies, and insecurities onto others, seeing in them exactly what they should rightfully be seeing, and working on, in themselves.
Is it always the case that when you see a flaw in someone else it is actually your own flaw you are seeing? Must that always we so?
The basis for this idea is quite simple.
The principle of Divine Providence dictates that not only is one's every encounter orchestrated by G‑d, but that every encounter must benefit the one who experiences it. For if there was nothing in it for him, why would G‑d show it to him?
So, everything you comes across – whatever, wherever, whenever, however, and in whoever – is all part of an ongoing conversation between G‑d and you. Your questions can be answered, and difficulties resolved, simply by walking down the street, sitting in the subway, or strolling in the park.
That is, so long as you are listening.
It stands to say, then, that if you were brought by Heaven to spot a fault in someone else, surely it is G‑d's gentle way of telling you that it's time for you to look inward.
But why say it indirectly, through the revelation of someone else's faults? Why not just speak to you directly?
we are not good at accepting criticism. If we didn't see it in someone else, we could never see it in ourselvesUnfortunately, that wouldn't work too well, since we humans are naturally not good at accepting criticism. If we didn't see it in someone else, we could never see it in ourselves.
Friendly Rebuke
Before entering the Baal Shem Tov's "mirror principle" into my theological data base, one final challenge is left to be dealt with.
The principle's underlying premise is Divine providence. If it weren't relevant to me, G‑d wouldn't cause me to see it. But couldn't my seeing the lack in my friend simply be so that I can help him right his wrongs? Maybe that is why G‑d brought me to see his failing.
To be honest, the thought is comforting; not all of the bad which I see in others necessarily exists in me...
But that cannot be the case. For if, as I have suggested, at times the negativity I am shown in others is strictly so that I can set them straight, I wouldn't be seeing negative in them; I would see only the need to fix.
I wouldn't hear voices of judgment in my mind, but only a call for action.
Mirror or Window
Imagine you saw someone walk right past a sign that says in bold letters: Danger – Don't Pass Beyond This Point. To the horror of everyone watching, the fellow loses his balance on some loose rocks, and begins to fall down a steep slope.
In those critical moments, when something might still be done to save him, would you busy yourself with thoughts of how big an idiot the guy must be?
Didn't he see the sign? Did he think he was smarter than the experts who put it up? Does he think he's superman?…
Or would you spring to action in the hope of saving a life?
If you see your fellow as a defendant on trial, it is you who is being triedThese different reactions and attitudes accurately indicate whether or not what you see in others is a reflection of yourself.
If you find yourself judging, it is you who deserves to be judged. If you see your fellow as a defendant on trial, it is you who is being tried. Your friend is no more than a mirror—providing you with an objective view of yourself. In fact, he is deserving of your gratitude, for without him you would remain unacquainted with parts of yourself.
If however, you saw this individual as a casualty in need, as someone you can help, you are looking at a window, not a mirror; a window of opportunity, transparent like glass.
Shut-Eye
And Noah, the man of the earth, debased himself and planted a vineyard. He drank of the wine and became drunk, and he uncovered himself within his tent.
There was no question that Noah messed up.
There was also no question that Noah needed help.
And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father's nakedness and told his two brothers outside.
Ham chose to judge… and to report.
He didn't choose to act.
To him, Noah served as a crystal clear mirror.
They didn't see – i.e., contemplate – the fact that their father was nakedAnd Shem and Japheth took a garment, laid it upon both their shoulders, and they walked backwards, and covered their father's nakedness.
Shem and Japheth chose to act.
Their faces were turned backward, and they saw not their father's nakedness.
They didn't judge. They didn't see – i.e., contemplate – the fact that their father was naked.
To them Noah was a window.1
FOOTNOTES
1.
Adapted from a talk by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Likutei Sichot vol. 10 pg. 24-29.
By Mendel Kalmenson More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Mendel Kalmenson has traveled Europe, Asia and South America, reaching out to Jews in the remotest areas. He now resides with his wife in Brooklyn, New York, where he is studying at the Chabad Kollel.
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The First Commandment
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2917/jewish/The-First-Commandment.htm
By Yanki Tauber
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/2818.jpg)
Billions of people have heard of the Ten Commandments, and many of them can name at least three or four; in fact, there must be a good few million who can list all ten, in order. Less common, however, is the knowledge that this 10-point encapsulation of G-d's message to man reads in two directions: from top to bottom, and from side to side.
What do I mean? The Ten Commandments were given to Moses engraved on two stone tablets -- five commandments on each stone -- like this:
1) I am the L-rd your G-d...
2) You shall have no other gods...
3) Do not take G-d's name in vain...
4) Remember the Shabbat...
5) Honor your father and your mother...
6) Do not kill
7) Do not commit adultery
8 ) Do not steal
9) Do not bear false witness...
10) Do not covet... anything of your fellow's
Why on two tablets? And why are the first five Commandments on one stone and the second five on the other? (5/5 may seem an even division, but it's really not: the first five Commandments total 146 words in the original Hebrew, the second five 26.) One of the reasons given by our sages is that the five latter Commandments are actually a reiteration of the first five. In other words, we're supposed to place these two tablets side by side and read across, like this:
1) I am the L-rd your G-d / Do not kill
2) You shall have no other gods / Do not commit adultery
3) Do not take G-d's name in vain / Do not steal
4) Remember the Shabbat / Do not bear false witness
5) Honor your father and your mother / Do not covet anything of your fellow's
This means that, in essence, there are only five Commandments. "Do not kill" is another way of saying "I am the L-rd your G-d"; the prohibition against adultery is the prohibition against idolatry; keeping Shabbat means being a truthful witness; and so on.
The Midrash explains the correlations of each of these five sets, but we're running out of space so we'll just look at the connection between Commandments #1 and #6. Why is "Do not kill" the flip side of "I am the L-rd your G-d"? Because, say the Sages, to murder a fellow man is to murder G-d:
What is this analogous to? To a king of flesh and blood who entered a country and put up portraits of himself, and made statues of himself, and minted coins with his image. After a while, the people of the country overturned his portraits, broke his statues and invalidated his coins, thereby reducing the image of the king. So, too, one who sheds blood reduces the image of the King, as it is written (Genesis 9:6): "One who spills a man's blood... for in the image of G-d He made man."
Now there are murderers who say they believe in G-d. And there are people who are dead-set against murder who claim not to believe in a higher power. They're both wrong.
If you truly believe in G-d, you are incapable of murder. And if you truly believe that taking the life of another human is wrong -- not just because you lack the means or motive to do so or are afraid of ending up in jail, but because you recognize the transcendent, inviolable value of life -- that's just another way of saying you believe in G-d. Even if you're not one of those religious types who put it in those terms.
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By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
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Hi Rachel:
As always, a good post.
I would quibble however with the translation "Thou shalt not kill". The Torah is full of approved killing-- perhaps the better translation is "Thou shalt not murder"?
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Marc,
Thank you,
My Hebrew is not good enough to handle the translation issues and philosophical differences of what is murder and what is killing. However I definitly agree with your deeper poiint and here is an article by the same Rabbi that speaks to the issue.
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/3220/jewish/The-Jews-Double-Standard.htm
Jew's Double Standard
By Yanki Tauber
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/2017.jpg)
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time for war, a time for peace
Ecclesiastes 3:3,8
Double standards are supposedly unethical. Yet Judaism -- the ethos contained in the Bible and expounded by the sages of Israel -- abounds with double standards. In fact, these double standards are at the heart of how we live and what we have taught the world -- and at the heart of what makes an ethical person.
One example of an ethical double standard is the different ways in which we regard tragedy, depending on who is the victim. When something bad happens to myself, the Torah tells me to trust in G-d's help, justify His ways, and examine my ways for what I might have done wrong so that I may learn a lesson from what occurred. Which are precisely the things I'm not supposed to do regarding someone else's troubles. (See When Bad Things Happen.)
Another Jewish double standard -- also relating to a difference in how we treat ourselves and how we treat others -- is the potential/actuality question. Briefly stated, we're supposed to judge ourselves by what we've actually achieved, and judge others by what they're capable of achieving. (For more on this, see this essay.)
But perhaps the most fascinating -- and important -- double standard in Judaism is in the way we apply the Divine commandment "Do not kill."
Much has been written on the infinite value that the Torah places on every individual life. After the concept of monotheism (from which it derives), this is the most revolutionary idea which the Jew has introduced to mankind -- "revolutionary" in the sense that it flies in the face of everything everyone previously believed (as indeed in the face of common sense), and "revolutionary" in the way it has transformed the face of civilized society.
Placing an infinite value on every human life means an utter rejection of any "scale" by which to quantify and qualify its worth. A retarded baby's life has the same value as that of the wisest person on earth. An 80-year-old "vegetable" cannot be sacrificed to save the life of a 20-year-old genius. The Talmud tells the story of a man who was threatened by the hoodlum that ran his city that he'd be killed unless he kills a certain person. The great sage Rava told this man: "What makes you think that your blood is redder than that person's blood?"
Torah law goes so far as to rule that an entire city cannot be saved by giving up a single individual. Because each and every life is of Divine -- and therefore infinite -- significance. Ten thousand infinities aren't any "more" than one infinity.
(For further discussion of this principle see: The Sacred and the Good, What's So Terrible About Idolatry, The Practical Implications of Infinity, and The First Commandment.)
In light of the above, it is surprising to find the following law in the Torah (derived from Deuteronomy 22:26): Habah l'hargecha hashkem l'hargo -- "If someone is coming to kill you, rise against him and kill him first." (This law applies equally to someone coming to kill someone else -- you're obligated to kill the murderer in order to save his intended victim.)
This law seems to contradict the principle of life's infinite value. If no life can be deemed less valuable that any other, what makes the victim's life more valuable than the murderer's life? Furthermore, this rule applies to anyone who is "coming to kill you" -- he hasn't even done anything yet! Maybe he won't succeed? Maybe he'll change his mind? Nor does the law say anything about trying to run away. It says: If someone is coming to kill you, rise against him and kill him first.
The same Torah that tells us that G-d placed a spark of Himself in every human being, thereby bestowing upon his or her physical existence a G-dly, infinite worth -- that same Torah also tells us that G-d has granted free choice to every person. Including the choice -- and the power -- to corrupt his or her G-d-given vitality and turn it against itself, using it to destroy life. A person can choose to turn himself into a murderer -- someone who is prepared to destroy life in order to achieve his aims. In which case he is no longer a life, but an anti-life.
To kill an anti-life is not a life-destroying act, it is a life-preserving act. It is not a violation of the commandment "Do not kill," but its affirmation. Without the law, "If someone is coming to kill you, rise against him and kill him first," the principle of life's infinite value is nothing more than an empty slogan, a mere idea.
Judaism is not an idea. It is a way of life -- G-d's ideas made real.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Yanki Tauber is content editor of Chabad.org.
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The Jealous Lover
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2935/jewish/The-Jealous-Lover.htm
By Yanki Tauber
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/3247.jpg)
G-d talks to us in many voices: benevolent, authoritative, wrathful, romantic. Romantic? Just read Isaiah 54, or Song of Songs. Or listen to Him reminisce on our honeymoon: "I remember the kindness of your youth, your bridal love, following after me in the desert, in an unsown land..." (Jeremiah 2:1).
And like a jealous lover, He insists that ours be a monogamous relationship. Indeed, our sages regard the Seventh Commandment, "You shall not commit adultery" as the extension and mirror-image of the Second Commandment, "You shall have no other gods before Me." (According to the Midrash, the first five Commandments correspond to the second five -- see last week's Comment.) We're married to each other, G-d is saying; the loyalty I expect from you is no less than that which you expect from your spouse.
Conversely, G-d is also saying: human love is divine. Love between a man and a woman will attain its most glorious heights and richest depths only when it is true to its divine essence -- when their place in each other's hearts and lives is as unequivocal as the Creator's place in His creation. When they can no more betray each other than a man can betray his G-d.
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Short and sweet and insightful.
The Creator
http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/stick_figures/default_cdo/aid/749658/jewish/The-Creator.htm
Words
http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/stick_figures/default_cdo/aid/749659/jewish/Words.htm
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2938/jewish/Toms-House-and-Harrys-Car.htm
Tom's House and Harry's Car
By Yanki Tauber
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/696.jpg)
Chassidim like to tell the story about a certain individual who was flippant with his financial obligations. It reached the point that his debtors felt they had no recourse but to inform their rebbe of the situation. The Chassidic sage summoned the man and asked him: "Is it true what they tell me -- that you borrow money and don't repay, that you buy on credit and then evade payment?"
"But Rebbe!" exclaimed the chassid. "Haven't you taught us that the world is nothing, material cares are nothing, money is nothing? Why are they making a fuss about a few rubles? It's all nothing!"
"In that case," said the rebbe, "how about if we take this 'nothing' " -- and here the rebbe pointed to the body of the spiritual fellow -- "and we stretch it out upon this 'nothing' (the table), and with this 'nothing' (his belt) administer a dozen lashes to the first 'nothing'?"
Behind this humorous story lies a serious question. If, as the Psalmist proclaims, "The world, and all it contains, is G-d's," is there, in fact, such a thing as "theft"? Can something that does not, in truth, belong to you, be taken from you?
Of course, G-d said "You shall not steal." Those are the rules of the game. But maybe that's what it is -- a game. G-d is saying: "Let's make believe that this house belongs to Tom. And let's make believe that this car belongs to Harry. Now, Harry, you mustn't burn down 'Tom's house.' And Tom, you're not allowed to use 'Harry's car' without his permission." Is that what it amounts to?
According to the Midrash, the Third Commandment, "You shall not take G-d's name in vain," and the Eighth Commandment, "You shall not steal," are one and the same. Indeed, the Torah (in Leviticus 5:20) refers to financial fraud as "a betrayal of G-d." "Because," explains the great Talmudic sage Rabbi Akiva, "in defrauding his fellow, he is defrauding the Third Party to their dealings."
On the face of it, this can be understood along the lines of our "rules of the game" thesis. The problem with stealing is not that a certain person's "ownership" has been violated (since everything belongs to G-d anyway), but that the divine command "You shall not steal" has been transgressed.
But if that were the case, asks the Lubavitcher Rebbe, why does Rabbi Akiva describe G-d as "the Third Party to their dealings"? Isn't He the only party? Aren't we saying that it's G-d's car that's been stolen, and the fact that He chose to register it in Harry's name is basically irrelevant?
But Rabbi Akiva is being consistent. Remember the verse "The world, and all it contains, is G-d's"? Rabbi Akiva, quoting this verse in the Talmud, interprets it to be saying, "He acquired, and bequeathed, and rules His world." What does this mean? Isn't it G-d's world because He created it? And if He "bequeathed" it, than it's not His anymore!
What Rabbi Akiva is saying, explains the Rebbe, is this: Obviously, it's His because He created it. But then He desired to make it His in a deeper and more meaningful way -- by bequeathing it to man.
To own a world because you made it is basically meaningless. In human terms, that's like dreaming up a life and trying to derive satisfaction from your own fantasy. For something to be real for us, it has to have existence outside of ourselves. To derive pleasure from something, we have to share its existence with others.
G-d desired to derive pleasure from His world. That's why He gave it to us, and asked us to share it with Him.
That's why He said: "Tom, this is your house. I mean it -- it is really and truly yours. Now this is what I would like you to do with it. I want you to put mezuzot -- little scrolls inscribed with the main points of your relationship with Me -- on its doorposts. I want its kitchen to be kosher. I want it to be a place that shelters a moral family life, a place in which hospitality is extended to the needy, a place where My Torah is studied.
"Of course, I could just put you in this house and tell you to do all this, without really giving it to you. But then you'd be doing all these things mechanically, like a robot. Deep down, you would sense that it's not really your home, that the things you're doing are not really your achievement. And then it wouldn't ever be truly My home, either. It would just be something I made up.
"That's why I gave it to you. You sense it to be yours because it really is. You experience what you make of it to be your own achievement because it really is. And when you choose, with the free will that I have granted you, to invite Me into your home and make Me at home in it, it will become truly mine, too, in the manner that I desire it to be mine.
"And please, don't steal Harry's car. Because I have a stake in every financial transaction that occurs between the two of you. When you deprive Harry of the ownership that I have given him over his piece of My world, you are depriving Me as well. You are making My ownership of My world all but meaningless."
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/166899/jewish/Why-Dont-You-Spell-Out-G-ds-Name.htm
Why Don't You Spell Out G-d's Name?
By Aron Moss
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/132/eEKP1322181.jpg)
Question:
As you know, I'm not a "believer." I am a logical person -- I only believe in things that can be logically proven. But I was just interested: Why do you always write "G-d"?
Answer:
We do not write G-d's name in a place where it may be discarded or erased. Treating G-d's name with reverence is a way to give respect to G-d. So even though on a computer the name is not really being erased (and perhaps is not really there in the first place), and "G-d" is only an English term used to translate G-d's holy name, it is in keeping with this respect that I write "G-d" in my emails and on-line articles.
This causes problems. No matter how many times I write "G-d", the spell-check on the computer has no idea what I mean. "G-d" is not in its dictionary, and it won't accept it as an addition to the dictionary. So the computer comes up with all types of suggested corrections: Go, Do, G'day. And often half the name ends up on a new line: G-
d.
I guess I shouldn't expect any better. No matter how smart a computer is, certain things are beyond it. How would you program a computer to have respect for G-d's name? It is unreasonable to ask a computer to relate to G-d, because G-d is not a logical concept -- He created intellect, and He cannot be captured by His own creation. A computer is limited to logic, so it can't handle spiritual concepts. Just as a metal-detector will beep when a gun is passed through it, but it cannot pick up a person's thoughts or intentions, intellect can grasp logic and rationale, but it cannot detect the Divine.
But a human is not a computer. Intellect is not where we begin and end. We have a soul that is beyond intellect, and our soul detects G-d because our soul sees G-d.
Jewish faith is about getting in touch with the soul that knows G-d already, without needing any proof. This is not negating intellect -- it is transcending it.
How do you get in touch with your soul? Ask G-d. He'll tell you.
By Aron Moss More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Aron Moss teaches Kabbalah, Talmud and practical Judaism in Sydney, Australia and is a frequent contributor to Chabad.org.
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Woof,
Unlike the computer, I assume God recognizes the reverence or irreverence of the persons heart and not how electrons are arranged on the screen. So if it's god or GOD or G-D or g-d or the B.G.U. (big guy upstairs), I don't think it matters a bit.
P.C.
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Prentice,
I was providing an explanation of my behavior not an attempt to change yours or anyone else's behavior. I don't find your spelling out the name of the Big Guy Upstairs at all disrespectful.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2951/jewish/Life-on-the-Witness-Stand.htm
Life on the Witness Stand
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/2759.jpg)
By Yanki Tauber
What exactly are we doing here? Without doubt, this is one of the most urgent questions pondered by the human mind through the ages. All sorts of answers have been suggested by generations of philosophers, mystics and cab drivers. The founder of Chassidism, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, is said to have offered the following:
G-d transforms spirituality into physicality; the Jew makes physical things spiritual.
In other words, the universe originated as a concept in the divine mind, which G-d proceeded to transform into a physical world. Our task and role is to take this physical world and turn it back into a divine idea.
This explains the numerous references to man in the writings of the Sages as "G-d's partner in creation." Being a "partner" implies an equality that seems hard to justify in this case: whatever it is we accomplish in this world is hardly on par with the monumental fact that Someone first had to make the thing! But if we go with the Baal Shem Tov's formula, we indeed have a symmetry of roles: a) transforming spirituality into physicality; b) transforming physicality into spirituality.
In fact, the Talmud claims that ours is the greater achievement. Giving physical form to a spiritual concept is no small task, but transforming a piece of wood, stone or flesh into a spiritual idea is, by far, the more difficult endeavor (see Ketuboth 5a; in Taanit 5a, the Talmud illustrates this point with a story about a golden table leg filched from heaven).
What exactly do we do? We do mitzvot. Doing a mitzvah means taking a particular physical object or resource and using it to perform an action willed by G-d. A mitzvah announces to the world: "The universe is not a mass of matter, but G-dly light. These are not 'things' -- they are divine desires."
So is that what life is about, making announcements? Indeed it is. Because when brute matter starts making announcements -- when it begins to convey something, express something divine -- it ceases to be brute matter. It becomes spirit.
Every mitzvah announces this truth to the world; every mitzvah transforms matter into spirit. But there is one mitzvah which the Talmud singles out as the epitome of our "partnership with G-d in creation" -- the mitzvah of observing the Shabbat.
Observing the Shabbat means that for seven days a week our lives articulate the story of creation. G-d created the world in six days and rested on the seventh; when the Jew applies his or her creative energies to the world for six days and rests on the seventh, s/he becomes the very embodiment of G-d's ongoing creative involvement with His creation. S/he proclaims (with his or her mouth when reciting the kiddush, and with every other organ, limb and faculty that works during the first six days of the week and rests on Shabbat): "G-d did not make a world and just leave it there, a pile of matter floating through space. The work of creation -- His and ours -- is perpetual. It goes on and on, week after week after week. Every moment of time, G-d condenses spirit into matter. And every moment of time, we distill matter into spirit."
At Sinai, the 613 mitzvot were synopsized as Ten Commandments inscribed upon two "Tablets of Testimony" -- five on the first tablet and five on the second. Why on two tablets? The Midrash explains that this is to emphasize that the sixth commandment is an extension of the first, the seventh mirrors the second, and so on. (See our previous articles, The First Commandment, The Jealous Lover and Tom's House and Harry's Car.)
Thus Ninth Commandment, "You shall not bear false witness against your fellow", is the correlate of the Fourth Commandment, "Remember the Shabbat day to sanctify it." In the words of the Midrash:
This is to say that one who violates the Shabbat testifies before He who spoke the world into being that He did not create his world in six days and He did not rest on the seventh; and that one who keeps the Shabbat testifies before He who spoke the world into being that He created His world in six days and He rested on the seventh. As it is written (Isaiah 43:10): "You are My testifiers, says the L-rd."
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http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/stick_figures/default_cdo/aid/749660/jewish/The-Skyline-Man.htm
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A Blurry Line
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2966/jewish/A-Blurry-Line.htm
By Yanki Tauber
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/2828.jpg)
For several weeks now, we've been looking at the Ten Commandments -- specifically, the correlation between the first five, inscribed on one tablet, and the second five, inscribed on the second tablet. We have seen how the Sixth Commandment, "Do not kill" is in fact just another way of saying "I am the L-rd your G-d"; how the 7th mirrors the 2nd, that the 8th is rooted in the 3rd, and so on.
Which brings us to commandments 5 and 10. What is the connection between them? This is what the Midrash says:
It is written, "Honor your father and your mother", and corresponding to that it is written, "You shall not covet." This is to teach us that a person who covets will end up fathering a son who curses his father and mother, and who honors one who is not his [true] father.
In the first four sets of commandments, we have seen that the connection runs deep -- to the extent that the two commandments in each "set" may be regarded as two expressions of the very same principle. I am therefore convinced that a similar connection is implicit in the above-quoted words from the Midrash, though I have yet to uncover it. (If any of our readers has any thoughts on the matter, I'd appreciate hearing from you).
In the meanwhile, let us discuss some parallels that can be discerned from the sayings of the sages and Chassidic masters on these two commandments.
As a rule, the five commandments on the first tablet speak of matters 'between man and G-d", while the second tablets governs the relationship "between man and man." The 5th and 10th commandments, however, seem exceptions to this rule.
"Honor your father and your mother" seems a purely social law. As for the 10th commandment, "You shall not covet your fellow's house... You shall not covet your fellow's wife", this does not speak of the case in which action is taken as a result of the coveter's desire -- that would be a transgression of the 8th commandment ("You shall not steal") or the 7th ("You shall not commit adultery"). So it is not at all apparent that anything adverse has been done to the "fellow" in question. In fact, I know some homeowners for whom a primary objective in building their home was that it should be coveted by their neighbors. Desiring what does not belong to you seems more a sin against G-d (showing dissatisfaction with what He has allotted to you) or against yourself (souring the blessings of life with misguided strivings) than against a fellow human being.
Perhaps, then, "Honor your father" really belongs on the second tablet, and "You shall not covet" ought to have been inscribed on the first?
There are two Chassidic teachings which, I believe, shed some light on these two "misplaced" commandments.
The ancient philosophers formulated a rule that "a finite thing cannot possess an infinite quality." But the Chassidic masters point out that the human being (on the face of it, a finite thing) violates this rule by possessing the infinite power of procreation -- the power to give birth to children, who in turn will give birth to children, ad infinitum. (The finiteness of the physical universe in time and space may impose external limits, but the potential itself is infinite). It is for this reason that a marriage is referred to as an "eternal edifice" and the matrimonial union is considered the most divine of human endeavors.
The second Chassidic teaching concerns the power of thought. The physical plane on which we interact with each other -- say the Chassidic masters -- is but the most external layer of reality, behind which lies a succession of deeper, spiritual selves, on which we also affect and are affected by the doings of our fellow souls. What we say and even think about each other has a profound effect -- even if it never leads to action, and even if the one who is spoken or thought about remains unaware of what his fellow has thought or spoken about him. (A famous story illustrating this truth is told of Chassidism's founder, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov.)
In other words, honoring your father and mother means honoring the divine in man (which is what makes them your father and mother), and refraining from coveting, if only in unexpressed thought, what is rightfully your fellow's means acknowledging that your relationship with him or her extends beyond the visible, physical plain, to envelop your spiritual self and soul.
So while the two tablets delineate the respective realms of the human and the divine, the concluding commandment on each tablet demonstrates that the line between them is far less sharp and rigid than we may believe.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
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Abusive Mother
by Rebbetzin Feige Twerski
How far does honoring parents go?
Dear Rebbetzin Twerski,
One of my closest friends, let's call her Sarah, has a very difficult mother who lives with her. Her mother is abusive, verbally and sometimes does physically (like throwing kitchen stuff). Sarah's mother is now in her 80’s and has had illnesses. Sarah has always cooperated with the doctors and arranged everything for her mother. She cooks , does laundry, takes her mother to the doctor, changes her bed sheets etc., but the mother sometimes calls the food “dog food,” blames Sarah for her father's death and says that she wishes she had never given birth to her. The mother tells people horrible things about her. Sarah hears her on the phone saying things about her.
Sarah's spouse is ill and the mother often stares at the spouse and makes fun of the person. It’s a terrible mess. This abuse has been going on since Sarah was young, and she has always been praying to God to help fix things with her mother.
I have begged Sarah to ask her mother to move out of the house, but the mother just asks for money to move and refuses to go. It's very hard on her to deal with this on a daily basis, but she wants to do the right thing and still look after her mother. According to Jewish law, is Sarah required to put up with this?
Thanks in advance for your help and suggestions.
Dear Reader:
For starters, your friend is fortunate that in the midst of the trials and tribulations of so difficult a life, she has a person like you who is concerned and cares so deeply about her.
Having said that, it must be pointed out that the question posed here is not one articulated by Sarah; it comes from you, a devoted friend, but a second party nonetheless. We often erroneously assume that our perception of a given situation mirrors and coincides with that which is the reality of the other. We project our feelings and assessments about a given scenario on another individual. The why's, wherefores and how's of the choices that people make in their lives are very complex and not easily distilled or fathomed by an outsider.
You question the parameters of Jewish law on the matter of honoring one’s parents. The response is that we are obligated to honor our parents to the extent that we have to provide for their needs, i.e. food, shelter and means of getting where they need to go. If they have means, we may use their resources before our own. If we are not personally able, in a hands-on manner, to meet these requirements, i.e. living at a distance, etc., we may delegate the responsibility to others. The point is that their basic needs be met.
If parents are abusive or the relationship is a toxic one, children are not obligated to tolerate pain or suffering.
It must be noted, however, that psychological and emotional factors have weight in the equation. If parents are abusive or the relationship is a toxic one, children are not obligated to tolerate pain or suffering. They may provide for their parents’ needs from a distance or through others. Subjecting oneself to unnecessary punishment is not mandated, indicated or desirable from a Torah perspective.
The Talmud relates the instance of one of the great Sages who had a mentally deranged mother. It describes the abuse she subjected him to even in public settings. On one occasion, he was holding forth to an august body of scholars and his mother strode into the study hall and lashed out at him in front of the entire assemblage. The rabbi did not flinch or react. Clearly, he did not take it personally. He waited for her tirade to end and gently and lovingly escorted her out.
Remarkably, there are those who can transcend their personal feelings and involvement. They are able to temper the hurt and pain by adopting an observer’s stance rather than a personal one. They are able to look from the outside in as though hovering above the interaction with an objective curiosity. This posture is a product of understanding the unhealthy place from which the parent is coming and as such what is driving the aberrant behavior. Awareness of the pathetic lack of well-being that is at the root of the presenting behavior allows for compassion and empathy to replace anger and resentment.
Moreover, dear reader, you as an outsider are applying your logic, your own unique mental perception to a situation that is clearly emotionally and psychologically driven. The relationship between children and parents defies logical analysis. The mind cannot plumb the depths and intricacies of the parent/child relationship. Scores of books have been written on the subject, but the last word, a definitive and all encompassing elucidation of the mysterious bond between parents and their offspring remains elusive.
Witness the many recorded and astonishing cases of battered children who prefer returning to their abusive biological parent - the perpetrator - rather than accept protection from a surrogate, proving again the hardcore emotional attachment that cannot be explained. There are those who suggest an intense drive exists on the part of a child, young or old, to be redeemed - to have the caretaker who originally gave the child the message he or she is unlovable - to change the parent’s mind and tell the child he or she is indeed valued. This quest for love and approval is ever present and never ceases.
As an aside, it is instructive to note that in Marriage Course 101, one is cautioned against the cardinal offense of attacking the parents of one’s spouse in marital disputes. Even when the criticism is totally valid, parents are unfair game in arguments. Arguably, it would constitute an example of hitting “below the belt,” a place where the spouse is rendered defenseless because the parent/child relationship is not defined by logic, and the truth in these situations is irrelevant. Bottom-line, criticism of one’s parents, factual as it might be, hurts to one’s core.
Abandoning a mother, no matter how insufferable she may be, especially one in her eighties, is not a pleasant prospect.
Dear reader, it is clear and evident from your description that your friend’s relationship with her mother, even in its unfortunate and toxic state, is nevertheless a long standing one. It is obvious as well that the horrors shared with you notwithstanding, she has still made her choice. It is very likely that in weighing her options, for her this scenario remains the least of all evils. Abandoning a mother, no matter how insufferable she may be, and especially one in her eighties, is not a pleasant prospect. If your friend would have really wanted to go that route, she would have done it a long time ago.
Consider Maureen whose mother had “never been there for her.” Her upbringing was a painful one. Her mother battled depression and was virtually non-existent in her life. Maureen experienced acute emotional deprivation for much of her life, feeling “unhinged” particularly during her adolescence and in search of something to fill the void in her life. Her spiritual journey led her to an observant life that gave her a handle, a sense of purpose and meaning in dealing with situations that were less than desirable.
Her mother took ill and despite all the feelings of past disappointments that flooded her mind and could have dictated her behavior, she took the high road. She built an extension for her mother in her own home and nursed her through very trying times. When her spirits fell from time to time, she was boosted by her support system, her friends who were always there to encourage her. In the years following her mother’s death, Maureen considered the decision to take care of her mother, despite the myriad of difficulties that entailed, the proudest moments of her life.
My advice to you, my dear deader would be to apprise Sarah that her Torah responsibilities entail no more than seeing to it that her mother’s needs are met; ideally through herself, but in the instance where the emotional price is too high, to provide such through a third party.
Above and beyond that I would encourage you to give your friend whatever support you can to discharge what she perceives as her responsibility. It is not useful or productive, however well meaning on your part, to encourage her in the direction she seems loath to take. Recognize and appreciate that there is much to be said and great respect to be extended to someone who is willing to pay such a steep price for the value of caring for a parent.
Be assured as well that when it is all said and done (her mother, after all, is quite elderly), your friend’s exemplary and sacrificial behavior will escort her for the rest of her life. It will hopefully and justly be a source of great pride. She will have achieved the distinction of having behaved in an exalted way when the going was tough and the chips were really down – and not too many people can boast of that.
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Prentice,
I was providing an explanation of my behavior not an attempt to change yours or anyone else's behavior. I don't find your spelling out the name of the Big Guy Upstairs at all disrespectful.
Hi Rachel,
That's not what I thought at all; it's just that I find it fascinating the way in which we humans express our natural proclivity for superstitious rites, even when following a standard religious dogma. It's not enough to follow the teachings given, we seem to have this insatiable need to add more to it.
It's my observation that we seem to require more of ourselves than God does. That makes me wonder; does God want more from us?
P.C.
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Interesting question there PC.
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Harmony is a matter of emphasis:
Let dissonance slip by.
Celebrate beauty.
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Woof,
You bring up another important theme, that of ascetic's; often scripture is sung or rendered by way of poetry. Again the spoken words alone are not enough.
P.C.
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The Three Journeys of Abraham
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2613/jewish/The-Three-Journeys-of-Abraham.htm
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/699.jpg)
A sizable portion of the book of Genesis is devoted to the life of Abraham, the first Jew. Most curiously, however, we first meet Abraham rather late in his celebrated life: the first event of Abraham's life described in detail by the Torah occurred when he was seventy-five years old!
By that time, Abraham was able to look back upon a lifetime of fruitful--indeed unprecedented--achievement. As a young child, his inquisitive mind discerned a greater truth implicit in the workings of the universe, and he came to know the One G-d. A lone man pitted against the entire world, he battled the entrenched pagan perversity of his time, bringing many to a life of monotheistic belief and morality.
But then came an event of such significance that it eclipses the first seven and a half decades of Abraham's life. An event that marked the forging of a new phenomenon--the Jew--and redefined the journey of life.
The event was G-d's call to Abraham to "Go to you, from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father's house, to the land that I will show you." Now that you have realized the full capacity of your conscious powers, go on to you. I will show you a place that is the essence of your own self, a place that lies beyond the land, birthplace, and father's house that you know.
Instinct, Environment and Reason
The countless factors involved in making us what we are can be generalized under three categories: the natural, the impressed, and the acquired.
We begin life already programmed with the drives and inclinations that form an inborn psyche and character. Then begins, from the moment of birth, the influence of our environment, as parents, teachers and peers impress their manners and attitudes upon our souls. Finally, a third and overriding influence comes with the attainment of intellectual maturity: man, alone among G-d's creatures, has been granted an objective intellect with which he can, to a great extent, control the stimuli to which he is exposed and the manner in which they shall affect him. With his mind, he is empowered to develop himself beyond--and even contrary to--his genetic and conditioned self.
This is the deeper significance of the words "your land, your birthplace and your father's house" in G-d's call to Abraham. Eretz, the Hebrew word for land and earth, is etymologically related to the word ratzon--will and desire; so your land also translates as your natural desires. Your birthplace--moladtecha--is a reference to the influence of home and society. And beit avicha, your father's house, refers to man as a mature and rational being, forging his mind-set, character and behavior with the transcendent objectivity of the intellect. (In the terminology of Kabbalah and Chassidism, the intellect is referred to as the father within man, since it is the progenitor of, and authority over, his feelings and behavior patterns.)
By conventional standards, this constitutes the ultimate in human achievement: the development of one's natural instincts, the assimilation of learned and observed truths, and the remaking of self through the objective arbiter of mind. In truth, however, the intellect is still part and parcel of our humanity, remaining ever subject to the deficiencies and limitations of the human state; while it may surmount the confines of the inborn and the impressed, ultimately, the intellect is never truly free of the ego and its prejudices.
But there is a higher self to man, a self free of all that defines and confines the human. This is the spark of G-dliness that is the core of his soul--the divine essence that G-d breathed into him, the image of G-d in which he was created. The eretz that G-d promised to show Abraham.
[This explains the order in which the terms land, birthplace and father's house appear in the verse. When a person embarks on a journey, he first leaves his (father's) home, then departs his city (birthplace), and only then leaves the borders of his land; yet in our verse this order is reversed. According to the deeper meaning of these terms, however, the order is accurate: first a person departs from his base instincts via his education and environmental influences; these, in turn, are overruled by his faculty for objective reasoning; finally, he is called upon to transcend even his rational self in his journey to the divine essence of his soul.]
In his journey of discovery, Abraham must obviously depart the land, birthplace and father's house of his native Mesopotamia; he must obviously reject the pagan culture of Ur Casdim and Charan. But this is not the departure of which we are speaking in the above-quoted verse. For Abraham received this call many years after he had renounced the pagan ways of his family and birthplace, recognized G-d, and had a profound impact on his society. Still he is told: Go! Depart from your nature, depart from your habits, depart from your rational self. After rejecting your negative, idolatrous origins, you must now also transcend your positive and gainful past. Reach beyond yourself, albeit a perfected self.
Human perfection is simply not enough. For anything human--even the objective, transcendent intellect--is still part and parcel of the created reality, ever subject to and defined by it. Yet G-d invites us--in His first command to the first Jew--to experience that which transcends all limit and definition: Himself.
But first we must go to you. Go away from your finite self, to come to the you that only G-d can show you--the you that is one with Him.
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson; adapted by Yanki Tauber
Originally published in "Week in Review"
Republished with the permission of MeaningfulLife.com. If you wish to republish this article in a periodical, book, or website, please email permissions@meaningfullife.com
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Prentice,
I'm pretty sure I know why people are more interested in superstition that than true religion. Acting on superstition is fun and exciting and usually pretty easy following religious precepts is usually much harder and more boring. Would you rather A.- write G-d or B. give more to charity and be nicer to you in-laws. Superstition would win every time. You can feel righteous without doing any work.
That being said I don't find the writing of G-d to be superstitious it seems to be core aspect of Judaism. However the explanation of why its is not superstition would involve a detailed discussion of the Oral Law and the role of Rabbis in Judaism.
( You may not be convinced anyway) If you are really interested I can send you some links.
Gorgeous George
by Yael Zoldan M.A.
(http://media.aish.com/images/GorgeousGeorge230x150-EN.jpg)
George doesn’t walk, he waltzes.
George Locker is a buoyant 93-year-old man with twinkly raisin eyes behind wire rimmed glasses and large hands that are always reaching out to draw people in. I am lucky enough to be George’s neighbor. For reasons known only to George, he likes to call me Gorgeous.
George wakes up smiling after 9:00 a.m. each day and greets himself with a cheerful, “Good Morning Georgie Locker!” He wakes up late because he goes to sleep late. He’s out until 11:00 p.m. each night having dinner with his sister Ione, who is a youngster at 88. After a breakfast of coffee, oatmeal and the morning paper at his neat kitchen table, George steps out into the sunshine, ready to take the day.
(http://media.aish.co.il/images/georgefamily.jpg)
His cheerfulness is legendary. Just a year after his wife’s death George is fond of remarking that every day is a good day. He says this with such conviction that one feels compelled not only to believe him, but to agree with him. He is the only person I have ever met who recalls the Depression fondly. As the second of seven children, George lived in a one bedroom apartment over a shoe shop and worked for pennies as a newspaper delivery boy. “Oh, but Mama was an angel. She made sure we were all happy.” It seems to me that Mama must have done some kind of job.
At least one day a week is dedicated to bowling. George is a crack shot bowler, the senior member of his league. “Come here, Zevi,” he calls to my son and from behind his back brings out a trophy on a pedestal that reads, ‘Best in League, 1969.’ “Found this in the attic. It’s yours now, ‘cause you always watch the driveway when I’m backing out. You’re my policeman. And I didn’t forget you either, Eitan. Here you go!” Out comes a golden figure kneeling with a ball in hand, ‘Bowling Champion, 1973’. “Now whatta ya say, boys?” he kibbitzes, “How about a handshake for Uncle Georgie!”
"Gonna get a hole in one, this time, Gorgeous.”
On warm days, George goes golfing. He steps out into the sunshine, bright and early, to wait for his friend Sam or sometimes his brother, Irving, to come pick him up. Long afternoons are spent practicing for these expeditions with balls and clubs in his backyard. He’s the Pied Piper, patiently lining up the neighborhood kids in order of size and showing them how to bend, how to swing, how to putt. Everyone gets a turn and everyone plays nice for George. When he realized that his clubs were too big for their little hands he took the irons to the blacksmith and had them soldered down to child size. At the sound of Sam’s horn honking, George turns to go. “Gonna get a hole in one, this time, Gorgeous,” he promises me and with a broad grin and jaunty wave he folds himself neatly into the car.
On odd days, George takes care of errands and household chores. Sometimes he goes to Costco, or to get a haircut, “Gotta keep neat, you know,” he says running a hand through his thick iron gray hair. In the spring he mows his lawn with his old lawnmower and cuts back tree branches. In the fall, he vigorously rakes the leaves into large crunchy piles and watches with pleasure as the kids jump in them. And when the winter snows come, George heads out with his parka, knit cap and his trusty old shovel. “Need help with the driveway?” he calls out to my husband, whistling, “I’m just about done with mine.”
When his errands are done George maneuvers his silver gray Buick Le Sabre back into the driveway. “George! George!” the kids all call as he steps out of the car. He rolls up the window with a broad dry hand and grins. Then he looks at the ragtag band of sweaty, sticky neighborhood kids and shakes his head in wonder. “How is it possible that they’re all so good looking?” he marvels. “Now tell me, kids, who wants to learn the cha-cha-cha?”
In the six years that I have lived next door I’ve noticed that George doesn’t walk, he waltzes. Sometimes he even shimmies. Life as George knows it is a dance, an endless pleasure, a cause for celebration. “Smell that clean air!” he says and suddenly I do. It smells green and crisp with the promise of flowers. Why didn’t I smell it before?
And George loves to share. On days when it is too hot or cold to stay outside he’ll invite the kids in for a tour of his neat, tidy house. With open hands he’ll give away the spoils of his 90 plus years, silky yarmulkas and black fedoras, gag gifts and postcards and pictures. With each one comes a story. “That’s the uniform I wore when I was a neighborhood guard during World War II. My job was to make sure everyone abided by the blackout hours so the Germans couldn’t spot us and bomb us. I ever tell you about the time...” he’ll say as little ears strain to listen and bright eyes alight upon his face.
I watch him with awe and puzzlement. Surely life has hurt George, too. No one escapes its ups and downs. So I ask him tentatively why I never see sadness on his face. “I don’t pay twice, Gorgeous,” he answers firmly shaking his head. “You’ve gotta be sad when you’ve gotta be sad. There’s no point being sad again, after.”
He loves to share stories of his large extended family, his niece the professional clown, his nephew who works for the circus, his great grandson the skateboard champion. He loves to tell jokes and he loves food, especially cake. In fact, at 93 years of age George has decided to learn to cook. “Well, first Mama cooked for me, then my wife and then my sister. It’s been a good run,” he says nodding his head, “but I think it’s time I learned to take care of myself.” Last night, George made tilapia with fried onions and mushrooms. "It was delicious," he says. I bet it was. Last night, I made fish sticks.
As he looks around smiling at God’s world I imagine God looking down and smiling at him.
But life is not always a waltz. Just a few months ago George fell badly, stumbling on the bottom step of a dance hall. He broke seven fragile ribs, suffered a cerebral hematoma and punctured his lung. It was bad. His injuries were serious and the recovery was bound to be a long one. All of us neighbors worried. We thought he was invincible but now he was weakened and slowed down. We remembered suddenly that he is old. How would he golf and bowl and dance? How could he stand being incapacitated, dependent? What would happen to our George?
We should’ve known better. It’s true what they say, you really can’t keep a good man down. After a few brief months of recuperation George astonished his doctors by walking on his own two feet back to his house, to his car, to his bowling and his golf. With his neighbors laughing and crying and cheering, he walked back to his life. “I’m a real lucky guy,” he says when he thinks of it, “That could have been a bad fall!”
Sometimes, I wonder what George would consider a bad fall and then I decide that I don’t want to know.
This is what I do want to know. I want to know how to face life with a smile, how to deal with good times and bad, difficulties and opportunities with the same bright face. I want to know what magic George possesses that makes everyone his friend, that has him seeing the goodness in people and then drawing it out of them. I want to know how one lives 93 years and determines that they have been good overall and that that is more than good enough.
I am not George. I was not given the gift of a sunny and easy nature. I don’t golf and I don’t kibbitz. I fret and analyze. I hurry and wait. But I too have been blessed. God has given me George Locker as a neighbor, as a friend and a teacher. As the cold grayness of winter come upon us, I will bask in the warmth of George’s happy smile. I will look at my children through his eyes and see past the crumbs and the ketchup to their bright smiles, their shining eyes. I will try to see the dance in every day, the vigor of play, the joy of a pile of crunchy leaves. Every day is a good day, George says. And I am learning day by day to believe him.
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Private Pain, Public Remarks
by Rachel Davids
Why do people think my private dating life is up for public discussion?
I sometimes wonder if people realize that a slight comment can cause so much pain. Why is it that just because your plight is well-known, people assume they can ask you anything about it, in public? Couples who are childless, people who are sick or disfigured, someone who is having business trouble or going through a divorce; the list goes on.
Being single in a marriage-minded world is my public experience of pain.
I cringe at the thought of so many people being aware of my challenge (in the community I live in, being single is viewed as a major life challenge). I’m forced to speak about very private things and answer questions I would never ask someone else. The ease with which people talk to me about dating and my private life is so hurtful and throws me off guard.
I have started grading painful words on a scale of 1 to 10; it makes me feel better and helps me reframe people’s idiocy into “what were they thinking?” so I can have a laugh. Yes, everyone means well, but if I hear another one of these expressions again any time soon…
* Each date is bringing you closer to the right one.
* This will be the year.
* I just don't know anyone good enough for you.
At a Shabbos table, small children look up at me and ask if I have a husband and why not. Last week in the kosher grocery store I was cornered by a loud busy body who heard there was a guy in my age range in town. I was going to ask her if he had a pulse or should I just jump at it because in this market a gal shouldn't be picky.
Japanese scientist Masaru Emoto has published a book with his findings from worldwide research on the affects of water, evidence that thoughts, words, ideas and music affect the molecular structure of water. He claims that if human speech or thoughts are directed at water droplets before they are frozen, images of the resulting water crystals will be beautiful or ugly, depending on how positive or negative were the words or thoughts. Imagine how powerful words are if they can effect the molecular structure of water.
“What should we say?” The answer is most often, “Nothing.”
People don't mean to throw stones and cause pain; they may really be concerned and caring. People want to know, “What should we say?” and the answer is most often, “Nothing.” The key is to think before you speak. Evaluate if it could possibly cause any pain. If the answer is yes, then don't say it.
We like to know all the news and be involved, but it shouldn’t be at someone else’s expense. If a painful topic comes up perhaps recognizing that you don’t have anything to say and admitting it is a show of support. You don’t have to have all of the answers.
No one means to say things that break your heart. They just don't realize that when you say goodbye to them you want to lie in bed and cry. I have spent a lot of time wondering why I was the recipient of so many of these “concerned comments.” I really believe God is teaching me to be more sensitive. When I see someone in a situation I don‘t understand or cannot relate to, I have to stop myself before I speak. I don't know how they feel. I don’t know what will make them cringe and want to hide. Maybe what I am about to say will really hurt them.
Perhaps God has made me the receiver of so many "sticks and stones" so I could be more careful with others. When I want to ask an inappropriate question with no real reason I think twice. Sensitivity seems to be a real exercise which requires lots of training. God gave me the opportunity to have a lot of training, and if it means I can prevent someone else from hurting, doesn’t that make it a blessing?
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Hi Rachel,
To a certain point I would say you are right that some individuals are just lazy about things and will use whatever is at hand as cover for a more meaningful and deeper commitment to a Faith; however, some folks work every hard at their superstitions and they can be just as difficult to perform and adhere to as any direct mandate from a Religion's word of God directive. What I was referring to is the oppsite of what you're saying; I'm talking about over compensating and doing more than what's required by adding superstitions, secular traditions and other embellishments to what in most cases is already a large body of religious mandated practices to please God.
And please, I'm not judging you personally, I simply used G-d as an example. Catholics would have a hard time finding in the Bible were God said he wanted penance rendered by saying Hail Marys. :lol: As far as more info I'm always interested in learning more but I'll tell you that I have skimmed lightly over the subject at hand, over the years, and years. :-D
P.C.
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Weekly Sermonette
A Jew's Gotta Do
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/324053/jewish/A-Jews-Gotta-Do.htm
Is it a sin to argue with G-d? Is it sacrilegious to question the Divine? Well, Abraham did it. Not for himself, but on behalf of the people of Sodom, whom G-d had decided to destroy because of their wickedness. Abraham was the paragon of chesed, the personification of kindness and compassion. He grappled with the Almighty, attempting to negotiate a stay of execution for the inhabitants of the notorious cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.
"Will you destroy the righteous with the wicked?" he asks G-d. "Will the judge of all the earth not do justice?" "If there are 50 righteous men, will you spare them? 45? 40... 30... 20... 10?" In the end, Abraham cannot find even a minyan of righteous men in the cities and he gives up. And then the verse reads, V'Avraham shov l'mkomo -- "And Abraham went back to his place." Having failed in his valiant attempt, he acknowledges defeat and retreats to his corner.
But there is also an alternative interpretation to those last words. And Abraham went back to his place can also be understood to mean that he went back to his ways, to his custom. And what custom is that? To defend the underdog, to look out for the needy and to help those in trouble, even if they are not the most righteous of people. Abraham refused to become disillusioned in defeat. He went right back to his ways, even though this particular attempt did not meet with success.
What happens when we lose? We hurt, we sulk, and we give up. It didn't work, it's no use. It's futile, why bother? Just throw in the towel.
Not Abraham. Abraham stuck to his principles. He may have experienced a setback, but he would still champion the cause of justice. He would still speak out for those in peril. And he would still take his case to the highest authority in the universe, G-d Almighty Himself.
Abraham teaches us not to lose faith, not to deviate from our chosen path or our sincerely held convictions. If we believe it is the right thing to do, then it is right even if there is no reward in sight. If it is right, then stick to it, no matter the outcome.
One of my favorite cartoon characters is good old Charlie Brown in Peanuts. In one strip that sticks in my memory there is a storm raging outside and Charlie Brown is determined to go out to fly his kite. His friends tell him he must be crazy to attempt flying a kite in this weather, it'll be destroyed by the wind in no time. But in the last frame we see Charlie, resolutely marching out the door, his kite firmly tucked under his arm, and the caption reads, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."
Do we believe in our principles of faith because of expediency? Are we virtuous because we believe it is the way to the good life? Are we waiting for the big payoff for our good behavior? What happens when we don't see it? Do we become frustrated, disillusioned and angry at G-d?
Some people become religious for the wrong reasons. They are looking for some magical solution to their problems in life. And when the problems don't disappear as quickly or as magically as they expected, they give up their religious lifestyle. It didn't work; I'm outta here.
Virtue is its own reward. Sleeping better at night because our conscience is clear is also part of the deal. Or, in the words of the Sages, "the reward for a mitzvah is the mitzvah."
Our founding father reminds us that a Jew's gotta do what a Jew's gotta do, regardless of the outcome. Whether we see the fruits of our labors or not, if it's the right thing to do, then carry on doing it.
May we all be true children of Abraham.
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A Jew follows all the rules and regulations, prays all the time asking God for help. He has a rather crummy life. His wife is a shrew getting fatter by the day, his business never catches a break, his children are no goodniks. For his neighbor its the reverse. He is exceedingly casual about all the rules and regulations of Judiasm and his life is great. Gorgeous wife who loves him, business success comes easily, his children are all tremendously reailzed, etc.
So the bad luck Jew prays more and more to God and follows the rules and regulations with ever greater dedication. Still, its more of the same in his life and his neighbors life. Finally one day he gets mad with God and demands to know "Why God why? I do every thing you ask and my life is in the dumps yet my neighbor barely pays you attention and him you bless. I demand to know why!"
God answers "Because you noodge too much."
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http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/stick_figures/default_cdo/aid/761979/jewish/Religion.htm
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Whom to Marry
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/98220/jewish/Whom-to-Marry.htm
By Yanki Tauber
A wise man once said that the most difficult question to answer is a question that has a simple answer.
Because a simple answer is the most difficult kind of answer to accept. A simple answer seems an insult to our intelligence, a making light of our dilemma. But often the most profound question or the most pressing problem does have a simple solution.
Whom should you marry? Unless you are the head of state of a superpower at a time of global crisis, no other decision you will make in the course of your lifetime will affect you as deeply and as irrevocably, for the better and for the worse, as this one. And no other decision will be made in as high-pressure circumstances, and in as subjective a state of mind, as this one.
What does the Torah, which the Jew regards as G-d's "blueprint for creation" and his own guidebook for life, say about what to look for in the person whom you are considering to accept as your partner in life? Something terribly simple.
The first marriage of which we read in the Torah is the marriage of Adam and Eve. Theirs, of course, was the ultimate "made to order" marriage: G-d Himself created the bride and presented her to the groom. When Adam said to Eve, "You are the only woman in the world for me," she knew he was telling the truth. There's a message here about how to regard your spouse once you're married, but not much guidance in how to select a husband or wife.
The next marriage described in the Torah took place a couple of thousand years later--the marriage of Isaac and Rebecca. By now, there was more of a selection--a bride had to be chosen for Isaac. Abraham decided not to send his son to do the choosing himself, but his trusted servant Eliezer.
Eliezer loaded ten of his master's camels with goodies and gifts (a generous dowry never hurt a match) and traveled to Abraham's old hometown, Charan (good family connections never hurt, either). Then he prayed (that always helps). Then he put his plan into action.
He waited at the village well. It was evening, and the young women of the village came to draw water. His plan went like this: he would ask a maiden for some water from her pitcher. If she says, "Draw your own water, buddy," forget it. If she says, "Please, drink your fill," that's better, but still not what we're looking for. If she says, "Drink, my lord, and I will give thy camels drink also" (that's how people spoke in biblical times)--she's the one.
Reams of commentary have been written on the story of Rebecca at the well. Many profound insights have been gleaned from the Torah's 67-verse account of Eliezer's mission. But one gem of an answer shines through them all in its pristine simplicity: marry someone with a good heart.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Yanki Tauber is content editor of Chaba
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What Happens After We Die?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/282508/jewish/What-Happens-After-We-Die.htm
By Shlomo Yaffe and Yanki Tauber
One of the fundamental beliefs of Judaism is that life does not begin with birth nor end with death. This is articulated in the verse in Kohelet (Ecclesiastes), "And the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to G-d, who gave it."1
The Lubavitcher Rebbe would often point out that a basic law of physics (known as the First Law of Thermodynamics) is that no energy is ever "lost" or destroyed; it only assumes another form. If such is the case with physical energy, how much more so a spiritual entity such as the soul, whose existence is not limited by time and space nor any of the other delineators of the physical state. Certainly, the spiritual energy that in the human being is the source of sight and hearing, emotion and intellect, will and consciousness does not cease to exist merely because the physical body has ceased to function; rather, it passes from one form of existence (physical life as expressed and acted via the body) to a higher, exclusively spiritual form of existence.
While there are numerous stations in a soul's journey, these can generally be grouped into four general phases:
i) the wholly spiritual existence of the soul before it enters the body;
ii) physical life;
iii) post-physical life in Gan Eden (the "Garden of Eden," also called "Heaven" and "Paradise");
iv) the "World to Come" (Olam HaBa) that follows the resurrection of the dead.
What are these four phases and why are all four necessary?
To See or Not to See: The Free Choice Paradox
As discussed at length in Chassidic teaching,2 the ultimate purpose of the soul is fulfilled during the time it spends in this physical world making this world "a dwelling place for G-d" by finding and expressing G-dliness in everyday life through its fulfillment of the mitzvot.
But for our actions in this world to have true significance, they must be the product of our free choice. If we were to experience the power and beauty of the Divine presence we bring into the world with our mitzvot, we would always choose what is right and thereby lose our autonomy. The obvious becomes robotic. Our accomplishments would not be ours, any more than it is an "accomplishment" that we eat three meals a day and avoid jumping into fire.
Hence, this crucial stage of our lives is enacted under the conditions of almost total spiritual blackout: in a world in which the Divine reality is hidden, in which our purpose in life is not obvious; a world in which "all its affairs are severe and evil and wicked men prevail."3 In such a world, our positive and G-dly actions would be truly our own choice and achievement.
On the other hand, however, how would it be possible to discover, and act upon, goodness and truth under such conditions at all? If the soul is plunged into such a G-dless world and cut off from all knowledge of the Divine, by what means could it ever discover the path of truth?
This is why the soul exists in a purely spiritual state before it descends in to this world. In its pre-physical existence, the soul is fortified with the Divine wisdom, knowledge and vision that will empower it in its struggles to transcend and transform the physical reality.
In the words of the Talmud: "The fetus in its mother's womb is taught the entire Torah... When its time comes to emerge into the atmosphere of the world, an angel comes and slaps it on its mouth, making it forget everything."4
An obvious question: If we're made to forget it all, why teach it to us in the first place? But herein lies the entire paradox of knowledge and choice: we can't see the truth, we can't even manifestly know it, but at the same time we do know it, deep inside us. Deep enough that we can choose to ignore it, but also deep enough that wherever we are and whatever we become we can always choose to unearth it. This, in the final analysis, is choice: our choice to pursue the knowledge implanted in our soul or to suppress it.
The Mutual Exclusivity of Achievement and Reward
Thus the stage is set for Phase II: the tests, trials and tribulations of physical life. The characteristics of the physical--its finiteness, its opaqueness, its self-centeredness, its tendency to conceal what lies behind it--form a heavy veil that obscures virtually all knowledge and memory of our Divine source. And yet, deep down we know right from wrong. Somehow, we know that life is meaningful, that we are here to fulfill a Divine purpose; somehow, when confronted with a choice between a G-dly action and an unG-dly one, we know the difference. The knowledge is faint--a dim, subconscious memory from a prior, spiritual state. We can silence it or amplify it--the choice is ours.
Everything physical is, by definition, finite; indeed, that is what makes it a concealment of the infinitude of the Divine. Intrinsic to physical life is that it is finite in time: it ends. Once it ends--once our soul is freed from its physical embodiment--we can no longer achieve and accomplish. But now, finally, we can behold and derive satisfaction from what we have accomplished.
The two are mutually exclusive: achievement precludes satisfaction; satisfaction precludes achievement. Achievement can only take place in the spiritual blindness of the physical world; satisfaction can only take place in the choice-less environment of the spiritual reality.
The Talmud quotes the verse: "You shall keep the mitzvah, the decrees and the laws which I command you today to do them."5 "Today to do them," explains the Talmud, "but not to do them tomorrow. Today to do them, and tomorrow to receive their reward."6 The Ethics expresses it thus: "A single moment of repentance and good deeds in this world is greater than all of the world to come. And a single moment of bliss in the world to come is greater than all of this world."7
It's as if we spent a hundred years watching an orchestra performing a symphony on television--with the sound turned off. We watched the hand-movements of the conductor and the musicians. Sometimes we asked: why are the people on the screen making all these strange motions to no purpose? Sometimes we understood that a great piece of music was being played, but didn't hear a single note. After a hundred years of watching in silence, we watch it again--this time with the sound turned on.
The orchestra is ourselves, and the music--played well or poorly--are the deeds of our lives.
What is Heaven and Hell?
Heaven and hell is where the soul receives its punishment and reward after death. Yes, Judaism believes in, and Jewish traditional sources extensively discuss, punishment and reward in the afterlife (indeed, it is one of the "Thirteen Principles" of Judaism enumerated by Maimonides). But these are a very different "heaven" and "hell" than what one finds described in medieval Christian texts or New Yorker cartoons. Heaven is not a place of halos and harps, nor is hell populated by those red creatures with pitchforks depicted on the label of non-kosher canned meat.
After death, the soul returns to its Divine Source, together with all the G-dliness it has "extracted" from the physical world by using it for meaningful purposes. The soul now relives its experiences on another plane, and experiences the good it accomplished during its physical lifetime as incredible happiness and pleasure, and the negative as incredibly painful.
This pleasure and pain are not reward and punishment in the conventional sense--in the sense that we might punish a criminal by sending him to jail or reward a dedicated employee with a raise. It is rather that we experience our own life in its reality--a reality from which we were sheltered during our physical lifetimes. We experience the true import and effect of our actions. Turning up the volume on that TV set with that symphony orchestra can be intensely pleasurable or intensely painful,8--depending on how we played the music of our lives.
When the soul departs from the body, it stands before the Heavenly Court to give a "judgment and accounting" of its earthly life.9 But the Heavenly Court only does the "accounting" part; the "judgment" part--that only the soul itself can do.10 Only the soul can pass judgment on itself--only it can know and sense the true extent of what it accomplished, or neglected to accomplish, in the course of its physical life. Freed from the limitations and concealments of the physical state, it can now see G-dliness; it can now look back at its own life and experience what it truly was. The soul's experience of the G-dliness it brought into the world with its mitzvot and positive actions is the exquisite pleasure of Gan Eden (the "Garden of Eden"--i.e., Paradise); its experience of the destructiveness it wrought through its lapses and transgressions is the excruciating pain of Gehinom ("Gehenna" or "Purgatory").
The truth hurts. The truth also cleanses and heals. The spiritual pain of gehinom--the soul's pain in facing the truth of its life--cleanses and heals the soul of the spiritual stains and blemishes that its failings and misdeeds have attached to it. Freed of this husk of negativity, the soul is now able to fully enjoy the immeasurable good that its life engendered and "bask in the Divine radiance" emitted by the G-dliness it brought into the world.
For a G-dly soul spawns far more good in its lifetime than evil. The core of the soul is unadulterated goodness; the good we accomplish is infinite, the evil but shallow and superficial. So even the most wicked of souls, say our sages, experiences, at most, twelve months of gehinom, followed by an eternity of heaven. Furthermore, a soul's experience of gehinom can be mitigated by the action of his or her children and loved ones, here on earth. Reciting Kaddish and engaging in other good deeds "in merit of" and "for the elevation of" the departed soul means that the soul, in effect, is continuing to act positively upon the physical world, thereby adding to the goodness of its physical lifetime.11
The soul, on its part, remains involved in the lives of those it leaves behind when it departs physical life. The soul of a parent continues to watch over the lives of his/her children and grandchildren, to derive pride (or pain) from their deeds and accomplishments, and to intercede on their behalf before the Heavenly Throne; the same applies to those to whom a soul was connected with bonds of love, friendship and community. In fact, because the soul is no longer constricted by the limitations of the physical state, its relationship with its loved ones is, in many ways, even deeper and more meaningful than before.
However, while the departed soul is aware and cognizant of all that transpires in the lives of its loved ones, the souls remaining in the physical word are limited to what they can perceive via the five senses as facilitated by their physical bodies. We can impact the soul of a departed loved one through our positive actions, but we cannot communicate with it through conventional means (speech, sight, physical contact, etc.) that, prior to its passing, defined the way that we related to each other. (Indeed, the Torah expressly forbids the idolatrous practices of necromancy, mediumism and similar attempts to "make contact" with the world of the dead.) Hence the occurrence of death, while signifying an elevation for the soul of the departed, is experienced as a tragic loss for those it leaves behind.
Reincarnation: A Second Go
Each individual soul is dispatched to the physical world with its own individualized mission to accomplish. As Jews, we all have the same Torah with the same 613 mitzvot; but each of us has his or her own set of challenges, distinct talents and capabilities, and particular mitzvot which form the crux of his or her mission in life.
At times, a soul may not conclude its mission in a single lifetime. In such cases, it returns to earth for a "second go" to complete the job. This is the concept of gilgul neshamot--commonly referred to as "reincarnation"--extensively discussed in the teachings of Kabbalah.12 This is why we often find ourselves powerfully drawn to a particular mitzvah or cause and make it the focus of our lives, dedicating to it a seemingly disproportionate part of our time and energy: it is our soul gravitating to the "missing pieces" of its Divinely-ordained purpose.13
The World to Come
Just as the individual soul passes through three stages--preparation for its mission, the mission itself, and the subsequent phase of satisfaction and reward--so, too, does Creation as a whole. A chain of spiritual "worlds" precede the physical reality, to serve it as a source of Divine vitality and empowerment. Then comes the era of Olam HaZeh ("This World") in which the Divine purpose of creation is played out. Finally, once humanity as a whole has completed its mission of making the physical world a "dwelling place for G-d," comes the era of universal reward--the World to Come (Olam HaBa).
There is a major difference between a soul's individual "world of reward" in Gan Eden and the universal reward of the World to Come. Gan Eden is a spiritual world, inhabited by souls without physical bodies; the World to Come is a physical world, inhabited by souls with physical bodies14 (though the very nature of the physical will undergo a fundamental transformation, as per below).
In the World to Come, the physical reality will so perfectly "house" and reflect the Divine reality that it will transcend the finitude and temporality which define it today. Thus, while in today's imperfect world the soul can only experience "reward" after it departs from the body and physical life, in the World to Come, the soul and body will be reunited, and will together enjoy the fruits of their labor. Thus the prophets of Israel spoke of a time when all who died will be restored to life: their bodies will be regenerated15 and their souls restored to their bodies. "Death will be eradicated forever"16 and 'the world will be filled with the knowledge of G-d as the water covers the sea."17
This, of course, will spell the end of the "Era of Achievement."18 The veil of physicality, rarified to complete transparency, will no longer conceal the truth of G-d, but will rather express it and reveal it in an even more profound way than the most lofty spiritual reality. Goodness and G-dliness will cease to be something we do and achieve, for it will be what we are. Yet our experience of goodness will be absolute. Body and soul both, reunited as they were before they were separated by death, will inhabit all the good that we accomplished with our freely chosen actions in the challenges and concealments of physical life.
FOOTNOTES
1. Ecclesiastes 12:7.
2. See Body: The Physical World According to Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi and our articles on The Purpose of Creation and A Dwelling for G-d in the Physical World
3. Tanya, chapter 6.
4. Talmud, Nidah 30b.
5. Deuteronomy 7:11.
6. Talmud, Eruvin 22a.
7. Ethics of the Fathers 4:17.
8. Thus the Sages speak about a "Gehenna of Fire," in which we experience the full destructive "heat" of our illicit desires, anger and hatreds; and a "Gehenna of Snow," in which we are exposed to the "coldness" of our moments of indifference to G-d and to our fellows.
9. Ethics of the Fathers 3:1; et al.
10. Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov.
11. This is why there is a greater emphasis on the recitation of Kaddish and other actions for the elevation of a departed soul during the first year after death.
12. Indeed, the Kabbalists say that these days--after 6,000 years of human history--a "new" soul is a rarity; the overwhelming majority of us are reincarnated souls, returned to earth to fill the gaps of a previous lifetime.
13. For more on the subject, see our articles on Reincarnation.
14. This is actually a matter of contention between two great Jewish thinkers and Torah authorities, Maimonides and Nachmanides; the teachings of Kabbalah and Chassidism follow the approach of Nachmonides, who sees the ultimate reward as occurring in a world of embodied souls. For more on this, see The Resurrection of the Dead.
15. Interestingly, long before the discovery of genetics and the DNA the Talmud talks about a tiny, indestructible bone in the body called luz from which the entire body will be "rebuilt" after it returned to dust.
16. Isaiah 25:8.
17. Isaiah 11:9
18. The Talmud goes so far as to quote the verse (Ecclesiastes 12:1), "There will come years of which you will say: I have no desire in them," and declare: "This refers to the days of the Messianic Era, in which there is neither merit nor obligation" (Talmud, Shabbat 151b).
By Shlomo Yaffe and Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Yanki Tauber is content editor of Chabad.org.
Rabbi Shlomo Yaffe, spiritual leader of Congregation Agudas Achim of West Hartford, Connecticut, is on the editorial staff of Chabad.org
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I've decided not to let lack of experience and a few disagreements stop me from posting this. I will say the besides "reality" TV the most sexist portrayal on TV is sitcom Dads.
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=66804722§ion=/f/p
The Dumb Father
by Yisrael Feuerman
Too many fathers think parenting is a woman's domain.
Friends of mine, a couple in their late 30s, recently asked for advice:
“Monica, our 6-year-old daughter, just started first grade," the mother began. "She’s very unhappy, but she won’t tell us why. She comes home in a sour mood on the verge of tears, saying she doesn’t want to go back and she has always liked school."
I turned to Dave, her husband, who nodded solemnly in agreement.
“She is an adorable girl,” the mother continued. “Lately she doesn't seem to want to play with friends and she is noshing all the time."
As it turned out, the little girl confided in her big sister that during recess she asked the other girls if she could play with them and they cruelly said “No.” Their daughter was filled with shame and embarrassment.
The mother wondered if she should talk to the teacher or the principal, and then said something about bullying in schools –- an obviously very important topic. The mother spoke for both of them as the father sat quietly. But Dave, who I knew from a variety of circumstances, is no dope. He always has something pithy or on the mark to say about whatever might come up in synagogue or in the study group we both belong to.
I turned to Dave: "What’s your take?"
“Everything my wife says is true. Monica is not a happy camper, though she usually is.”
The mother and I brainstormed some more. Dave said nothing. His silence suggested that he was receding and tuning out. He was in the room in presence only.
I wondered why. Maybe he had his own memories of being bullied. That would be most natural because our children’s experiences almost always evoke our own childhood.
But many men are reluctant to contribute emotionally at home because they feel it is “their wife’s territory.” In many homes the mother is the unspoken head of all the touchy-feely emotional issues. She’s the resident expert and the man automatically yields to her expertise.
But is it really yielding? Dave isn't the type to yield easily. He is a competitive guy on the court, at work, even at shul. He doesn’t like to lose.
Popular media is forever reducing dad to a well-meaning boob-in-chief.
You want to know a secret? Most men don’t like to lose and they are unlikely to play if they think they will. And at home we lose most of the time -- the wife knows the ins and outs in ways that men don't know. So some men stay out, or out of desperation, they unwittingly thwart their wives.
Popular media is forever reducing dad to a well-meaning boob-in-chief -- an emotional, clueless klutz and a figure of fun. (Think: The Simpsons, or Berenstain Bears.) But the Torah takes fatherhood very seriously. The Jewish father is most decidedly not a clown.
The Torah says, "Shema bni mussar avicha v’al titosh Toras imecha -- Heed the lessons of your father and the teachings of your mother." A child must hear from both.
I brought up the idea with Dave. Why didn’t he speak? Why did he treat himself as though his job was just to show up, shlep furniture, and write checks?
He gave an embarrassed smile. “I’m not so sure of my place,” he finally offered. "Many times, I’m not sure what to say or do, so I leave it to those more competent than me,” he said, gesturing toward his wife.
I offered a question or two: What was Monica’s play like at home? Did she play at least some of the time with her father as well as her mother and sister? This was discussed for a short period, and then a few minutes before we were to end, Dave said he had an idea: Monica should take along an attractive toy -- maybe even a disposable camera with a flash, and instead of asking to play, she should say, “Who wants to take pictures with me?" A lot of kids will gravitate to her.
“Kids need gadgets,” he said rather succinctly, “to get things going.”
It was natural that a man would come up with this idea, I thought. Men have an instinctive feel for the usefulness of tools in the school yard and in social settings, the new bicycle, the sophisticated electronic device, a cool car.
David knew he had a good idea, (we later found out it was a bulls-eye with Monica) but then he had a revelation: “I make myself ‘dumb’ in front of my wife. I tell myself I am being gracious or whatever, but truth is, I really don’t know why I do it. I’m probably just afraid to compete,” he offered somewhat in jest.
I thought there was more than a little truth in his words. Fathers, when you are tempted to “go dumb” in front of your family, consider that you may be trying to avoid uncomfortable feelings, you may fear that you will look foolish in front of her or in front of the family or yourself.
There are few things more damaging to a child than an absent father.
You must resist these fears and speak up anyway. Your children need you. There are few things more damaging to a child than an absent father. Even if you don’t have the vaguest idea of what to say to or do, have no fear! You may goof up and say or suggest the “wrong” thing, but time and experience will teach you to get it right. And for goodness sakes! Take advantage of those runs to the supermarket to spend some “alone” time with your kid. Ask your son questions he will want to respond to. Take an interest in your daughter’s school and play life. Ask them what they want from life, from you.
Mothers, pull back. Create a space for the fathers to enter. Resist the temptations and false satisfactions of being the “superior” parent. If your husband goes “dumb,” encourage him to talk.
The worst thing either parent can do is withdraw from the game. If both mother and father play, everyone wins.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/f/p/66804722.html
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Amen.
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What Kind of G‑d Would Ask You to Sacrifice Your Son?
a conversation
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/326412/jewish/Sacrifice-Your-Son.htm
By Yanki Tauber
Skeptic: I assume even you guys have a problem with this one. G‑d testing Abraham by ordering him to sacrifice his son! And--even worse--Abraham rushing to fulfill the macabre command. Now if that's not the epitome of everything wrong with religion...
Believer: Personally, I have no problem with it. Though I admit it's not as easy for me to explain to a skeptic as, for example, the story of the Exodus.
Skeptic: You have no problem with it? G‑d not only condoning, but actually asking for the sacrifice of a human life as a demonstration of faith? If that's how you feel about it, you're no different from the suicide bombers who believe they're killing themselves and scores of innocent men, women and children because G‑d wants them to...!
Believer: Aren't you leaving something out? If you're going to read the Akeidah story, read it to the end.
Skeptic: I know. In the end Isaac isn't killed. But that's almost besides the point.
Believer: No, that is the point. Or at least a very important point of the story. After Abraham demonstrates the depth of his faith and commitment to G‑d with his willingness to sacrifice Isaac, G‑d commands Abraham, "Do not reach out you hand to the lad! Do not do anything to him!" G‑d makes it clear that He does NOT want us to offer human sacrifices to Him.
This gets repeated many times throughout the Torah. The Torah expressly forbids human sacrifice, and calls it an "abomination." We serve G‑d by living a G‑dly life and giving life to others, not by dying and killing. Judaism celebrates life and mourns death, not vice versa.
Skeptic: Ok, so let's say that G‑d wants to make the point that He's a G‑d who desires life, not death. Why does He have to go through the whole sadistic spiel of getting Abraham to truss up his beloved child like a lamb and lift the slaughtering knife over the kid's outstretched neck, before announcing, "No, never mind, I don't want you to do this"? He could simply have revealed Himself to Abraham and said: "Abraham, I know that all your neighbors are heavily into this, sacrificing their kids to their gods, but listen, that's not what I want. I want you to be the father of a people who shun this kind of thing, and teach everyone else how bad it is."
Believer: But if G‑d did only that, what would everyone have said? "Oh, that's Abraham, with his no-sacrifices-needed religion. He calls it a "life-affirming" faith, but he's just a wimp. The simple truth is that he's not as committed as we are. He's like those limousine liberals with "principles"--until it affects their own pocket or comfort."
Skeptic: Hey, I resent that.
Believer: Sorry. Seriously, do you know what Hassan Nasrallah said?
Skeptic: You mean that Hezbullah guy?
Believer: Yes. He said, "We're going to win this fight. You know why? Because the Jews want to live, and we want to die."
Skeptic: I hate to say this, but the guy has a point. They'll always have that advantage over us--that they're happy to die for what they believe in, and we're not.
Believer: No, he's wrong. If the reason we desired life and did everything in our power to avoid death was that we're a bunch self-absorbed spoiled rich kids who cannot imagine anything more important than our own puny existence, then he'd be right. But the Akeidah proves him wrong. The Akeidah shows that our commitment to life comes from a place no less powerful and absolute--indeed, far more powerful and absolute--than the suicide bomber's pursuit of death and destruction.
Abraham demonstrated that we are prepared to give our life for G‑d--that we recognize that there is a truth and reality that is greater than our own existence and we are absolutely committed to serving this higher truth. So when G‑d tells us that that's not what He wants from us--that He wants us not to die and kill for Him but to live and nurture life as His "partner in creation"--our pursuit of life is motivated and empowered by our commitment to G‑d, and is as absolute and as powerful as its source.
Skeptic: But wouldn't all this be true also if G‑d and Abraham hadn't staged their scary little show on Mount Moriah?
Believer: No, it wouldn't. It may be true in theory, but theories don't necessarily mean anything in real life. Unless Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son for G‑d was actually experienced by him in the most tangible way, the first Jew could not have forged a commitment to life that's as powerful as the evildoer's worship of death.
The whole point of Judaism is not to die for G‑d, but to live for G‑d. But unless you're prepared to quite literally die for G‑d, you cannot truly live for G‑d.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
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Souls in the Rain
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/70046/jewish/Souls-in-the-Rain.htm
By Yosef Y. Jacobson
If G-d is "perfect," as Judaism says, what prompted Him to create the universe? What void was He seeking to fill?
The answer provided in Jewish Mysticism is that G-d desired marriage. Marriage necessitates the existence of someone distinct from yourself with whom to share your life, a union of husband and wife. G-d chose humanity as His bride.
What a marriage this has been--a roller coaster of romance, affection, quarrels and estrangement. In every generation, many counselors advocated a divorce while others proclaimed the Groom dead. Yet, the relationship has endured because both partners intrinsically know that they belong together. When all veils are removed, man manifestly yearns for union with G-d.
According to the Kabbalah, the High Holiday season is the annual experience of the cosmic matrimony between G-d and humanity. The five key spiritual moments of the season parallel the basic phases of a conventional courtship and union. The holidays invite us to journey through this process again and rejuvenate the relationship.
The Courtship
The Hebrew month of Elul precedes the High Holidays. This month is described in Chassidic teachings as a time when "the King goes out to the field to meet with His people, greeting them with kindness and tenderness, displaying a joyous face to all." We, in turn, "open our hearts to G-d."
This time provides us with an opportunity to get to know G-d.
The Groom Proposes
The world goes haywire, says Master Kabbalist Rabbi Issac Luriah. "During the night of Rosh Hashanah," he writes, "the consciousness animating the universe becomes frail and weak." The great Jewish mystics would, in fact, feel physically weak during the night of Rosh Hashanah.
All of existence was brought into being for the sake of this proposed marriage. If we refuse Him, then it was all in vain. The entire cosmos awaits our decision.
The Bride Commits
On the morning of Rosh Hashanah, a piercing sound rises from the Earth: the cry of the shofar. It is a simple cry, expressing man's yearning to connect with the Divine.
We have decided. Our answer is yes.
The Wedding
The wedding day arrives: Yom Kippur. A day described in the Kabbalah as "the time of oneness" in which cosmic bride and groom forge a bond for eternity.
In the Jewish tradition, bride and groom fast on their wedding day. On the day we unite with G-d, we abstain from food or drink as well. The Talmud teaches that upon marriage, all the sins of the groom and bride are forgiven.
That's why this day is called Yom Kippur, "the day of atonement."
The marriage ceremony begins with the stirring melody of Kol Nidre, in which we remove the power from vows and addictions that tie us down. During these profound moments, we attempt to free ourselves from compulsive behavior and negative habits and let go of resentment, animosity, anger, fear and envy.
The traditional Jewish marriage ceremony culminates with the bride and groom entering a secluded room (cheder yichud in Hebrew) to spend time alone with each other. Yom Kippur culminates with the Ne'ilah, or closure prayer, so called because as the sun of Yom Kippur sets, the gates of heaven close--with us inside.
During Ne'ilah, every soul is alone with G-d.
The Celebration
When the bride and groom exit their private room, the party begins. From Yom Kippur we leap into the seven-day festival of Sukkot, described in the Torah as "the time of our Joy."
These days are filled with feasting and ecstatic happiness, celebrating the union between G-d and His people.
Union
The wedding feast is over. The guests and relatives have returned home. In a consummation of the relationship, bride and groom experience intimacy for the first time, their lives melded together as a husband and wife.
Hence, following the seven days of Sukkot, we reach the zenith of the High Holiday season: Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah, described in the Kabbalah as the "time of intimacy with the Divine." During these two charged days the joy reaches its peak, as G-d and His people merge into a seamless whole. A Divine seed is planted in each of our hearts.
That's why we recite special prayers for rain on the festival of Shemini Atzeret. What is rain? In the midst of intimacy between heaven and earth, procreative drops from heaven are absorbed, fertilized and nurtured by mother-earth, which in time will give birth to its botanical children.
The Ordinary Month
The honeymoon comes to an end and the excitement begins to fade. Now the marriage becomes about caring for each other and demonstrating trust and loyalty as we work through the daily grind of life.
Out of the twelve months in the Jewish calendar, the only one lacking a single festive day immediately follows the High Holiday season. The Hebrew month of Cheshvan is the time to build a genuine relationship with our marriage Partner in our everyday lives. This is the time to discover the joy born out of a continous relationship with G-d.
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Marriage: From Caterpillar to Butterfly
by Rabbi Yissocher Frand
Lessons from the first marriage in history.
When we study the chapters of the Torah dealing with Creation, it almost seems as though Eve was created as an afterthought. Adam was created alone, and only afterward did God say, “It is not good that man be alone; I will make him a helper corresponding to him” (Bereishis 2:18).
In his commentary to this verse, Ramban states that Adam, the First Man, must have had a method of procreating even before Eve was fashioned. All creatures were created male and female in order to procreate. If so, why was it necessary for God to make Eve into a separate being? Wouldn’t it have been more convenient to be self-sufficient — to be able to bear and raise children without the need for another person? Isn’t that total independence a utopian dream?
The answer appears in the verse quoted above. "It is not good that man be alone." There is something “not good” about being alone. The entire purpose of Creation is for us to perfect ourselves, and one of the most meaningful ways of doing so is by learning to do for others. In the words of Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin “For this is the basic principle of mankind: he was not created for himself, but to help others, as much as is possible for him to do with the strengths he was given.”
Had Adam functioned on his own, he would have been lacking one of the keystones of humanity and would have been branded "not good" for life.
We all entered this world as consummate takers.
We all entered this world as consummate takers. Anyone who has had a baby or has been in close contact with one knows that babies are the greatest takers. They never worry about anyone else. Their entire focus in life is to be fed, warm, dry, and cuddled, and they have absolutely no interest in how their needs affect you. They couldn’t care less whether you had a hard day or whether you haven’t slept for two nights. Their motto is, “Feed me; clothe me; diaper me; burp me; love me; take care of me.”
And that lasts … for a long while.
Pardon me for reminding you, but you, too, were born this way. You, too, were once self-centered, self-absorbed, and narcissistic. The purpose of life is to transcend that natural inclination toward taking and to become a giver. It is a lifelong endeavor, but if there is one turning point at which we must make the switch from taker to giver, that point is the day of our marriage. Marriage requires us to undergo a metamorphosis -- to go from caterpillar to butterfly.
In marriage, we can no longer think primarily about ourselves. The “me” must become “we,” and the “I” must become “us.” That is the entire purpose of marriage, and that is why God said, “It is not good that man be alone."
This does not mean that a person who never finds his or her soul mate is doomed. One of the most famous charity workers in Jerusalem is a man who never married, and he is a giver of the highest degree. But the process of learning to be a giver is far more difficult if one is not married. The ideal situation, which is what God had in mind for each of us, is to marry and have someone to whom to give.
There is a common misconception that one’s love for another person increases when he or she receives from that person. The true way to build love is to give unconditionally. As we have mentioned elsewhere, the Hebrew word ahavah, love, is related to the word hav, to give.
Since giving builds love, we can perhaps understand the inordinate obsession people have for their pets. If children are the hardest thing in the world, pets are the easiest. They don’t give you heartache, they don’t need braces, and they don’t have to be accepted into a seminary or school. But above all, you have to give to pets unconditionally. That is why people are literally in love with their pets. They treat them better than they treat their children.
When I travel, I generally do not make conversation with my seatmates. I exchange pleasantries, and then settle in for a flight in solitude. Once, however, I was flying to Brazil, which is a 10-hour flight. When you are going to spend 10 hours sitting next to someone, you feel that you must make some attempt at conversation. My seatmate turned out to be a cardiac-care nurse who was on her way to a medical conference. She was obviously an intelligent individual. In the midst of an otherwise sensible conversation, she took out her wallet and said -- and I’ll quote verbatim -- “I want to show you the love of my life.” She flipped open her wallet and showed me a collage of her three children, lovingly surrounding the most prized member of the family: her dog. “This is the love of my life,” she said, pointing to the dog -- lest I foolishly assume that she was talking about her children.
“What kind of dog is it?” I asked, for lack of a better rejoinder.
“It’s a Rottweiler,” she said proudly.
This dog was the love of her life because she had to give so much to it unconditionally.
I don’t know much about dogs, but I do know that you stay far away from Rottweilers. But this was the love of her life. Why? Because she had to give so much to it. Now, unlike her children, her dog probably returned her love. It was probably very happy to see her. But that is not where her overwhelming love came from. It came from unconditional giving.
For Her Sake
To make a comparison from the ridiculous to the sublime, when we look at episodes in the lives of our great rabbis, we find Torah giants whose thoughtfulness and willingness to give to their wives made their marriages so beautiful. I could write an entire book of such stories, but I’ll share one that has had the most profound impact on me. It is a story that occurred with Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Twerski, the Hornosteipel Rebbe of Milwaukee.
Two months before his passing, the Rebbe was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. From the Rebbe’s 50 years of experience visiting sick patients, he understood that his end was near. He summoned his son, Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski (who is a medical doctor), to discuss his options.
“The doctors suggest that I undergo chemotherapy,” the Rebbe said. “It is ‘blessing in vain’ [i.e. — a waste of time], no?”
The son nodded in agreement; based on his medical knowledge, his father had already suffered irreversible damage.
“I am going to suffer terribly from chemotherapy, right?” asked the Rebbe.
Rabbi Dr. Twerski nodded again.
“It is not worthwhile to go through it,” concluded the Rebbe. “It is not going to help, and I will suffer. I am going to inform the doctors that I don’t want chemotherapy.”
Painful as it was to confirm his father’s analysis, Rabbi Dr. Twerski had to agree that it was the right move.
While this conversation transpired, Rebbetzin Twerski was outside discussing her husband’s illness with the attending physician, who told her that chemotherapy was an option. She walked into her husband’s room, and, unaware of the previous conversation, she said, “I want you to have chemotherapy.”
A moment later the attending physician walked in, and he said, “So, are we going through with chemotherapy?”
“Yes,” replied the Rebbe, leaving his son opened-mouthed.
Later that day, Rabbi Dr. Twerski had an opportunity to ask his father why he had changed his mind so quickly.
Here is a man who knew that there would be no payback.
“We both know that the chemotherapy won’t help. We both know that I am going to suffer from it,” said the Rebbe. “If I don’t try the treatment, however, your mother will not forgive herself. She will always think to herself, ‘I should have insisted that he have chemotherapy. I’m sure he would have lived longer if he had done so.’
“I don’t want your mother to suffer from such guilt, so I’ll do it for her sake,” the Rebbe concluded.
We all have times in marriage in which we go beyond the call of duty for our spouses. In many cases, however, our actions are fueled by a “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” attitude. Here is a man who knew that there would be no payback. But he was ready to suffer through the horrific physical discomfort of the chemotherapy anyway, just to spare his wife feelings of guilt.
A Second Opinion
There are other reasons why Eve was fashioned from Adam. A spouse plays an important role that can be fulfilled only by a separate party: a spouse provides a second opinion.
One of the basic human traits is that we have a difficult time viewing situations in an objective manner. Our vested interests will taint our view on a matter, even if we try to ignore it. It is important, therefore, to have the input of an impartial second party to help us view our lives properly.
The problem is that we also have egos, we crave independence, and we tend to chafe when people tell us what to do -- especially when that person is an outsider. This leads to a situation in which we cannot judge issues in life on our own lest our subjectivity lead us to make a mistake, but when objective observers weigh in with advice, we are inclined to reject their opinion.
God did us a great favor. He provided us with an insider who can provide us with an unbiased, loving opinion. A spouse has the advantage of being part of you — as our Sages said, “Ishto kegufo -- one’s wife is like himself” — but he or she is also objective enough to tell you, “I’m sorry, but you are viewing this issue incorrectly.”
The Netziv finds an allusion to this idea in the words, “It is not good that man be alone, I will make for him a helper, corresponding to him [an eizer kenegdo].” Although the term kenegdo may be translated as “corresponding to him,” the more common translation is “opposite him or opposing him.” This leads the Talmud (Yevamos 63b) to point out that eizer kenegdo seems to be an oxymoron. A wife is either a helper to her husband or opposite him. How can she be both?
On occasion, the "helper" must be “opposing him.”
The Netziv explains that a wife is indeed a helper, but the help may sometimes come in the form of opposing him. It may be difficult for us to hear our spouses tell us, “Honey, you’re making a mistake,” but the alternative is to stumble through life repeating our blunders or committing even greater ones. On occasion, the "helper" must be “opposing him.”
It is important to remember that, like everything else in life, "opposing him" can be overdone. Have you ever noticed that a salt shaker has several holes, while a pepper shaker has only a few? Food is enhanced by the sharpness of pepper, but only if it is applied in small measure. Criticism, like pepper, must be used sparingly. If you lay it on too thick, it has a negative effect.
Remember the Past
I would like to draw one more lesson from the very first marriage in history, and it is one that we must all incorporate into our marriages if they are to succeed.
As we all know, on the very first day of that marriage, God told Adam that he could partake of the fruit of any tree in the Garden of Eden except for the Tree of Knowledge. Adam relayed the commandment to Eve, but before long, the Serpent enticed her into eating from the Tree of Knowledge, and she, in turn, gave Adam to eat from the tree. This sin affected the world in the worst possible way, for one of the curses that came upon mankind as a result of that sin was death.
Directly following the verse in which God informs Adam that he would eventually die, as would all of his offspring, the Torah states, “The man called his wife’s name Chava, Eve, because she had become the mother of all the living” (Bereishis 3:20).
Have you ever noticed this strange juxtaposition? If we were to name a person who just brought death upon mankind, we might have been tempted to call her Misah (death). It may not sound as good as "Chavah," but it certainly would have been appropriate given the situation that had just unfolded.
At the moment when all seemed bleak, Adam took note of what chesed, kindness, is all about.
The Talmud (Sotah 14a) states that the Torah begins with kindness and ends with kindness. The final verses of the Torah deal with God burying Moses. Performing a burial is called a chesed shel emes, a true kindness. Where is the chesed at the beginning of the Torah? As a result of partaking of the Tree of Knowledge, Adam and Eve were suddenly aware of the fact that they were unclothed, and they became bashful. Although this bashfulness was a result of their sin, God nevertheless performed a kindness and made clothing for them. This, says the Talmud, is the first chesed mentioned in the Torah.
Left to our own devices, we might have assumed that there was an immeasurable kindness that preceded this one. God had no need for us mortals in the world. He created us to enable us to reap the reward for our mitzvot. Why doesn’t the Talmud consider the creation of mankind the first kindness in history
The creation of Adam was indeed a chesed, but not a particularly difficult one. Adam was the most perfect being ever created, and he was to perform an important function in the world. But when Adam and Eve sinned, bringing death and destruction to the pristine new world, they felt terrible about themselves. When God showed them that He was willing to look beyond their mistakes and love them and take care of them despite their wrongdoings, that was a tremendous kindness.
If our marriages are to succeed, we must all learn to look beyond our spouses’ mistakes.
Adam perceived that, and put that form of chesed into practice. Eve had committed the greatest mistake imaginable. No one would ever make such a grave error again. Adam looked at her and said, “You are still Eve. You are still the mother of all mankind.”
If our marriages are to succeed, we must all learn to look beyond our spouses’ mistakes. We must learn not to narrow our focus to the present state of affairs, but to look at the totality of our relationships and consider all the good our spouses have done for us.
Don’t dwell on mistakes. Forgive and forget. Remember, no woman will ever make a greater mistake than Eve did. Even forgetting to mail the mortgage check is not as bad as eating from the Tree of Knowledge. (It’s pretty bad, but not as bad.) Look at the totality of your relationship, and remember that your spouse is the one who has provided you with so much happiness and blessing.
Patience for the Future
The Hebrew word for marriage is nisu’in, which has its roots in the word naso, to carry. In marriage, one must carry — and sometimes it can indeed be a schlep — his or her spouse’s foibles and negative traits, along with the idiosyncrasies that so endear us to one another.
In our world of instant communication, we are no longer used to waiting. In order to succeed in marriage, however, you must have the patience to allow your spouse to change, to grow, and to overcome the obstacles that he or she has been born with. People do change, but it takes years. Marriage is not instant. Changing oneself is not instant. You must learn to have patience with the other person’s foibles and carry them until they can change.
And that is what marriage is about — learning to have patience to allow the other person to become better, and to schlep around their idiosyncrasies until that happens.
Like everything that is worth having, a happy, successful marriage requires work. But there is not a more worthwhile investment in the world. Nothing is as rewarding as a good marriage.
Whether you are a single person -- may God send your soul mate speedily -- a newlywed, or an old hand at marriage, remember that marriage is about giving, about caring enough to criticize respectfully, about willing to forget and to forego -- about willing to make that change from caterpillar to butterfly.
Excerpted from Rabbi Frand's new book, "It's Never Too Little, It's Never Too Late, It's Never Enough" Artscroll publications.
Click here to order your copy.
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Is My Mirror Telling the Truth?
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1012489/jewish/Is-My-Mirror-Telling-the-Truth.htm
by Shalvi Weissman
If I could be given any gift to help me in my job as a teacher, I know exactly what I would ask for. I haven't ever seen one, but I know that I need it. I want a special kind of mirror that I can hold up for my students to gaze into, and instead of seeing themselves as they always do, they would see themselves as I see them.
I first began to wish for this magical mirror while sitting with a student who had spent the last twenty or so hours in bed after taking a handful of Tylenol and downing it with a six pack of beer. She told me that she was hideously fat, too ugly to be seen in public, and while she didn't want to kill herself, she wanted to get messed up enough to not feel anything for a while. In front of me sat a lovely young woman; a warm, caring, intelligent and attractive girl who was adored by her fellow students and the other teachers. She saw someone else. I don't quite understand who it was she was seeing, or why, but as I sat and cried with her I told her about my magic mirror, holding up my hand and staring into it, as if together we might be able to wish it into existence.
I don't quite understand who she was seeing Yesterday I had a class with a different young woman. She listened and read, shared ideas and a song. She seemed to me to have had the kind of childhood I would have picked, had I been given a choice, and she seemed to be headed for a promising future, yet somewhere along the line something must have gone wrong. After class I heard from another staff member that this same girl's mind is so filled with suicidal and other destructive thoughts that she is afraid to be alone with herself. Again I wished for my magical mirror.
With these thoughts fresh in my mind I opened my e-mail. A picture appeared. In the thumbnail were a mother and daughter with huge smiles, arm in arm, rejoicing together at a wedding. When I clicked on the picture it came up huge on the screen. Now I saw wrinkles, age marks, crooked teeth and spotty mascara. I went back to the thumbnail, a picture of pure happiness. After having seen the close up I noticed the wrinkles in the smaller picture, too, but they were in the supporting role and not center stage. It was still a beautiful picture.
They see the thumbnail, not the big picture I do the same thing to myself. There are people who see great things in me, but for the most part they are looking at the thumbnail, not the close-up. They don't see me first thing in the morning with a smushy face lined with sleep – but not enough of it – getting aggravated over every little obstacle between me and the bus that will come to collect my children, even if the "obstacle" is the children themselves! They don't see the inner struggles, the ugly thoughts, the stupid and hurtful mistakes made in the privacy of my own mind and home. I tend to zoom in on the negative, hoping that by doing so I might be able to fix something, though in truth more progress has been made in my life when I've focused on the vision of my heart, and not the details of my sharp eye.
Vision. A friend of mine once asked a great woman, a woman who raised many children, each of whom became a rabbi, teacher, kabbalist, or community leader—a success in every true measure of success: "Can you give me some advice on raising children? How did you do what you did?"
She answered briefly, after a few moments of thought, "Tzarich chazon – You need vision." Although chazon also means prophecy, a mother or teacher does not need to be a prophet in order to see the greatness of a child's soul – but it does take prophetic vision.
What made this great woman's children as great as she herself was not only the vision that she held for them. From the day they were born, and maybe even before, she acted in accordance with her vision. Every day, every moment of their childhood, she saw them not only as children but as leaders-in-training, and dealt with them accordingly, teaching and demonstrating the tools and traits that they would need for their trades.
I see my student as diamonds In Hebrew the word for education is chinuch. It contains within it the word chein, grace. Maybe the essence of education is seeing the true grace hidden within our students. When we see the shine of their souls and reflect it back to them, it inspires them to aspire to reach their true potential.
There is a beautiful story of a woman who waited one Sunday to receive a dollar from the Lubavitcher Rebbe. It was the custom that on Sundays hundreds of people would come to receive a dollar, intended for charity, and a blessing as they passed by. This woman waited for a number of hours in line. When it was finally her turn, she asked the Rebbe how he had the stamina to stand for so long when she, much younger in years, was exhausted. He responded: "When you count diamonds, you don't get tired." No matter what the issue, concern, or baggage a person approached the Rebbe with, he saw past all the muck. He saw the beauty within. He saw the diamond.
So, too, I view my students as diamonds and I have a vision for them. I see their beauty and strength from a perspective that they do not yet have. I see some of the close-up with it's fault lines that seem to go on forever, but I've been around long enough not to believe them. I see the bigger picture of who they are today, and hold in my heart a vision of who they may yet be. I have yet to be asked for my magical wish list, but if I continue to teach and treat my students in accordance with the vision of my heart, I believe that they will come to see that image in the mirror on the wall.
by Shalvi Weissman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Shalvi Weissman is a mother, teacher, singer and writer living in Jerusalem with her husband and three children.
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Iggeres HaRamban - The Ramban's Letter
According to tradition, after his exile from Spain for his defense of Judaism, the great Ramban (Nachmanides) sent this letter to his son
http://www.pirchei.co.il/specials/ramban/ramban.htm
Hear, my son, the instruction of your father and don't forsake the teaching of your mother (Mishlei 1:8). Get into the habit of always speaking calmly to everyone. This will prevent you from anger, a serious character flaw which causes people to sin. As our Rabbis said (Nedarim 22a):Whoever flares up in anger is subject to the discipline of Gehinnom as it is says in (Koheles 12:10), "Cast out anger from your heart, and [by doing this] remove evil from your flesh." "Evil" here means Gehinnom, as we read (Mishlei 16:4): "...and the wicked are destined for the day of evil." Once you have distanced yourself from anger, the quality of humility will enter your heart.This radiant quality is the finest of all admirable traits (see Avodah Zarah 20b), because (Mishlei 22:4), "Following humility comes the fear of Hashem."
Through humility you will also come to fear Hashem. It will cause you to always think about (see Avos 3:1) where you came from and where you are going, and that while alive you are only like a maggot and a worm, and the same after death. It will also remind you before Whom you will be judged, the King of Glory, as it is stated (I Melachim 8:27; Mishlei 15:11), "Even the heaven and the heavens of heaven can't contain You" -- "How much less the hearts of people!" It is also written (Yirmeyahu 23:24), "Do I not fill heaven and earth? says Hashem."
When you think about all these things, you will come to fear Hashem who created you, and you will protect yourself from sinning and therefore be happy with whatever happens to you. Also, when you act humbly and modestly before everyone, and are afraid of Hashem and of sin, the radiance of His glory and the spirit of the Shechina will rest upon you, and you will live the life of the World-to-Come!
And now, my son, understand and observe that whoever feels that he is greater than others is rebelling against the Kingship of Hashem, because he is adorning himself with His garments, as it is written (Tehillim 93:1), "Hashem reigns, He wears clothes of pride." Why should one feel proud? Is it because of wealth? Hashem makes one poor or rich (I Shmuel 2:7). Is it because of honor? It belongs to Hashem, as we read (I Divrei Hayamim 29:12), "Wealth and honor come from You." So how could one adorn himself with Hashem's honor? And one who is proud of his wisdom surely knows that Hashem "takes away the speech of assured men and reasoning from the sages" (Iyov 12:20)!? So we see that everyone is the same before Hashem, since with His anger He lowers the proud and when He wishes He raises the low. So lower yourself and Hashem will lift you up!
Therefore, I will now explain to you how to always behave humbly. Speak gently at all times, with your head bowed, your eyes looking down to the ground and your heart focusing on Hashem. Don't look at the face of the person to whom you are speaking. Consider everyone as greater than yourself. If he is wise or rich, you should give him respect. If he is poor and you are richer -- or wiser -- than he, consider yourself to be more guilty than he, and that he is more worthy than you, since when he sins it is through error, while yours is deliberate and you should know better!
In all your actions, words and thoughts, always regard yourself as standing before Hashem, with His Shechinah above you, for His glory fills the whole world. Speak with fear and awe, as a slave standing before his master. Act with restraint in front of everyone. When someone calls you, don't answer loudly, but gently and softly, as one who stands before his master.
Torah should always be learned diligently, so you will be able to fulfill it's commands. When you arise from your learning reflect carefully on what you have studied, in order to see what in it that you can be put into practice. Examine your actions every morning and evening, and in this way every one of your days will be spent in teshuvah (repentance).
Concentrate on your prayers by removing all worldly concerns from your heart. Prepare your heart before Hashem, purify your thoughts and think about what you are going to say. If you follow this in all your daily actions, you will not come to sin. This way everything you do will be proper, and your prayer will be pure, clear, clean, devout and acceptable to Hashem, as it is written (Tehillim 10:17), "When their heart is directed to You, listen to them."
Read this letter at least once a week and neglect none of it. Fulfill it, and in so doing, walk with it forever in the ways of Hashem, may he be blessed,so that you will succeed in all your ways. Thus you will succeed and merit the World to Come which lies hidden away for the righteous. Every day that you shall read this letter, heaven shall answer your heart's desires. Amen, Sela!
This translation is part of the Worldwide network of learning materials of Pirchei Shoshanim (c)1996.
Pirchei Shoshanim is part of the Shema Yisrael Torah Network which can be found at
http://www.shemayisrael.co.il or through e-mail, pirchei@shemayisrael.co.il
or by telephone at 732-370-3344 or fax 732-367-6608.
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Yesterday was one year since the terrorist attack in Mumbai
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/775052/jewish/Broken-But-Not-Crushed.htm
Broken But Not Crushed
Tragedy in Mumbai
By Chana Weisberg
By the time my ten year old son returned home from school, late yesterday afternoon, the situation for Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, the beloved directors of Chabad of Mumbai, was not looking good. Conflicting reports were circulating but it was confirmed that their two year old son, Moshe, had been rescued by his nanny who managed to escape with him in blood splattered clothes while both his parents were reportedly lying unconscious, still hostages to the terrorists.
For the entire evening as well as this morning, our minds and hearts were consumed with thoughts and prayers for the Holtzbergs. But while we all prayed and hoped beyond hope, a little voice in the back of my mind asserted that the situation did not bode well. Reality was sadly reality and the more time that expired the worse it looked.
He also asked if he could bring me a tea, or do a chore. Any chore.
From the moment that my son came home, he, like Jews the world over, was consumed with the situation. He mentioned how his class had recited Psalms for over two hours that day. But that didn't prevent him from immediately beginning to recite some more…And more…And then patiently trying to convince his four year old sister to repeat just another chapter together with him.
Later, I noticed him slip some of his money in the pushka. He also asked if he could bring me a tea, or do a chore. Any chore. It was clear that he was trying to gather as many positive deeds in the Holtzberg's merit.
Like the rest of us, my son was glued to the news sites on the computer, for any shred of good news about this family. At one point, he mentioned to me how he had heard that Moshe had cried for his parents in the middle of the night. He was visibly affected by this image.
"But," he assured me confidently, "tonight is Rosh Chodesh (the new month of) Kislev, the day that the Rebbe recovered from his heart attack. And tonight," at this point his voice rose slightly, "we'll also hear how the Holtzbergs will be saved. It will be good!"
I listened and I nodded. "G‑d willing," I replied.
And yet that little voice in the back of my head once again wondered if perhaps I should warn my sensitive child that things didn't always turn out for the good. Perhaps I should prepare him for what we hoped we would never hear, but that was still a definite possibility.
My son went to sleep last night only after asking that if we heard the good news (that he was sure we would hear), we should please wake him immediately. And when I woke up very early this morning, I found him curled up on my bedroom floor, clearly wanting the comfort of his parents nearby.
As the unfolding situation became more and more grim and I saw my son still reciting extra prayers this morning, I once again wondered, should I perhaps warn my child that we live in the "real" world, where things don't always turn out the way they are supposed to? A world where prayers and good deeds aren't always answered. A world where darkness often obscures light.
But I realize too, that if I succumb to that little voice in the back of my head, I'll only be giving greater power to the evil around us.
No, I didn't say anything to my son.
Because I came to realize that it was he who had the right perspective on the situation and not I.
As I write these words, we all know that unfortunately no miracle happened. I, like all of you, am consumed by such sadness, such grief for the life that could have been… for Gavriel and Rivka…grief for little Moshe…and grief for the terrible pain that their families must be enduring.
I am plagued by questions too.
How could this have happened? How could all of our prayers and good deeds not have weighed in?
How could evil gain such control over our world? And over such good people whose sole life's preoccupation was bringing light, joy and meaning to our world? How could goodness be so vanquished?
Heavy, unbearable, haunting questions.
But I realize too, that if I succumb to that little voice in the back of my head, to this perspective of doubt, pain, and immobility, I'll only be giving greater power to the evil around us.
We can't remain crushed, afraid, and unable to move forward.
Because now is the time to fight—not with doubt and questions, but with the innocent faith of my child, with unity and love towards one another, and with as many rational and irrational good deeds that we can muster.
For the sake of Gavriel and Rivka.
For the sake of little Moshe.
And for the sake of good in our world.
By Chana Weisberg More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Chana Weisberg is on the editorial staff of chabad.org. She is the author of Tending the Garden: The Unique Gifts of the Jewish Woman and Divine Whispers: Stories that Speak to the Heart and Soul and lectures worldwide on issues relating to women, faith, relationships and the Jewish soul.
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http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/99727/jewish/The-Torahs-Esau.htm
The Torah's Esau
By Yanki Tauber
How should a person be judged -- by what he or she is, or by what s/he can be? That, say the Chassidic masters, depends on who that person is.
If the person is yourself, you must judge yourself by your actions, not your potential. You cannot say to yourself: "OK, I've been sort of lazy lately, and I've messed up a bit, but I know that I can be better. That's the real me -- not the person that the rest of the world sees." On the contrary, if you know that you can do better, you ought to do better. Why else were your talents and resources granted to you -- so that they should rot from misuse inside their wrappings?
If, however, the person being judged is someone other than yourself, you must take the opposite approach. After all, you have no way of knowing, and certainly no way of truly understanding, the circumstances that are preventing that person from actualizing his or her potential. So if you see someone who's a real mess, don't look at what s/he is -- focus instead on what that person can be. In fact, says Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi in his Tanya, the more messed up that person is, the greater the admiration you should have for him or her.
Why is that? Rabbi Schneur Zalman bases his amazing statement on a saying by the sages of the Talmud: "The greater a person is, the greater his evil inclination." Indeed, it stands to reason: otherwise, how could we say that G-d has granted every individual absolute freedom of choice? Don't we see people who are challenged by addictions and temptations far greater than anything we ourselves are ever subjected to? If such a person, too, has been granted the power to control his or her life, that means that they have also been fortified with spiritual strengths far beyond what the "average" person possesses.
The implications of this are twofold: If you see a truly great person, know that he or she has wrestled with demons more ominous and powerful than anything you've ever had to deal with. And if you see someone who has sunk to depths which you cannot even fathom, know that s/he is blessed with equally unfathomable potentials.
This, says the Lubavitcher Rebbe, is the deeper meaning behind a curious commentary by Rashi on the opening verses of the parshah (Torah section) of Toldot (Genesis 25:19-28:9). Toldot begins, "And these are the toldot ('generations') of Isaac, the son of Abraham." Rashi explains: who are these "generations"? "Jacob and Esau who are spoken of in the parshah." But isn't that obvious? Why does Rashi need to explain?
The standard explanation is that, in the Torah, the word toldot can have several meanings. It can mean "children" and "descendents," and it can also mean "products" and "deeds" (all of which are "generated" by a person). Since the account of Jacob's and Esau's birth does not immediately follow the parshah's opening verse, and since the parshah of Toldot also describes events and deeds of Isaac's life, there can be some doubt as to how to translate the word toldot in this context. So Rashi feels the need to tell us that, in this case, it refers to "Jacob and Esau who are spoken of in the parshah."
But, says the Rebbe, there is also another meaning implicit in Rashi's commentary. On a deeper level, Rashi is addressing the question: How do such righteous and holy parents as Isaac and Rebecca, and a righteous and holy environment such as their home, produce a wicked and violent man such as Esau? After all, Esau was Jacob's twin, sharing the same gene-pool and upbringing. Jacob makes sense. But where does Esau come from?
Indeed, says Rashi, the wicked Esau is not a "product" of Isaac and Rebecca, but a monster of his own making. Who are the toldot of Isaac? The Jacob and Esau who are spoken of in the parshah. The Torah's Esau is a man of great potential for good -- as great as the evil he allowed himself to succumb to.
To Esau this says: See what you could be. To us, this says: The next time you see an Esau, look again.
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http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/328230/jewish/To-Dig-a-Well.htm
Comment
To Dig a Well
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/143191.jpg)
By Yanki Tauber
To dig a well you need persistence. Pick a spot and stick with it. Don't stop boring when you hit a rocky stretch, and you won't be able to take your work home with you.
To dig a well you need humility. If you're one of those creative types who needs to leave a personal imprint on everything he does, find another job. You're not creating the product -- you're not even manufacturing it. It's there beneath the surface, ready and waiting. You're just there to remove the stuff that's in the way, so that it can well up, fresh and bubbling, of its own accord.
To dig a well you need faith. Faith that beneath the sand and rock, beneath the slime and grime and dust and dirt, awaits that fresh and bubbling water, waiting for you to cut a path to it. Faith that if you pick a spot and stick with it, set aside your pretensions and simply commit to doing what needs doing, you will eventually hit a vein of fluid life.
Abraham and Isaac had much in common, of course. Abraham was the first Jew, and Isaac was his heir as the torch-carrier of the creed and morals of monotheism in a pagan world. Each faced similar challenges in the course of his life (decades of childlessness, famine, wife-nabbing, hostile tyrants, renegade sons...). But they were also as different as two personalities can be.
Abraham was constantly on the move; Isaac stayed put. Abraham was G-d's salesman, pitching his tent at the crossroads of caravan routes and inviting wayfarers in so that he could teach them and enlighten them. Isaac, on the other hand, was the silent, secluded type; he, too, had many disciples, but they were inspired by his piety and commitment rather than his charisma and activism. In the Kabbalah, Abraham personifies the attribute of Chessed (benevolence, love) while Isaac embodies Gevurah (rigor, awe, self-abnegation). In their daily lives, Abraham was a shepherd, Isaac a welldigger.
As Jews, we are Abraham's children. We traverse the world as G-d's salesmen, bringing the word and way of G-d to its inhabitants. We care for it as G-d's shepherds, commanded to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, educate the ignorant and redeem the oppressed. We transform it as G-d's artists and artisans, charged to remake the human mind and heart, remake society, remake creation.
But even as we journey and explore, even as we preach and teach and give and transform, we are also the children of Isaac. We also appreciate that at the core of every individual and every creation lies a pool of pure, life-giving waters. We understand that we do not create goodness, or manufacture it, or even bestow it. The goodness is there; we only unearth it. We are only the welldiggers.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
About the artist: Sarah Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children's books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London
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« Reply #2989 on: November 18, 2009, 11:19:25 AM »
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http://blogs.usatoday.com/oped/2009/11/column-dont-blame-god-for-terrorism.html
Don't blame God for terrorism
After the Fort Hood massacre and others, some people — often atheist stalwarts — like to point at the corrosive influence of religion. But a closer look suggests that the most notorious killers usually act on secular motives.
By Dinesh D'Souza
Did Islam make him do it? While we don't really know the motivation for the Fort Hood massacre in Texas, we do know that the alleged perpetrator, Army Maj. Nidal Hasan, was a Muslim with connections to a radical Islamic cleric in Yemen. So once again we hear that Islam is the problem. Atheist commentators go even further, charging that religion motivates people to do terrible things in the name of God.
This critique of religion has an even more serious allegation. It is that religiously motivated fanatics cannot be deterred from their crimes because they commit them without regard to their own safety, in the hopes of becoming martyrs and going straight to heaven. Muslim terrorists, in particular, are believed to sign up for jihad in the expectation of gaining immediate entry into paradise and enjoying the company of nubile virgins there.
Plausible though this critique appears, it is seriously flawed. Hasan wasn't suicidal in the manner of the 9/11 attackers, although he obviously had to expect that he would be apprehended, injured or killed. Moreover, while Hasan was clearly influenced by the doctrines of radical Islam, his main motivation seems to have been both personal and political: He vigorously opposed the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and didn't want to be deployed.
The real motives
But even in the case of Muslims who do go on suicide missions, from 9/11 to the London bombing to the Bali attacks and, most recently, the Mumbai massacre, the quest for heaven hardly seems to be the primary motive. Robert Pape's Dying to Win, a detailed study of suicide missions, concludes that these have nothing to do with promises of postmortem reward but rather are propelled by more mundane motives of revenge against enemies: They invaded our country, they stole our land, they raped my sister, and so on.
My own study of the rhetoric of the Islamic radicals shows that their exhortations make onlyperfunctory references to paradise, on the rare occasions when they mention the subject at all. The predominant theme in this literature is that "Islam is under attack" from the forces of global atheism and immorality, and that Muslims should fight back to protect their religion, their values and their way of life. So even in the special case of Osama bin Laden and his cohorts, the 72 virgins hypothesis could be flawed.
But the important point is that Islamic terrorism is a special case. Suicide terrorism in its origins has nothing to do with religion or the afterlife; its motives are secular. Consider the case of the Japanese kamikazes during World War II. They were not moved by the prospect of paradise but by fanatical loyalty to the emperor. So, too, the Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka have been launching suicide attacks for decades not out of religious motives but in a desperate struggle over land and self-determination.
If religious beliefs in life after death are the source of terrorism, where are the Buddhist suicide bombers? Nor has anyone been able to identify the Christian bin Laden, the Christian equivalent of al-Qaeda or Hezbollah, or the Christian "nation of martyrs" patterned along the lines of post-Khomeini Iran. The vast majority of people in the world believe in God and the afterlife, yet hardly any of them launch suicide attacks in the hope of hastening their journey to heavenly bliss.
So the atheist attempt to indict religion for the crimes of the radical Muslims fails. But more than this: It boomerangs on the atheists. To see why, we must understand the charge as part of a larger critique. For two centuries, leading atheists have alleged that belief in the next world detracts from the pressing task of improving this one. The afterlife, in this view, is anti-life. This seems to be the impulse behind the harsh subtitle of Christopher Hitchens' God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. Hitchens is far from the first to espouse this view.
Indeed, its most famous advocate was Karl Marx. In an 1844 manuscript, Marx wrote that "religion is the opiate of the people." He argued that religion is a kind of drug that turns people's attention away from the evils of the world and toward another world. Religion numbs man's awareness of social injustice. Consequently, religion must be eliminated as an enemy of the revolution for social justice. Marx concludes, "The overcoming of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is the demand for their real happiness."
Atheism as state doctrine
Marx's call to eliminate the next world by establishing a communist utopia on this one was taken up with a vengeance by Lenin and a host of communist leaders who followed him. These despots established atheism as state doctrine in the Soviet Union, and other Marxist regimes around the world followed. In the past hundred years, these regimes, led by people such as Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, Nicolae Ceausescu, Fidel Castro, Kim Jong Il and others, have murdered over 100 million people. Even bin Laden, in his wildest dreams, doesn't come close.
Atheist Richard Dawkins seeks to minimize the crimes of atheist regimes by arguing that "individual atheists may do evil things, but they don't do evil things in the name of atheism." Dawkins is a respected biologist but evidently knows no history. All he has to do is to crack open Marx's works to discover that atheism is not incidental to the communist scheme; it is absolutely central. The whole idea is to create a new man and a new utopia free of the shackles of traditional religion and traditional morality.
Whatever motivated Nidal Hasan to go on his shooting spree at Fort Hood, his actions are hardly an indictment of the belief in God or immortality. Indeed, such beliefs have proved far less dangerous to society than the attempts to establish the God-free utopia. If we need to watch out for heaven-seeking Muslims bent on killing innocent people and flying planes into buildings, we need to be just as vigilant against atheist fanatics who are willing to murder millions in order to establish their version of heaven down to earth.
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http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/99726/jewish/Faking-It.htm
By Yanki Tauber
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/99726/jewish/Faking-It.htm
"Do you come here often?"
"No. I mean, I'm here every day."
"Why did you say, 'No'?"
"Because I hate being here. I feel like such an impostor... This isn't who I am."
"So why do you do it?"
"My mother told me to."
Imagine what Jacob must have felt like dressed in Esau's clothing, stealing into his father's room and conniving to receive the blessings intended for his brother. Wholesome, sensitive Jacob, who had spent his entire lifetime closeted in the "tents of study," donning hunting clothes and pasting artificial hair on his arms and the back of his neck to procure "the dew of heaven and the fat of the land." Whatever for does Jacob need "the dew of heaven and the fat of the land," anyway?
Indeed, Isaac planned to divide the world between his two sons. Esau the enterprising "man of the world" would get its material resources, and holy Jacob would inherit the spiritual legacy of Abraham. Jacob would preside over the tents of study where the divine wisdom is learned and taught, and in which a plaque on the wall would credit brother Esau for his generous contributions toward the support of these holy endeavors.
But Rebecca intervened. No, she said, the material world cannot be left to the materialists. It is the Jacobs of the world -- the spiritual ones who spurn the race for power and wealth -- who must wield the power and control the wealth. "Get in there," she said to her son. "Put on your brother's clothes and enter your father's room -- we cannot let Esau get the blessings."
"But what will I do with the fat of the land? I'm no businessman."
"Thank G-d! Imagine what our world would be like if its business were run by businessmen!"
Many years went by. Some of Jacob's descendants became scholars, mystics and men and women of the spirit. Others donned business suits, lab coats, or craftsmen's gear. At first, the latter felt awkward in their foreign clothes. But as generation followed generation, these became somewhat more comfortable with repeated wear.
So each generation made sure to tell their children the story of the Jew in the hunter's clothes. Remember, they said, this isn't who we are. This is a costume, a disguise. We're doing it only because our mother told us to.
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http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=48884062§ion=/sp/pg
Falling In Love With God - Part 1
by Rabbi Dov Heller, M.A.
To enjoy the greatest pleasure in life, we need to embrace the half of the glass that's full and the half that's empty.
What is life's greatest pleasure? It's not an easy question. Close your eyes a minute and think about it before you read any further.
What did you come up with?
We know the answer is not cars, vacations or golf, although some of us may have a pretty good argument. Love gets a high rating by many while others vote for success, children and power. (That's more on target, but not the ultimate!)
How about knowing and having a relationship with the Creator of the Universe?
Even an atheist would agree that if there really is a God, then to know Him would be the ultimate pleasure -- greater than Maui, family and all the success in the world.
In the great medieval classic entitled Duties of the Heart, the author Rabbi Bachya Ibn Paquda discusses four steps to falling in love with God.
The four steps are:
1. Appreciate how great it is to be alive
2. Mastering the Gratitude-attitude
3. The power of "letting go."
4. The art of Service
This article discusses the first step. Underlying the application of his method is a fundamental principle of Judaism: If you want to grow spiritually, you must grow emotionally and psychologically. Indeed, it's impossible to become spiritually mature without becoming emotionally mature at the same time.
To begin, says Ibn Paquda, you cannot fall in love with God until you fall in love with life first. It is impossible to love God if you do not deeply and passionately appreciate all that is good about being alive. Unfortunately, to become a master of appreciation is not easy to achieve.
APPRECIATING LIFE
Do you appreciate your hand? Most of us say we do, but we really don't. There is a crucial difference between having an "intellectual appreciation" of your hand, as opposed to having an "emotional appreciation" of your hand.
When we emotionally appreciate something, we experience a "pleasure burst." We've all had pleasure bursts. When something good happens, or we see a gorgeous sunset, we appreciate the beauty and goodness of the moment. But most of the time we are not experiencing pleasure bursts at all, which means we are not actively appreciating how great it is to be alive.
Which should give you a bigger pleasure burst -- a bowl of ice cream or your hand?
Obviously, your hand is worth much more than a bowl of Ben and Jerry's, but we don't feel it, because we are not able to obtain a real emotional appreciation of our hands. Why don't we have a deeper and more consistent emotional appreciation of life and all that is good about it? Because we find it hard to accept that life isn't perfect.
A major reason why we are not in love with life is because we use much of our time and energy fighting and obsessing about what's not right with ourselves and others. We simply cannot tolerate the apparent imperfections. It's not that we're all perfectionists, rather it's that we have acquired a destructive way of seeing the world, which results in making us miserable.
We all know the person who goes a picnic but can't have a good time because he forgot the mustard.
A classic illustration of this is the story of the person who goes on a picnic and is having a great time with friends and family on a cloudless summer day until he discovers there is no mustard for his hotdog. The entire day is shot! Suddenly, not only is his hotdog inedible, but the whole day is ruined.
Sound familiar? This is how most of us live our lives day in and day out. We cannot tolerate imperfection and when we discover something that is wrong or missing in our lives, we obsess over it. Sometimes we are able to change what's wrong, but if we can't we often wipe ourselves out with frustration, anger or resentment.
My wife can't seem to manage money in a responsible fashion. My husband never picks the right gift for special occasions. I am always struggling with food, insufficient income or lack of self-confidence. I'm not married. I married the wrong the person. I don't have kids. My kids drive me crazy with their constant demands. We all have imperfection in our lives!
THE HALF-EMPTY GLASS
We are all familiar with the piece of wisdom that suggests that in order to be happy we need to learn how to focus on the half of the glass that's full rather than on the half that's empty. I have come to believe that learning to focus on the good alone is not the complete truth nor the real challenge of life. The real challenge of life is being able to focus on and embrace both -- the half that's full and the half that's empty.
Embracing both the good and the bad is our ultimate challenge and the key to emotional well-being and true happiness. No one enjoys only accomplishing half of a goal. Not only do we want to get to the finish line, we want to win the gold as well.
But life isn't perfect and more often than not, we don't get everything we want or accomplish everything we want. Therefore, we must learn to embrace the ugly or imperfect parts of ourselves and our lives while working responsibly to beautify them as much as possible. Only then will we be able to stop obsessing about what's wrong and begin to appreciate what's right.
The liberation that comes through acceptance is wonderfully expressed by the playwright, Arthur Miller in the play, After the Fall:
The same dream returned each night until I dared not to sleep and grew quite ill. I dreamed I had a child, and even in the dream I saw it was my life, and it was an idiot, and I ran away. But it always crept onto my lap again, clutched at my clothes. Until I thought, if I could kiss it, whatever in it was my own, perhaps I could sleep. And I bent to its broken face and it was horrible, but I kissed it. I think one must take one's life in one's arms.
Obsessively rejecting what we don't like about our lives always leads to psychological pain, while acceptance of what we don't like is the key to emotional health.
ACCEPTING THE UNACCEPTABLE
Ask yourself this question: "What do you find totally unacceptable about yourself and your life?" What do you obsess about changing? The irony is that we think our obsessing will somehow help us gain control of the thing we don't like. The truth is that the thing we continually fight, reject, and obsess over actually gains more and more control over us!
He will most likely blow-up at anyone who suggests he should just enjoy his mustardless hotdog the way it is.
For example, Let's go back to the guy at the picnic who is obsessing about his mustardless hotdog. The more he focuses on the "loss," the more power it gains over him and the worse he feels. This is why he will most like blow-up at anyone who suggests he should just get over it and enjoy his hotdog the way it is.
Until there is acceptance of what's wrong, there can be no appreciation of the good.
Before we can change what we don't like, we must make friends with it first. This is what the rabbis meant when they said regarding the evil inclination, "Draw it close with the right hand and push it away with the left." We must accept it, not totally reject it. Pushing away with both hands only gives it more power over us.
Only when we genuinely embrace the bad parts of our life, can we begin to appreciate and enjoy the good parts of our life. Learning to accept what's bad is a challenging task, but we can master it by working with a few tools.
The first and most important step is to recognize and admit what you obsess over. Ask yourself these questions, "What do I obsess about on a regular basis? What do I find totally unacceptable about myself, my life, my relationships? What do I hate most about myself, my life, my relationships?"
Most likely these are the issues that you are using "both hands" to push away. And these things which you are working so hard to reject are the issues you must learn to draw close. Again remember, acceptance doesn't mean giving-in or giving-up. It means I am taking ownership of them because right now they belong to me.
TAKING OWNERSHIP
In order to take ownership, you need to verbalize it. For example, say out loud, "I hate that my mind works so slow and that I feel so stupid, but this is the mind I was given and I must learn to accept it even though it makes me feel limited and inferior to others."
Once you've owned and made friends with the part of you that you don't like, you need to take responsibility to make adjustments where possible so that your limitation will be less of an obstacle. In the example above, a reasonable step might be to take a class in improving reading and comprehension ability.
Awareness is the key to mastering the skill of acceptance. We must first acknowledge what we find so repulsive about ourselves before we can embrace it and take ownership of it.
The Four Part series Falling in Love with God includes:
Part 1: Falling in Love with God
Part 2: Mastering the Gratitude Attitude
Part 3: Indebtedness
Part 4: Service Payback Time
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http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/221035/jewish/The-Ladder.htm
Weekly Sermonette
A Ladder to Heaven
By Yossy Goldman
So what's the best way to get to heaven? Walk across a busy highway? Perform some amazing act of faith? Save a thousand lives? Well, a pretty good answer may be found in this week's Parshah.
We read the story of Jacob's dream and the famous ladder with its feet on the ground and head in the heavens. "And behold the angels of G-d were ascending and descending on it."
Let me ask you what they might call in Yiddish, a klotz kashe (simplistic question). Do angels need a ladder? Everyone knows angels have wings, not feet. So, if you have wings, why would you need a ladder?
There is a beautiful message here.
In climbing heavenward one does not necessarily need wings. Dispense with the dramatic. Forget about fancy leaps and bounds. There is a ladder, a spiritual route clearly mapped out for us; a route that needs to be traversed step-by-step, one rung at a time. The pathway to Heaven is gradual, methodical and eminently manageable.
Many people are discouraged from even beginning a spiritual journey because they think it needs that huge leap of faith. They cannot see themselves reaching a degree of religious commitment which to them seems otherworldly. And yet, with the gradual step-by-step approach, one finds that the journey can be embarked upon and that the destination aspired to is actually not in outer space.
When I was growing up in Brooklyn, I would pass a very big building on my way to school every morning. It was the King's County Savings Bank. All these years later I still remember the Chinese proverb that was engraved over the large portals at the entrance to the bank. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step." Now that's not only Chinese wisdom; we Jews agree. And it's not limited to starting a savings plan. It is a simple yet powerful idea that it need not be "all or nothing."
What do you think is a rabbi's fantasy? A guy walking into my office and saying, "Rabbi, I want to become 'frum' (fully observant), now tell me what I must do"? Is that what I lie awake dreaming of? And if it did happen, do you think I would throw the book at him and insist he did every single mitzvah from that moment on? Never! Why not? Because a commitment like that is usually here today and gone tomorrow. Like the popular saying goes, "Easy come, easy go." I'm afraid I haven't had such wonderful experiences with the "instant Jew" types. The correct and most successful method of achieving our Jewish objectives is the slow and steady approach. Gradual, yet consistent. As soon as one has become comfortable with one mitzvah, it is time to start on the next, and so on and so forth. Then, through constant growth, slowly but surely we become more knowledgeable, committed, fulfilled and happy in our faith.
When my father was in yeshiva, his teacher once asked the following question: "If two people are on a ladder, one at the top and one on the bottom, who is higher?" The class thought it was a pretty dumb question -- until the wise teacher explained that they were not really capable of judging who was higher or lower until they first ascertained in which direction each was headed.
If the fellow on top was going down, but the guy on the bottom was going up, then conceptually, the one on the bottom was actually higher.
And so my friends, it doesn't really matter what your starting point is or where you are at on the ladder of religious life. As long as you are moving in the right direction, as long as you are going up, you will, please G-d, succeed in climbing the heavenly heights.
Wishing you a safe and successful journe
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Rachel:
I needed your post #190.
Thank you,
Marc
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Marc,
I'm glad the post was helpful. I really like this series.
Mastering The Gratitude Attitude
by Rabbi Dov Heller, M.A.
It starts with getting rid of the entitlement attitude, which puts one's "rights" ahead of everything else.
What in life do you feel is coming to you? Health? A good job? Children? A peaceful retirement? Check yourself out.
If you're like me, you probably have a whole list of things you feel entitled to, and if you don't get them, you feel cheated. If you are unable to take a vacation or buy the home you've dreamed of, then life has robbed you of something you are entitled to!
We live in a society that feeds an entitlement attitude. Compare the Bill of Rights, which focuses on our entitlements, to the Torah, which focuses on our responsibilities and obligations.
LIFE OWES US NOTHING
The entitlement attitude says, "life owes me something," or "people owe me something," or "God owes me something."
You know if you're into entitlement because the result leaves you constantly feeling angry, resentful, or frustrated. If you believe that someone owes you something and that person doesn't come through, you feel angry. You feel you've been ripped-off and cheated out of what I rightly deserve.
But entitlement is a lie. It's a perversion of reality.
There is nothing in the universe that states, "Dov Heller deserves to live a long, happy, and successful life!" My feelings of entitlement are born from within my own mind. Objectively speaking, there is no basis for such claims.
Everything good we do get must be looked at as a gift.
Even though Judaism maintains that God created us for pleasure and wants us to have pleasure, we still should not feel entitled to getting what we desire. This is because everything good we do get must be looked at as a gift. Understanding this creates an awareness that the source of all our good is God.
This understanding that everything is a gift forms the basis of our relationship with God. Judaism also looks at the bad as coming from God and it should ultimately be viewed as a gift. However a discussion of this complex issue is beyond the limits of this article.
Neither God, nor anyone else for that matter, owes us anything. Do you believe this is true? Most people do not.
THE ENTITLEMENT ATTITUDE
There are many things we feel entitled to. For example, aren't we entitled to have people treat us fairly, with sensitivity, with respect? Where is that written? The truth is that any kindness we receive from others is always a gift.
What about marriage? This is an area of life which is full of expectation. What do you think your spouse owes you? Financial support? Emotional support? Is he or she the one who is supposed to make you happy for the rest of your life?
Your spouse owes you nothing! Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler emphasized this point in his Strive for Truth when he said, "When demands begin, love departs." If we would focus on our responsibilities to our spouses and what we can do to make them happy, our marriages would be much more fulfilling. Focus on what you are not getting that you feel entitled to and your marriage will be painful.
A distinction must be made between the illegitimacy of "entitlement" in an absolute sense and our legitimate claim to seek "justice" and the fulfillment of one's rights under society's laws or under a body of religious laws. For example, when a person isn't paid for his work, he is "entitled" by society's laws to sue for his wages. A wife who is being treated disrespectfully by her husband is "entitled" by Torah law to be given respect.
But in an absolute sense, a person is not entitled to be paid or to be given respect because there is nothing in the universe that guarantees any kind of individual rights.
THE GRATITUDE ATTITUDE
Eliminating entitlement from your life and embracing gratitude is spiritually and psychologically liberating.
Gratitude is the recognition that life owes me nothing and all the good I have is a gift. My eyes are a gift. So is my wife, my clothes, my job and my every breath. This is a major shift from the entitlement mode. Recognizing that everything good in life is ultimately a gift is a fundamental truth of reality.
Gratitude is the recognition that life owes me nothing and all the good I have is a gift.
To speak of seeing everything good we have as a gift leads us to confront the reality of a giver and the source of all this good: God.
Gratitude is where we begin to experience God in a powerfully personal way. "Thank you" is the simplest and one of the most powerful prayers a person can say. If you can say, "Thank you," you can connect with God and begin to develop a personal relationship with Him.
A powerful, although tragic, example of someone who mastered the gratitude attitude was a great Jewish woman named Bruria. The story of Bruria is told in the Talmud. Bruria and her husband, Rabbi Meir, had two sons who both died one Friday afternoon before Shabbat. Bruria decided not to tell her husband of the tragedy until after Shabbat since, according to Jewish law, one is not permitted to have a funeral on Shabbat or to openly mourn. There was nothing they could do until after Shabbat so she kept the information to herself and allowed her husband to enjoy the day (imagine being able to do that!). Explaining where the boys were was the least of her challenges.
When Shabbat was over this is how Bruria broke the horrible news to her husband. She asked him a legal question: What is the proper course of action if one person borrows two jewels from another and then the original owner requests that the return of the jewels. He replied with the obvious answer that one is obligated to return the loan upon demand. She then took her husband to where their two dead sons lay and said, "God has requested that we return the loan of our two jewels."
Bruria teaches us a potentially life transforming lesson here: Everything we have is on loan!
ON LOAN
My ears are on loan, my health is on loan, my children are on loan. Everything is a loan that is given as a gift.
What have we done that we could claim we earned life, health, financial success, or children? We have done nothing. As I mentioned earlier, when we internalize this truth, we become spiritually and psychologically liberated.
How freeing to live with a sense that everything good is on loan.
This is the key to internalizing the gratitude attitude. Once we understand that everything is a gift, we can begin to feel gratitude towards God, the source of all good, and grow closer to Him in an authentic and joyful way.
The Four Part series Falling in Love with God includes:
Part 1: Falling in Love with God
Part 2: Mastering the Gratitude Attitude
Part 3: Indebtedness
Part 4: Service Payback Time
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The Chase
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Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
And it was reported to Laban on the third day that Jacob had fled. And he took his kinsmen with him, and he chased after him a seven days' journey; and they overtook him at Mount Gilad....
And Jacob was angry and strove with Laban... And he said: "What is my crime and what is my sin, that you have so hotly pursued me? ...Twenty years I have been in your employ... In the day drought consumed me, and the frost at night; and my sleep departed from my eyes..."
And Laban said: "...Come, let us make a covenant, I and you." ... And they took stones and made a heap, and they ate there upon the heap... And Laban said to Jacob: "...This heap be witness, and this monument be witness, that I will not cross this heap to you, and you will not cross this heap and monument to me, for harm..." And they spent the night on the hill.
And Laban rose in the morning... and he returned to his place. And Jacob went on his way. (Genesis 31:4-32:2)
Each and every creation has at its heart a "spark of holiness"Why does a man who has spent his entire life in the "tents of study" in pursuit of wisdom and closeness to G‑d, leave the spiritual oasis of Be'er Sheva, home of Abraham and Isaac, and go to Charan in Paddan-Aram, the world's capital of idolatry and deceit, to spend twenty years as a shepherd in the employ of Laban the Deceiver?
He is hunting sparks.
Each and every creation, no matter how material and mundane, has at its heart a "spark of holiness." A spark that embodies G‑d's desire that it exist and its function within G‑d's overall purpose for creation. A spark that is the original instrument of its creation and which remains nestled within it to continually supply it with being and vitality. A spark of holiness that constitutes its "soul"—its spiritual content and design.
Entrenched in the physical reality, these holy sparks are virtual prisoners within their material encasements. The physical world, with its illusions of self-sufficiency and arbitrariness, suppresses all but the faintest glimmer of G‑dliness and purposefulness.
The soul of man descends into the trappings and trials of physical life in order to reclaim these sparks. By assuming a physical body that will eat, wear clothes, inhabit a home, and otherwise make use of the objects and forces of the physical existence, the soul can redeem the sparks of holiness they incorporate. For when a person utilizes something, directly or indirectly, to serve the Creator, he penetrates its shell of mundanity, revealing and realizing its divine essence and purpose.
"The deeds of the fathers are signposts for the children."1 The story of Jacob's journey to Charan, where he spent twenty years in the home and employ of the evil Laban, is the story of our own lives. The soul, too, leaves behind a spiritual and G‑dly existence to preoccupy itself with material needs, to become a shepherd and entrepreneur in the Charans of the world.2 The soul, too, must condescend to deal with the crassness, hostility and deceptions of an alien employer. It must struggle to extract the sparks of holiness from their mundane husks, to deliver the flocks of Laban into the domain of Jacob.
Unfinished Business
Among the "signposts" in Jacob's journey is the rather strange closing chapter in his dealings with Laban.
Jacob's mission in Charan seemed complete. As he tells Rachel and Leah, Laban's wealth has been "delivered"3 to him—the material resources of this alien land have been sublimated, their sparks of holiness redeemed through Jacob's exploitation of them for good and G‑dly ends. Indeed, the Almighty has communicated to him it is time he came home. Rachel and Leah, too, sense that all opportunities in Charan have been utilized, that there no longer remains "a portion or inheritance for us in our father's house." So Jacob "rose up and set his sons and his wives on the camels. And he led away all his cattle, and all his goods which he had acquired, the possessions of his purchase, which he had acquired in Paddan-Aram, to go to... the land of Canaan."4
But Laban pursues Jacob, and they have a final confrontation on Mount Gilad. Reconciled, they break bread together and camp for the night. Then, each goes his own way, having sealed a mutual non-aggression pact, to be attested to by a pile of stones which marks their respective domains.5
Obviously, there was still some unfinished business between them, some lingering sparks still languishing in Laban's camp. In the words of Rabbi DovBer of Mezeritch: "Jacob had left behind Torah letters (a kabbalistic term for the "sparks of holiness" imbedded in creation6) which he had not yet extracted from Laban. This is why Laban pursued him—to give him the letters which remained with him. An entire chapter was added to the Torah by these letters."7
To Pursue and to be Pursued
In other words, there are two types of "sparks" that we redeem in the course of our lives. The first type are those which we consciously pursue, having recognized the potential for sanctity and goodness in an object or event within our life's trajectory. Indeed, we human beings pride ourselves on the measure of control we have learned to exercise over our lives: we plan our education, decide whom to marry, choose a community, chart a career and save for retirement. We're constantly manipulating our environment, cultivating opportunities and maneuvering ourselves into the right place and time to properly take advantage of them.
...opportunities representing potentials so lofty that they cannot be identified by our humanly finite facultiesBut every so often, we are confronted with something that is neither of our making nor in our control. Something that seemed so readily in our grasp remains incomprehensibly elusive; something we've done everything in our power to avoid invades our lives. These are "sparks" of the second sort: opportunities which we would never have realized on our own, since they represent potentials so lofty that they cannot be identified and consciously developed by our humanly finite perception and faculties. So our redemption of these sparks can only come about unwittingly, when, by divine providence, our involvement with them is forced upon our by circumstances beyond his control.
Thus our lives are divided into "Charan" periods and "Mount Gilad" events. The bulk of our efforts are conscious and focused: goals are defined, opportunities recognized, endeavors planned and achieved. But then there are the situations we never desired, the encounters which pursue us even as we flee from them. These may aggravate and exasperate us; like Jacob on Mount Gilead we cry, "What more do you want of me? Are my decades scorching days and freezing nights not enough?" But we must never dismiss theses encounters and fail to extract the kernel of good that certainly lies buried within them. Indeed, they contain the most elusive, and most rewarding, achievements of our lives.8
FOOTNOTES
1. Nachmanides' commentary on Genesis 12:6.
2. See Or HaChaim commentary on Genesis 28:14.
3. Thus the verb hatzalah, which means "save," "redeem" and "deliver," is used by the Torah to describe Jacob's success in exacting a profit from Laban's flocks (Genesis 31:9 and 16). The same word is used in connection with the "great riches" with which the Jews left Egypt, "leaving it as a silo emptied of its grain, as a pond emptied of its fish"—a reference to the "sparks of holiness" whose redemption was the purpose of their descent into Egyptian exile (Exodus 12:36; see Genesis 15:14 and Talmud, Berachot 9a-b).
4. Genesis 31, verses 9, 3, 14 and 17-18 respectively.
5. We find a similar phenomenon in the prohibition of a Jew to live in Egypt (Deuteronomy 17:16): having been utterly "emptied" of its sparks, there is no longer anything to be accomplished through one's involvement with the material resources in that corner of the world.
6. The sparks of holiness are referred to in the teachings of Kabbalah and Chassidism as "letters", since it is the "letters" of the divine speech (e.g. "And G‑d said: 'Let there be light!' And there was light") which create and sustain each created entity and constitute its soul and essence (see Tanya, part II, ch. 1).
7. Quoted by Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch in Ohr HaTorah, vol. V, p. 869a.
8. Based on a talk by the Rebbe, Tishrei 27, 5712 (October 27, 1951); Likkutei Sichot, vol. XV, pp. 260-264.
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http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/99969/jewish/Angels.htm
Angels
By Jay Litvin
Along the way I met angels. It was about 19 years ago. There were maybe 10,000 or so of them hovering about. They were all of different sizes and shapes. Some looked like Walt Disney cartoon angels, the kind that carried Goofy to heaven when he'd been hit over the head. Others were straight out of store window displays or greeting cards. Some looked like the plaster angels I used to buy in a Mexican market, primitive, brightly painted in pastel blues and pinks. It was a fascinating assortment, all vigorously flapping their big, little and medium sized wings.
I met them one day in my car. After days of deliberation and overcoming a tremendous amount of fear, my wife and I had decided to let our six year old son cross the street on his own. The place was Milwaukee. Not as bad as New York or Chicago, but with cars just as hard that drove just as fast. The images that passed through our minds were as gruesome as if he'd been walking across 42nd and Broadway for the first time. Little fragile bones, soft pink skin. You get the picture.
We came up with this plan. Unbeknownst to him, after he left the house, I would get into the car, drive to each of the corners he would have to cross, park the car where he couldn't see me, and watch. I didn't know if I could protect him. But at least I would know his fate.
(I haven't thought about this day for years. Then the other day something happened to pry loose a crystal clear image in my memory.)
I sat in the car and saw him approach the first corner. He looked absolutely tiny. He walked with these little steps, looking this way and that, stopping every once in a while to look at something on the ground or to turn his head and catch a glimpse of a bird in a tree or a cloud or something up high in a window. He had on this little striped blue and yellow tee-shirt, blue shorts, little socks that came just above his ankles, and blue sneakers.
As he approached the first corner, my heart was thumping, my hands gripped the steering wheel. I mustered up all my concentration and attempted, through mental telepathy, to remind him to stop and look both ways. My eyes didn't blink for fear that in the momentary blackness when my lids would cover my eyes something horrible would happen. As he came to the curb, my hand moved to the door handle and I calculated how fast I could open the door and run to grab him. There was no hope of rescue, but I gripped the handle nonetheless.
Whether he received my message, or whether his own good sense kicked in, he stopped. Cars were coming from both directions. What would he do? As he waited, looking both ways, back and forth, back and forth, calculating when to cross, I experienced a profound helplessness. I felt as if I had no spine, no muscles in my legs or arms, no vivifying force animating my body. I sat and watched and waited and tried to breath. He was out of my hands. Then he made his move. When the coast was completely clear, he started to skip across the street, happy as a clam, spry as a bunny.
At the next corner I learned to pray. At the time, I was not religious. But as I sat crouched in the car I decided there must be a G-d. As I watched my son approach, I could not accept his vulnerability to the great unknown forces of darkness and harm in the world. Nor could I accept my helplessness to keep him safe. I refused to believe that this little guy was out there on his own with no protection. It made no sense to me that a little life would be brought into this world, forced one day to claim his independence, and then be set adrift with no one nor nothing to watch over him. I prayed. I beseeched whatever benevolent forces there were in the world with the power to watch over my son to come to him now and protect him.
Don't get me wrong. My hand was still on the handle of the car door. I was poised like a race horse at the gate, prepared to sprint even though I knew the race would be lost. Yet I prayed with the full strength of my love and fear and terrible fantasies combined. And then he crossed the street again.
At the third corner, I had trouble finding a place to park where he wouldn't see me. I panicked. By this time I was convinced that my prayers and my concentration (reminding him to stop and look both ways) were the only things protecting him. What would happen if I couldn't get he car parked in time to take up my position with my hand gripping the door handle (which by now had become a superstition)? What if I was unable to focus my unblinking eyes on his little striped t-shirt and begin praying before he reached the corner? Finally I scooted down an alley, and positioned the car so that just the hood and part of my window was sticking out, allowing me to keep him in view without him seeing me.
As he approached the corner, I took my position, hand in place, eyes unblinking, mind focused and my lips mumbling prayers for Divine mercy and protection.
Then I saw the angels.
There were thousands of them. All hovering about flapping their wings, covering him from head to toe, some touching him. I realized that my son was not walking, but being carried forward by these angels. I saw this clearly when they all, including my son, came to the corner. The angels stopped, and then my son stopped. The angels moved in unison, as though they shared one mind. I remember thinking how strange this was since all the angels were so different one from the other. How did those Walt Disney angels know what the Mexican plaster angels were thinking and doing? But sure enough, they all moved together and brought my son to a standstill right at the edge of the curb. And they didn't let him budge. It was fascinating to watch. While most of the angels stood holding my son, others flew out, like scouts, to make sure no cars were coming. Then as they flew back to make their report, a new batch of angels flew out again to keep the vigil. I wondered if the mission of some of them was to actually stop the cars from proceeding down the street so my son could cross. Angels were flying back and forth, to and fro, in the same way I now imagine angels ascended and descended Jacob's ladder. I sat transfixed.
Finally, when all was quiet, the angels moved my son across the street. And as I watched I felt my hand let go of the door handle. My eyes began to blink again. My mind relaxed and seemed to fill with light. And I took a deep, long breath. I think - though I can't trust my memory on this point - that I smiled.
I know my son smiled. I saw him (and can see him perfectly clear in my memory even now) with a big grin on his little face and I saw him kind of skip and hop and chuckle across the street. I noticed for the first time how absolutely sure of himself he was. How much he was enjoying his new freedom. How he embraced it with not the slightest twinge of anxiety or worry. I wondered, then, if he could see the angels and I wondered how anyone could possibly have children and not believe in G-d and angels and still survive the growth of their offspring without a nervous breakdown.
I didn't actually see the angels again after that. But I knew they were there. As each child after him was born and grew and reached that time when he or she needed to cross the street I remembered the angels, but I didn't actually see them. I continued to pray, though not so desperately. I even continued to drive to each street corner, but now more out of curiosity than out of genuine worry and dread. And as each of them grew older, I even stopped thinking of the angels so much, except on especially worrisome occasions.
For my son who introduced me to angels, I didn't think of them at all. Not until the other day.
My son is now 25. He lives in New York. I went there on a business trip and we spent a lot of time together. He showed me his apartment. We daavened together. We went out to dinner. Did a little shopping. He hung out with me while I went about my business. We talked about him and about me and about his brothers and sisters and about his mom. We talked about his future. It was clear that he knew how to cross the street by himself, yet he still walked close by me down the street and sometimes I had the feeling that it was he looking out for me, rather than the other way around. He'd pick lint off my coat or ask if I remembered my tickets as we headed out to find a cab to take me to the airport. I loved him so much during those days. I enjoyed him. I liked the man he had become. Yet now I had to leave him and go home, many, many miles away.
We had trouble finding a cab and he carried my suitcase for me as we walked to a cab stand by Grand Central Station. We hugged and I held my tears inside my eyes when we said good-bye. He let me kiss him. I put my luggage inside the trunk, and as I got inside the cab he said, "Don't forget to get your luggage out when you get to the airport, Ta." I turned my head away so he wouldn't see my tears and my heartache, my worry and hope, my fear and regret, my lips moving in prayer.
And just before the cab turned the corner I looked back. And then once again I saw the angels carrying him down the street.
By Jay Litvin More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Jay Litvin was born in Chicago in 1944. He moved to Israel in 1993 to serve as medical liaison for Chabad's Children of Chernobyl program, and took a leading role in airlifting children from the areas contaminated by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster; he also founded and directed Chabad's Terror Victims program in Israel. Jay passed away in April of 2004 after a valiant four-year battle with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and is survived by his wife, Sharon, and their seven children.
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Falling In Love With God, Step 3: Indebtedness
by Rabbi Dov Heller, M.A.
To experience God deeply, we must face the undeniable truth that we are hugely indebted to our Creator.
Twenty-five years ago, I enrolled in Harvard Divinity School to study modern theology from a very liberal perspective. From this perspective, God was an academic subject, an abstraction.
The reason I opted for this"modern" way of looking at God was that because the more traditional way turned me off. But after much soul searching, I realized what it was that bothered me so much. Truth be told, I found the more traditional way very threatening – it meant taking God seriously as a real"being."
After all, if God is only a concept, then I don't owe God anything and I don't have to change my life in any significant way. But if God is really there, and really is the Creator of the universe, then I have to take Him seriously. And that meant changing my life in some significant ways.
The moment I acknowledged my indebtedness to God in a personal way, I knew my life would never be the same. God now became the center of my life. I could no longer keep God on the periphery.
THE THIRD STEP
Acknowledging indebtedness is key to falling in love with God. It is the third of the four steps in this process.
Let's quickly review steps one and two before examining step three in detail.
The first step requires that we develop an appreciation for how great life is. (See Falling in Love with God) To fall in love with God we must first fall in love with life first. Until we appreciate how good life is, it is impossible to appreciate how good God is.
Once we appreciate how much good we have, we are ready to move on to step two which is to develop a gratitude attitude. (See The Gratitude Attitude) The gratitude attitude means recognizing that everything we have is a gift and that we're entitled to nothing.
Gratitude is the link to connecting the good of life to its source -- namely God. Gratitude is about saying,"Thank you" to God for all the good He's given us. When we understand that everything is not only a gift but a loan as well, we will feel a tremendous closeness to God.
When we acknowledge that everything we have is a loan, we feel a tremendous closeness to God.
Step three of falling in love with God is perhaps the most challenging. It makes us makes them feel uncomfortable and we are inclined to skip it. After all, no one likes being indebted to someone else.
Yet, to experience God deeply, we must face the undeniable truth that we are hugely indebted to the Creator of the universe.
If you lost your hands and someone gave you new ones, you'd feel not only a great sense of gratitude, but a deep sense of indebtedness. How much more do we owe the Creator of the universe who not only gave us hands, but also eyes, legs, feet, a brain, etc.
One might say,"but I didn't ask for these things." It doesn't matter. You may not have asked the person who saved your life to pull you out of the ocean when you were drowning, but you are indebted nonetheless!
Yet, there are some people who might feel,"I wish he hadn't saved my life!" As strange as this might seem, some people have such a negative feeling about their life, that rather than feel indebted to God for the gift of life, they feel angry at God for having put them in such a lousy situation.
My response is that such an attitude is most often the result of having endured much pain, disappointment, and discouragement. Such attitudes require a total shift.
A TOTAL SHIFT
Judaism posits that life is essentially good. Because of life's struggles, we can easily lose this focus. This is why it is so important to constantly work on one's attitude. We cannot feel indebted unless we have an appreciation of life and an attitude of gratitude towards God.
Yes, feeling indebted is an uncomfortable feeling. This is because each of us has a strong drive to be autonomous, independent, and above all, in control. When we owe another person for something he or she did for us, we lose a little of our freedom, independence and control. The benefactor has gained some power over us.
Our rabbis tell us that honoring our parents is one of the hardest commandments to fulfill. The reason is because to honor our parents means to live with a constant awareness that they gave us life and that we are indebted to them forever! Just like our ego resists acknowledging our debt to our parents, even more so does it resist acknowledging our debt to God.
We bristle at the thought of living in a state of constant indebtedness to God, because we are afraid that we will lose our freedom and control over our lives. This is a very scary thought indeed and one which is normal to resist.
GETTING PAST THE DISCOMFORT
There's only one way to get past the discomfort of feeling indebted. We must lead with our minds, not with our hearts. We must ask ourselves the simple question,"Is it true or not?"
If we can admit intellectually that we are indebted to God, then our ego resistance will begin to soften and the emotional discomfort will dissipate; it will not only become easier to tolerate, but it will become nothing less than transformational!
King David described this transformational experience as"the breaking of the heart.
King David described this transformational experience as"the breaking of the heart." This is an experience of total submission to the truth that we owe God everything we have. It's an experience of letting go -- letting go of the illusion that we are in control and autonomous. It's an experience of acknowledging the truth that we are"radically dependent" on God for all the good He has given us. To admit this requires humility.
When we recognize and accept that we are indebted to God, we gain a clarity that will change our lives forever. Our entire self-concept is transformed when we acknowledge our total dependence on God as well as our relationship to the universe. We discover who we really are and what our place is in the vast of creation.
After this experience, nothing is ever the same! It's a cosmic paradigm shift. Above all, our experience of God is transformed into something real and alive.
I remember the moment at Harvard when I stopped fighting and"submitted" to this truth. It was both scary and exhilarating. And it was for sure a cosmic paradigm shift that has changed the way I see myself and my place in the universe to this present day.
SOUL SEARCHING
When you acknowledge and begin to live with the humility of indebtedness to God on a regular basis, you will feel a closeness to God that is very real. After this experience, God can not remain an abstraction. He will be powerfully real.
The most important tool you can use to grow in this way, is to ask yourself the following questions:
1. What is my definition of God?
2. Is it true that God is the source of everything good I have?
3. If God is the source of everything good I have, do I not owe Him something?
4. What stops me from"letting go" and acknowledging my total indebtedness to God?
If you honestly grapple with these questions, they will lead you towards this very wonderful experience of coming to terms with God in radically new way.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/425923/jewish/Did-You-Ask-To-Be-Born.htm
Did You Ask To Be Born?
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/43765.jpg)
By Yanki Tauber
Once upon a time there was a village full of disgruntled people. All day long they walked around with these sour faces, each bemoaning his troubles, each jealous of her neighbor's successes.
One day, a wise old man arrived in the village. He assembled them all in the village square and said to them: "I want you each to go and bring your most precious possession, the thing you cherish most in your life, and place it here in middle of the square." Soon there was a large pile of bundles and packages, of all shapes and sizes, in the center of the village square.
"Now," instructed the wise man, "you may each select for yourselves any one of these gifts. The choice is yours--take any package you desire."
Every man, woman and child in the village did exactly the same thing. Each chose his own bundle.
The Torah, as we all know, begins at the beginning, describing G-d's creation of the heavens and the earth, the continents and the oceans, vegetation and animal life. Then, in its 26th verse, we proceed to the creation of man. "And G-d said," we read, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness..."
G-d is asking a council of human souls if He should create the human soul! Let us? Up to this point--and from here on through the rest of the Torah--G-d is spoken of as the ultimate singularity. He is the Boss, the exclusive source and mover of all. But in this single instance, there is an "us," a choir of opinions, a supernal boardroom before which the Creator places a proposal and asks for approval.
With whom did G-d consult when He desired to create the human being? Our sages offer a number of explanations. One is that G-d asked the angels, so as to temper their later criticisms of the failings of mortal man. Another explanation is that G-d was involving all elements of the universe, or all aspects of His infinitely potentialed being, in the formation of the multi-faceted soul of man. All these explanations, of course, raise at least as many questions as they answer. Indeed, it is regarding this particular verse that the sages have stated: "The Torah says it thus; anyone who wishes to misunderstand, let him misunderstand..." Obviously, there is an important message here to us--important enough that the Torah insists on this particular phraseology despite the fact that it allows for (encourages?) misunderstanding.
But there is one interpretation of this verse which presents us with a conundrum of a paradox. The Midrash offers the following explanation: "With whom did He consult? With the souls of the righteous."1 G-d is asking a council of human souls if He should create the human soul!
The plot thickens. Who are these "righteous" (tzaddikim) with whom G-d consulted? According to the prophet Isaiah, "Your people are all tzaddikim."2 We each posses the soul of a tzaddik (regardless of the extent to which we allow its expression). In other words, G-d asked each and every one of us if we desire to be created, if we choose to accept the challenge of earthly life. Only then did He proceed to create us.
If asking a soul whether it wants to be created sounds like a catch-22, this paradox in fact resolves a much deeper paradox--the paradox of divine decree and human choice.
G-d is forever telling us what to do G-d is forever telling us what to do. Indeed, the very word Torah means "instruction," and that's basically what the Torah is: a series of instructions from on high. And yet we are told that "a fundamental principle of the Torah" is that "freedom of choice has been granted to man."3 What exactly are our choices, if G-d is constantly instructing us?
The question runs deeper. Let us assume that, in any given situation, under any set of circumstances, the choice is ours as to how we should act. But what kind of choice is this, if no one asked us if we want to be in that situation and under those set of circumstances in the first place? What kind of "choice" is there, if we didn't choose whether or not we should be presented with that choice?
So the Torah reveals to us this amazing secret: that ultimate choice was made by us, before we even existed. Before G-d emanated your soul and breathed it into your body, you were asked if you should be. So in every situation in which you find yourself, in every challenge you face in your life--you are there because you chose to be placed in that life.
The life we have is the life we want We go through life complaining, "I didn't ask to be born...!" But a thousand times a day we refute that claim. With countless choices and actions, we affirm that the life we have is the life we want.
Of course we do. After all, we chose it.
FOOTNOTES
1. Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 8:7.
2. Isaiah 60:21.
3. Maimonides' Mishneh Torah, Laws of Teshuvah 5:1.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
About the artist: Sarah Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children's books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London
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The Kitchen or the Library?
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/67/UZLk676288.jpg)
By Yanki Tauber
A huge fireplace dominated the room, in which a fire blazed round the clock. To its right were the food preparation areas. A massive oaken table, seating fourteen, indicated that the food in this home would be eaten right here, within sight of where the staff of butchers and chefs had prepared it for consumption. It was also obvious that this was the epicenter of the building, while the other rooms (sleeping alcoves, storage rooms and guest reception areas) filled secondary roles to the structure's central space.
"My design," explained the architect, "recaptures the home's initial, primal function: to shelter and nourish its inhabitants" "My design for A New Home for the New Millennium may seem revolutionary," explained the architect, "but only because we have drifted away in recent centuries from the home's initial, primal function. The kitchen moved from the core of the house to its periphery. It shrunk in size, sometimes to miniscule proportions, or it became little more than a showcase for expensive gadgetry. The dinning table devolved into an undersized 'kitchen table' and thence to a small countertop at which one perches to 'grabs a bite.' My design represents the endeavor to recapture the original purpose of the home: to shelter and nourish its inhabitants..."
A smattering of applause. Then the second architect unveiled his design.
At first glance, the second architect's model was similar in form and dimensions to the first. But closer examination revealed it to be a fundamentally different structure. The kitchen and other service areas were out in the courtyard. The building's core was an intimate room, furnished with bookshelves bearing a collection of ancient and modern volumes. It was a space for people to pursue intellectual study, listen to heart-stirring music, and engage in soul-enriching dialogue.
Is that all we are -- bodies that eat? "As you can see," the second architect began, "I have taken the very opposite approach of my esteemed colleague. Yes, the home should cater to our visceral needs; but is that all it is? Is that all we are--bodies that eat? To me, the primary function of a home is to house and facilitate our spiritual self--the self that thinks and feels, the self that gains and imparts knowledge and wisdom, the self the thrives on receiving and sharing joy..."
"G‑d desired a home in this world."1 Indeed, say the Chassidic masters, this is the purpose for which G‑d created all the worlds supernal and lowly, and the purpose of everything we do in and with our lives.
Following the Giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, G‑d instructed that a "model home" be built -- a structure that will embody, on a highly condensed and intensified scale, His vision of a dwelling for Himself in the physical world. Thus the portable Mishkan ("Tabernacle") was built in the desert to accompany the Children of Israel in their journeys, later achieving a more permanent form in the Beit Hamikdash ("Holy Temple") in Jerusalem.
A "model home" that embodies, on a highly condensed and intensified scale, G‑d's vision of a dwelling for Himself in the physical world The design and construction of the Tabernacle are described, in great detail, beginning in Exodus 25. The Sanctuary itself consisted of two chambers. An outer chamber, the "Holy," housed the menorah (seven branched candelabra), the "table" on which the 12 showbread were displayed, and a small altar for burning incense. The inner "Holy of Holies" contained the ark which held the Torah.2 The "courtyard" enclosing the Sanctuary contained the large Outer Altar on which the korbanot (animal and meal offerings) where offered.3
Which of these "vessels" most represented the significance of the divine dwelling? In which of these various functions did the primary objective and raison d'être of the edifice lie? Two of the great commentators and interpreters of Torah offer two contrasting perspectives on this question.
According to Maimonides (Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, 1135-1204), the Holy Temple is most basically defined as "a house for G‑d that is prepared for the offering of korbanot."4 According to Naschmanides (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, 1195-1270), "The main object... is realized in the ark, as G‑d says to Moses, 'I will commune with you there, speaking to you from above the ark's cover...'"5
According to the Talmud, when we are confronted with differing opinions amongst Torah sages we should appreciate that "these and these are both the words of the living G‑d."6
In the home we make for G‑d out of our lives, where does G‑d live--in the kitchen or in the library? What is our purpose in this world--to serve G‑d with our bodies, or to serve G‑d with our souls? Which is the greater mitzvah--to eat kosher or to study Torah? Who is closer to G‑d--the honest businessman or the ascetic sage? Which is the holiest part of ourselves--our physical being or our transcendent strivings?
In the home we make for G‑d out of our lives, where does G‑d live--in the kitchen or in the library?
These and these are both the words of the living G‑d.
FOOTNOTES
1. Midrash Tanchuma, Naso 16.
2. The ark held the two stone tablets inscribed with the Ten Commandments, as well a a Torah scroll.
3. The word korban means "something that is brought close." The korbanot were primarily animals which were offered up to G‑d, along with a meal offering and a wine libation (though there were also meal offering that were brought alone). After the animal was slaughtered in the Temple courtyard, its blood and fat were offered upon the altar, and its flesh was eaten in conditions of ritual purity. Thus an ordinary ox or sheep was uplifted from its mundane existence and brought close to G‑d.
On a deeper level, the korban represents the effort to elevate and sanctify the "animal" within oneself. According to the chassidic masters, each of us is comprised of both a "G‑dly" and an "animal" self. The G‑dly self is our spiritual essence, the transcendent soul within us which seeks to escape the mundane and cleave to its divine source. But there is also an animal side to us, self which is driven and fulfilled by our physical needs and desires and spawns our selfish drives and aspirations.
This is the animal in us that is to be offered as a korban to G‑d. Its "blood"--i.e., its fervor and passion for material things--is to be sprinkled on the altar; its "fat"--its excessive indulgence and pleasure-seeking--is to be burned. But the gist of the animal soul is not sacrificed, but reoriented. Its "meat" is to be eaten in holiness--the physical drives themselves are not to be disavowed and suppressed, but are to be refined and directed towards higher and loftier ends.
Thus the korban represents the endeavor to sanctify and "bring close to G‑d" our daily, physical and material existence by eliminating and sacrificing its negative and destructive elements and developing the substance itself into something that serves a higher, G‑dly goal.
4. Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Holy Temple 1:1
5. Nachmanides' commentary on Exodus 25:1.
6. Talmud, Eruvin 13b.
By Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
About the artist: Sarah Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children's books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London
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Juice
By Yanki Tauber
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/86574/jewish/Juice.htm
The amazing thing was how quickly it happened. Within minutes, hundreds of millions of light bulbs, air conditioners, microwave ovens, computers, refrigerators, phone systems, traffic lights, cash registers, subway cars and blow-dryers died. Ceased. Stopped. Just like that.
Actually, it didn't take any time at all to happen. Because nothing happened. Rather, it stopped happening. The flow of electricity, which modern life had grown so dependent upon, stopped flowing. The delicate equilibrium of ebb and flow which enables the transmission of the electric energy from one geographical point to another was somehow disrupted, and thousands of cities went dark, one by one.
Luminance, movement and artificial thought do not come naturally to the light bulb, subway car and computer. Essentially, these are just variously shaped and joined pieces of plastic, metal and glass. It's only that they've been ingeniously designed and constructed in such a way that a current of electricity passing through them makes then perform a variety of complex -- and very useful -- tasks. But even as they perform these tasks, they remain dark, dumb and immobile bits of matter. They're not really acting -- they're being acted upon by the current of energy that's "enlivening" them. The moment this external acting force ceases to act, these objects will simply revert to their natural state. The subway car becomes a waiting room and the computer becomes a desk ornament.
When the juice stopped flowing in the cities of the Northeast, we weren't just set back 150 years. A century-and-a-half ago we got along just fine without electrical appliances. In 2003, we had to learn all over again to accept the temperature of the atmosphere on a summer evening, make do with more humble sources of light, use our own two feet as a means of transportation, and do our computing with a naked human mind, aided, at most, with pencil and paper.
But imagine that life itself ran on electricity. That the engine of our heart, the RAM and ROM of our brain, the force fields that pull together countless billions of cells, atoms and quarks into a "body", the surges of will and desire that form the core of our "self" -- were all wired to one huge "power station". Imagine that we lived with the awareness that, in every instant of time, we were utterly dependant upon this outside power source for existence and life. That our existence and life were not inherent qualities that we somehow "possess", but are acted upon us by that external energy source, and that the moment that source should cease to so act, we would simply cease.
That, in fact, is how the founder of Chabad Chassidism, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), describes the entirety of creation. All of existence, explains Rabbi Schneur Zalman, was created by G-d ex nihilo ("something from nothing"). Since "something from nothing" is an absolute impossibility, this means that the essential nature of our existence remains "nothing"; our somethingness is a quality that must be constantly imposed upon us by an outside force that is beyond both "something" and "nothing" (for indeed He created both notions) and can thus manipulate them both, imposing the one upon the other.
G-d's creation of the world, therefore, was not a one-time act. G-d constantly "speaks" the world into being, exactly as He did the very first time He uttered "Let there be..." "If the letters," writes Rabbi Schneur Zalman, "of the Ten Utterances by which the earth was created during the Six Days of Creation were to depart from it for an instant, G-d forbid, it would revert to naught and absolute nothingness, exactly as before the Six Days of Creation" (Tanya, part II, ch. 1).
A frightening thought? I don't think so. In fact, the more I think about it, the more encouraging it is. What this basically means is that every nanosecond of time G-d looks upon our world, contemplates all the good and evil, kindness and cruelty, triumphs and failings, imperfections and strivings that goes on in it, and makes a conscious decision to grant it existence and life. It's as if you would ask the Creator, a billion times a second, "Seeing what's become of it, would you do it all over again?" and G-d says, "Yes, I would, exactly as it is" -- and does it.
If G-d sees something worthwhile there, I'm assuming that we, too, can.
What Is G‑d?
By Tzvi Freeman
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/433240/jewish/What-Is-Gd.htm
Question
Somewhere along the way, I misplaced G‑d. The other day I realized that I hadn't seen G‑d in quite a while--probably not since childhood. And it's not just that I can't find G‑d--I also seem to have lost my sense of what G‑d is... Why did this happen? If I had Him when I was a child, why shouldn't I have Him now?
Answer
You've got one clue, but you missed the other. It has to do with your language. Call it "thing-fixation."
That's probably the main disaster of your childhood --not being weaned, not leaving behind pampers for underpants, not sitting in a desk in first grade --but when you learned about things.
The entire world has been reduced in our minds to a mass junkyard of thingy stuff. So even G‑d gets defined as a thing... I don't mean, "you learned about things of the world." I mean, you learned the idea of things. You learned that the world is made of stuff, objects, material goomp that's just "out there". Later in life, you started running after those things, accumulating them, amassing more and more mounds of things to fill your home, your backyard and your driveway. By now, the entire world has been reduced in your mind to nothing but a mass junkyard of thingy stuff. So even G‑d gets defined as a thing --and you're trying to find the place where He fits. Because, after all, all things fit in places.
When you woke up to life as a small child, it wasn't like that. There were no things. There was just the experience of being. Of sensing, of living, of breathing and doing. Screaming, nursing, burping. Those were all real. Those are life. Things are not real. Things are fiction. They don't exist. We made them up.
The Birth of Thinginess
How did things come to be? Here's my catch on it.
In the beginning, there were no things. All of humankind knew life as does a small child, even as they grew older and wiser. But then someone got it into his head to draw pictures of all the stuff he had. Eventually, pictures became glyphs, a nifty device for esoteric communication. Glyph-lovers--such as the cult-priests of ancient Egypt--created thousands of glyphs to represent all the stuff Pharaoh was accumulating. Soon the idea seeped into the spoken language, as well: the idea of a "thing"--a static snapshot of a distinct whateveritis in a frozen moment of time. Stuff was born. And the world was never again the same.
In Hebrew, verbs rule Evidence? Because in ancient, biblical Hebrew, there is no word for stuff. Or thing. Or object or anything similar. In raw, primal Hebrew, you don't say, "Hey, where's that thing I put over here?" You say, "Where is the desired (chefetz) that I put here?" You don't say, "What's that thing?" --you say, "What's that word?" That's the closest you can get to the idea of thing: a word. All of reality is made of words. Look in the creation story: The whole of heaven and earth is nothing but words.
In fact, in ancient Hebrew, there aren't really any nouns, either. In languages like English, nouns are the masters and verbs are their slaves, with adjectives and associated forms dancing about to serve them. In Hebrew, verbs rule. Big, little, wise, foolish, king, priest, eye, ear--all of these sound like things, but in Hebrew they are forms of verbs. In fact, according to Rabbi Yeshayahu Horowitz (1560?-1630), author of the classic Shnei Luchot HaBrit, everything in Hebrew is really a verb. Everything is an event, a happening, a process --flowing, moving, never static. Just like when you were a small child.
In Hebrew, there is not even a present-tense. There are participles, but the idea of a present tense only arose later. In real Hebrew, nothing ever is--all is movement.
That fits, because Hebrew was not written in glyphs. Hebrew was the first language we know of to be written with symbols that represent sounds, not things. With the Hebrew alphabet--the mother of all alphabets--you don't see things, you see sounds. Even the process of reading is different: when you read glyphs, the order doesn't matter so much. You just sort of look and everything is there. Even modern Chinese glyphs can be written in any direction. With an alphabet, sequence is everything. Nothing has meaning standing on its own. Everything is in the flow.
Get The Flow
Things are not real. Things are fiction. They don't exist. We made them up. The flow is real. Things are not real. Ask a physicist: the more we examine stuff--what they call matter--we see that it's not there. All that's really there is events: waves, vibrations, fields of energy. Life is a concert, not a museum.
Think of writing music, as opposed to painting a portrait. The portrait artist stands back and beholds his art, his still rendition of a frozen moment--and he beholds it all at once. Then he politely asks his model to please return to the pose of that which has now become the prime reality, the portrait. A portrait of that which is but never was.
A composer of music cannot do this. You can't freeze a moment of music--it vanishes as soon as you attempt to do such. Like the fictional stuff they call matter: Frozen to absolute zero, without energy, without movement, it no longer exists. Because, in truth, all that exists is the flow of being.
The Name
The flow of being: now you have found G‑d The flow of being: now you have found G‑d. In fact, in Hebrew, that's His name. G‑d's name is a series of four letters that express all forms of the verb of all verbs, the verb to be: is, was, being, will be, about to be, causing to be, should be --all of these are in those four letters of G‑d's name. As G‑d told Moses when he asked for His name, "I will be that which I will be."
In our modern languages that doesn't work. We quickly slip into the trap of thingness again. Who is G‑d? We answer, "He is One who was, is and will be."
There we go with the "thing that is" business again. No, G‑d is not a thing that is or was or will be. G‑d is isness itself. Oy! The frustration of the language. We need new words: Ising. Isness. Isingness. Isifying. Isifier. In Hebrew you can conjugate the verb to be in all these ways and more. Perhaps in English one day we will do the same. Until then, we are like artists using pastels to imitate Rembrandt; like musicians trying to play middle-eastern strains in tempered C Major.
And the proof: We ask questions that make sense only in English, but in Hebrew are plainly absurd. Such as, "Does G‑d exist?" In Hebrew, that's a tautology, somewhat the equivalent of "Does existence exist?"
There is no need to "believe" in this G‑d--if you know what we are talking about, you just know. You will know, also, that there is nothing else but this G‑d--what is there that stands outside isness?
Think simple: You wake up in the morning and, even before coffee, there is As for faith and belief, those are reserved for greater things. Like believing that this great Isness that isifies all that ises cares, knows, has compassion, can be related to. In other words, saying that reality is a caring experience. Which reduces to saying that compassion is real, purpose is real, life is real. That's something you have to believe. But G‑d's existence--like most ideas that men argue about--that's just a matter of semantics.
Think simple: You wake up in the morning and, even before coffee, there is. Reality. Existence. Not "the things that exist" but existence itself. The flow. The infinite flow of light and energy. Of being, of existence. Of is. Think of all that flow of isingness all in a single, perfectly simple point. Get into it, commune with it, speak to it, become one with it --that is G‑d.
By Tzvi Freeman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Tzvi Freeman heads Chabad.org's Ask The Rabbi team, and is a senior member of the Chabad.org editorial team. He is the author of a number of highly original renditions of Kabbalah and Chassidic teaching, including the universally acclaimed "Bringing Heaven Down to Earth." To order Tzvi's books click here. Rabbi Freeman is available for public speaking and workshops. Read more on his bio page.
About the artist: Sarah Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children's books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/print/true/aid/63845/jewish/Where-Are-You.htm
Where Are You?
Told by the Lubavitcher Rebbe
In 1798, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi was imprisoned on charges, put forth by the opponents of Chassidism, that his teachings undermined the imperial authority of the czar. For 52 days he was held in the Peter-Paul Fortress in Petersburg.
Among the Rebbe's interrogators was a government minister who possessed broad knowledge of the Bible and Jewish studies. On one occasion, he asked the Rebbe to explain the verse (Genesis 3:9): "And G-d called out to the man and said to him: 'Where are you?'" Did G-d not know where Adam was?
Rabbi Schneur Zalman presented the explanation offered by several of the commentaries: the question "Where are you?" was merely a "conversation opener" on the part of G-d, who did not wish to unnerve Adam by immediately confronting him with his wrongdoing.
"What Rashi says, I know," said the minister. "I wish to hear how the Rebbe understands the verse."
"Do you believe that the Torah is eternal?" asked the Rebbe. "Do you believe that its every word applies to every individual, under all conditions, at all times?"
"Yes," replied the minister.
Rabbi Schneur Zalman was extremely gratified to hear this. The czar's minister had affirmed a principle which lies at the basis of the teachings of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, the very teachings and ideology for which he was standing trial!
"'Where are you?'" explained the Rebbe, "is G-d's perpetual call to every man. Where are you in the world? What have you accomplished? You have been allotted a certain number of days, hours, and minutes in which to fulfill your mission in life. You have lived so many years and so many days," -- here Rabbi Schneur Zalman spelled out the exact age of the minister -- "Where are you? What have you achieved?"
Told by the Lubavitcher Rebbe on Kislev 19, 5718 (December 12, 1957), on the occasion of the 159th anniversary of Rabbi Schneur Zalman's release from prison.
Biographical notes:
Rabbi Schneur Zalman Boruchovitch of Liadi, also known as the "Alter Rebbe" and "The Rav," was born in Li'ozna, White Russia in 1745. In 1764 he became a disciple of Rabbi DovBer of Mezeritch, the second leader of the Chassidic movement after the Baal Shem Tov. In 1772, Rabbi Schneur Zalman established the "Chabad" branch of Chassidism. For twenty years he labored on his Tanya, which, published in 1797, became the "bible" of Chabad Chassidism upon which hundreds of works and thousands of discourses by seven generations of Chabad rebbes and their disciples are based. Kislev 19, the day on which he was released from czarist imprisonment in 1798, is celebrated to this day as the "New Year for Chassidism," for that event marked the start of a new period of expansion for the movement. Rabbi Schneur Zalman passed away while fleeing from Napoleon's armies in December of 1812.
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Weekly Sermonette
Wake Up Calls
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/458214/jewish/Wake-Up-Calls.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Not everyone is lucky enough to get a wake-up call in life. Some people get theirs just in time. Others get it but don't hear it. Still others hear it loud and clear but refuse to take any notice.
Pharaoh got his in this week's Parshah (Torah reading) when Joseph interpreted his dreams and advised him to appoint "a wise and discerning man" who would oversee a macro economic plan for the country. Joseph explained to the King of Egypt that because he experienced two dreams and woke up in between it was a sign from heaven to wake up and act immediately as the matter was of the utmost urgency. Pharaoh took the message to heart and the rest is history.
On the health and well-being level, a little cholesterol, climbing blood pressure or recurring bronchitis might be the not-so-subtle signs that it's time for a change of lifestyle. These are the medical wake up calls we receive in life. Do we really have to wait for a heart attack, G-d forbid, to stop smoking, or start eating less and exercising more? That's what wake-up calls are for, to help us get the message before it's too late.
Then there are the spiritual signs. I will never forget a friend who shared with me the story of his own red lights flashing and how a changed spiritual lifestyle literally saved his life. He was a workaholic driving himself to the brink. Had he carried on indefinitely he simply would not have survived. Then he decided to give Shabbat a try. What he had never previously appreciated about Shabbat was that it is a spiritually invigorating day of rest and spiritual serenity. And in discovering Shabbat, he rediscovered his humanity. (He also discovered he could play golf on Sundays instead of Saturdays.)
A short trigger film I once used at a Shabbaton weekend program depicted a series of professionals and artisans at work. As they became engrossed and immersed in their respective roles they each became so identified with their work that they lost their own identities. Monday through Friday, the carpenter's face dissolved into a hammer, the doctor took on the face of a stethoscope and the accountant's head started looking exactly like a calculator. Then on Shabbat they closed their offices and came home to celebrate the day of rest with their families; slowly but surely, their faces were remolded from their professions to their personalities. Total immersion in their work had dehumanized them. They had become machines. Now, thanks to Shabbat, they were human again. That short video left a lasting impression.
It's not easy to change ingrained habits. But Chanukah, which usually falls during this week's Parshah, carries with it a relevant message in this regard. Take one day at a time. One doesn't have to do it all at once. One light at a time is all it takes. On the first night we kindle a single Chanukah light, on the second night we kindle two lights, and on the third night three. We add a little light each day, and before long the menorah is complete and all eight Chanukah lights are burning bright.
It's ok to take one day at a time. It's not ok to go back to sleep after you get a wake up call. Whether it's your medical well being or your spiritual health, the occasional wake up call is a valuable sign from Above that it may be time to adjust our attitudes, lifestyles or priorities. Please G-d, each of us in our own lives will hear the call and act on the alarm bells with alacrity.
By Yossy Goldman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Yossy Goldman was born in Brooklyn, New York to a distinguished Chabad family. In 1976 he was sent by the Lubavitcher Rebbe as shliach to serve the Jewish community of Johannesburg, South Africa. He is Senior Rabbi of the Sydenham Highlands North Shul since 1986, and president of the South African Rabbinical Association.
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http://www.jewishmag.com/16MAG/BATTLE/battle.htm
Much is known about the miracle of Chanukah and its subsequent impact on Jewish life. However, little is known about the battles that were fought by Judah the Maccabee and his sons. The Maccabean revolt began in 167 BCE and were at a time that there was no organized Jewish force that had engaged in any warfare. Judah the Maccabee used his genius in a manner radically different from his predecessors.
In order to fully understand the genius of Judah the Maccabee, we must understand the state of warfare which was used in those times. Greek and Roman armies were powerful, well trained, well financed, and disciplined. The Jews in that time period were basically farmers, they had lived in relative peace and had not resorted to any form of an army. Yet, after a decree was made that pigs be slaughter, offered to the Greek gods, and eaten, the revolt ensued. Mattisyahu, the Jewish priest was ordered to perform this sacrifice and to eat from the pig. Instead, with fury, he and his sons slew the Jewish traitors (who supported the Greeks) and Greek unit that had come to enforce the decree against the Jews. The Jews took refuge in the hills and mountain sides of the Modiin region, some 25 miles distant from Jerusalem. There a small group, estimated at 200 organized as a guerrilla group.
This small group reaffirmed the principles of Judaism with willingness to sacrifice themselves for the sake of their G-d. In what they lacked in supplies and training, they made up with there devotion. They worked on strengthening their contacts among the Jewish settlements, maintaining supplies and intelligence gathering. Soon, Judah, the son of Mattisyahu, was designated as the leader.
The Greek army was well trained, well organized and tried in battle. Their ranks were composed of heavy and light infantry, heavy and light cavalry, chariots, elephant units and engines for hurling huge stones. Their weapons included swords, javelins, spears bows, slings and battering rams. The Jews small group had such home made primitive weapons such as the sling and the mace. Here is where Judah’s genius came to even the sides.
The Greeks enjoyed the overwhelming superiority in manpower and arms. However they were trained for battle in a conventional fighting form. The core of the Greek army was the tactical infantry formation, a group of soldiers drawn up in close order. The troops advanced towards the enemy in a tight mass. The men in each rank shoulder to shoulder and close on the heels of the rank in front. This company comprised of some 250 men. They would march toward the enemy in close quarter with 16 men is each row and sixteen rows. Four such units comprised some one thousand men. This was the smallest fighting group that the Greeks employed.
As the unit approached the enemy force, the first five rows held their spears horizontally towards the enemy. The remaining rows held them vertically. Their large shields protected them from all sides and overhead. All men of that unit were ready to engage the enemy not as independent warriors, but as a tightly knit war machine. The entire unit would press against the enemy once battle was joined. The thundering forward crush, demolished every thing in its path. This infantry unit was protected on the flanks by cavalry and light forces which skirmished before the main forces. Judah saw that to engage the Greeks head on was insane. He realized that that the weakness in this method of warfare was in the cumbersome conventional movement of the organized units. Due to their rigid discipline and the tight internal organization of the warring units, they could not employ the element of surprise. The progress of a marching unit was powerful, yet slow and tedious. When two forces met in battle, both sides were in full view of the other. When battle was enjoined, it was in accordance to certain fixed tactical principles. The concept of using original tactics did not exist.
Judah saw the advantages to be gained from refusing to allow the enemy to dictate the field and style of battle. The Greeks were no match if challenged on flat land in a direct battle during the daylight hours. Yehuda’s strength was in the agility of his men to move quickly, quietly and independently and their desire to prevail. They possessed intimate knowledge of the local terrain therefore attacks could be carried out at night. He therefore chose to utilize the rocky and hilly slopes of the Modiin region, together with the element of surprise.
Judah decided to attack the Greeks as they were marching thought a narrow pass that winds uphill for several miles. With one group who would meet the Greeks head on, Judah split his men into other groups. One group was assigned the task of sealing off the narrow pass to prevent retreat. Two other groups hid on the hill side and waited for the first group to engage in battle. As the Greeks met the surprise attack from the front and directed their attention to the certain slaughter of these renegades, the second group attacked from one side. Turning to ward off this surprise, and as their attention was caught between two sides, they were attacked from the third side. Untrained for battle in a non-orthodox form, they were unaware of the trick that was being unfolded upon them. The Jewish warriors swept down from the sides and decimated the Greek troops. The entire Greek force was totally destroyed. The Jews wasted no time in collecting the enemy’s weapons and equipment.
This surprise victory had electrifying effects on the whole of Israel. The popular support that the Maccabean warriors had enjoyed was increased dramatically. The disgraced Greek army was forced to withdraw. Yet although the Greek army tried several times again to battle the small Jewish army, each time increasing the Greek army, they lost in a most profound manner. Judah’s genius manifest itself in utilizing the natural elements that were given to his side, and by utilizing his natural G-d given talents. He refusing to accept the enemy’s dictation of battle in any mode of conflict. We too, can learn from this, as we must deal with our enemies. We do not have to accept other modes of thought as the given, nor do we have to fight with them in their chosen conventional form (which they choose to use). Rather, we must utilize that natural and native Jewish intelligence which G-d has given us. That, together with our devotion, will help us succeed in all of our battles.
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Aish.com http://www.aish.com/sp/so/48907567.html
Out of the Closet
by Debbie Hirschmann
My mother, a Holocaust survivor, always said, "You can be a Jew on the inside, but not on the outside." It was just too risky.
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm a closet Jew.
You'd probably never know that I'm Jewish. I have blond hair and green eyes. I don't wear a Star of David -- never would -- that's what they had to wear in Nazi Germany. I really don't talk about Judaism to people outside of my community. I really don't make it public that I'm a Jew -- and particularly don't disclose that I'm a religious Jew. So I live in the closet as a Jew. And until recently, I preferred it that way.
There are many reasons for my secrecy -- but I realize now, they're mostly because of the Holocaust.
My mother and her sister are Holocaust survivors, and their parents were murdered in the gas chambers in Auschwitz. When my mom speaks of her parents, she still always cries, heartbroken, as if it had just happened yesterday. As if she were still that teenager that had her parents ripped out of her life, forever.
I didn't want to be associated with being a persecuted Jew. So I pushed both the Holocaust, and Judaism, away.
I always had very mixed feelings about the Holocaust. On one hand, I was powerfully drawn to it and wanted to know more information about it. On the other hand, it caused Judaism to have such a horrible stigma. As a result, everything related to being Jewish had negative associations that I didn't want to have anything to do with it. I didn't want to be associated with being a persecuted Jew. So I pushed both the Holocaust, and Judaism, away.
To add to all this, I was hardly raised Jewish at all. My mother married a Catholic, and so I was raised with really no religion of which to speak. My mother always said, "Hitler was our matchmaker." In other words, had her family been alive, she never would have married a non-Jew. My parents agreed not to push either of their religions on my sister or me, and they kept with that agreement.
HIGH HOLIDAY PAIN
In my WASPy public high school in suburban San Francisco, I never admitted to anyone why I missed school on the Jewish New Year. I certainly wasn't bat mitzvahed; it never crossed my mind. We went to temple just 2 days a year, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. In temple I recall my mother and her sister crying, or sitting with pained looks on their faces. No spiritual meaning for me, just more negativity. Every year, on schedule, I sat watching my mother and aunt who had suffered so much already, suffer yet again.
We celebrated both Christmas and Chanukah, but I always felt that Chanukah was a poor imitation/substitute for the Christmas that we celebrated with joy and beauty. I always felt sorry for my cousins who only celebrated Chanukah, with its dismal decorations. In our home, next to a beautifully decorated Christmas tree, pathetically sat a tarnished, copper menorah with unattractive wax candles. To "celebrate" Chanukah, my mother always cried and sang a song in Hebrew that her father sang when he was alive.
As I got older, I searched for God and meaning in this world, but didn't get answers through religion. Since no Jewish education was available, I explored being a born-again Christian. I got into it for a while, but could never really buy the Jesus thing. (Why need a middle man?) The last straw came when I was at a Bible study class. I asked how they knew what Jesus exactly said and meant, since there had been so many translations and versions of the New Testament. They didn't like my question and basically said I should shut up and just have faith and not ask questions. At that point I threw in the towel with Christianity. Can't ask questions? Can't get answers? What kind of a religion is that? Blind faith wasn't my bag.
But neither was Judaism? yet.
By sheer coincidence (a.k.a. God's will) I stumbled into traditional Judaism through Aish HaTorah with my soon-to-be husband. Slowly, we made the trek of becoming religiously observant -- first going to a few Shabbats, then moving along the scale. I learned the incredible beauty of Judaism. I found that every question I had, had a multitude of answers through Judaism. I felt that Judaism was -- tragically! -- an amazing, well-kept secret. Everything about it rang true.
I still didn't want to be singled out as my family had been, and looked at unfavorably -- a Jew. Der Juden!
I started learning and knowing about the religion that my grandparents had died for.
But still I was a closet Jew.
I still didn't want to be singled out as my family had been, and looked at unfavorably -- a Jew. Der Juden! I didn't want to be persecuted in any way as my family had been in Poland by the Nazis. My mother always said, "You can be a Jew on the inside, but not on the outside." It was too risky to be a Jew on the outside.
But push finally came to shove, and although I didn't know it, this year I was about to get shoved out of my closet.
GAINING PERSPECTIVE
Work was now conflicting with Shabbat. The daylight savings time change was about to occur, and I was no longer comfortable with the idea that I might miss candle lighting on a Friday night because of a work commitment.
But what would they think of me?! I can't expect to leave early just because I'm Jewish! Here I was, feeling that being Jewish is bad again.
But I knew I had to speak up.
Everyone has his or her tests. One of mine is work. I obsess over it, agonize over it, ruminate over it. My husband rightly said, "You should be as afraid of God as you are of your boss." He was right. I had to get my priorities straight.
This last Rosh Hashana I prayed that I could put work in perspective. God answered my prayers. I knew that I had to tell my boss that I'm a religious Jew and I need to observe the laws of my religion.
But I was so incredibly uncomfortable with this idea. How could I say this to my boss? How would he respond? I felt my Judaism conflicting with work, and being considered, once again, negative. But I had to be honest with what was more important.
I realized, in thinking what I would tell my boss, that I have two main reasons for being a religious Jew. One is because it gives enormous meaning, purpose and beauty to my life.
If I can practice the same Judaism that the Nazis wanted to wipe from this earth, then my grandparents' deaths, and those of 6 million innocent Jews, would not be in vain.
The other is that it finally let me come to terms with my relationship to the Holocaust. If I can practice Judaism, the same Judaism that the Nazis wanted to wipe from this earth, then my grandparents' deaths, and those of 6 million innocent Jews, would not be in vain. I am carrying on that which they died for. The Nazis did not win. Those innocents did not die in vain. Judaism lives on, and is being carried on? with me.
If people in concentration camps risked death to practice their religion, if starving Jews in concentration camps forfeited food to observe Yom Kippur, then certainly an extra hour of work on Friday was a sacrifice I could make.
When I picked up the phone to my boss, I asked God for the words. I started to explain my carefully thought out statement. I prefaced that this was a difficult discussion for me to have, because it's very personal, because it's very important to me, because -- I'm Jewish. And I'm uncomfortable bringing this up because of my history, because being Jewish has never been seen as a very positive thing -- that my mom had been in a concentration camp just because she was a Jew, and my grandparents were murdered just because they were Jewish. And then I burst into tears.
I burst into tears, for them, and also for me.
Finally accepting who I am.
Finally out of the closet.
SHINING LIGHTS
The phone call went swimmingly, and my boss was very accommodating. (I guess it's hard to say no to a woman bawling at the other end of the line.) And last week was such a relief when I didn't feel the need to go into hiding when Shabbat candle lighting came at 4:36 p.m.
I recently heard a rabbi saying that the candles of Shabbat relate to the candles of Chanukah. He said that women light two Shabbat candles (to both remember and keep the Sabbath) and it's also a custom to light a candle for each child born into the family. When a child asks why the candle is lit for him, the rabbi said, we should make a point to answer that the reason is that each child, each person, brings his own special light to the family and to this world.
Similarly, we light our Chanukah candles, we send light out into the world, as we denounce our assimilation into the general society and proclaim our rededication to our faith.
Maybe this year my light got a little bit brighter.
In honor of the birth of
Gavriel Nosson
and
Gavriel Chaim ben Moshe Ha Kohain.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/so/48907567.html
I guess if Jews can write Christmas Carols. A Mormon senator can write a Chaunkah song
http://www.tabletmag.com/news-and-politics/21863/eight-days-of-hanukkah/
http://www.tabletmag.com/arts-and-culture/music/21886/eight-days-of-hanukkah-video/
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http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1046339/jewish/Finding-Light-in-the-Dark.htmFinding Light in the Dark
Finding Light in the Dark
The Healing Power of Chanukah
by Shalvi Weissman
My house is a mess, my head is a mess. Before, all three kids were crying; now the house's soundtrack is noticeably quieter, a strong contrast to the images that meet the eye. Dirty dishes, a sewing project on the living room floor (the only surface in the house big enough to lay out fabric to cut)--once clean, new fabric and patterns, now covered in dusty footsteps of four different sizes; on the table, together with the lunch leftovers, lie papers waiting to be filed, bills post due, lists of urgent phone calls waiting to be made.
My head is reeling The baby is on my lap as I type—she wakes up and screams for half an hour any time I try to put her down. I got some very harsh news today. My head is reeling. Someone I love is in pain. The clean laundry is on my son's bed; I'd better put it elsewhere soon or he will just lie down on top of it and it won't be so clean anymore.
You should know, none of this is my fault. I paid a babysitter to take my kids to the park for the afternoon in order to avoid the exact scene that I'm describing. Oh well, so much for that.
At the height of the excitement before the kids fell asleep, I was running around in circles, trying to make some progress on all of the projects mocking me in each direction I looked. I started opening and closing kitchen cabinets. It's not there. Maybe in the fridge. The freezer? Something that will give me the strength, endurance power and patience to deal with the disturbances in my home and in my heart. No, this is too big even for chocolate. I go into my room, close the door. It's dark. Just me and You, G‑d.
"I need help. I'm so broken-hearted over her suffering. I wish I could help, but I can't. I can't even handle the home front, never mind battles far afield. I don't want my family to suffer because I can't get it together. I'm a little embarrassed to even turn to You in this state, but You know what? You created me with my strengths and weaknesses. You made my baby a light sleeper with a super sensitive stomach. You deemed it fit for me to be told today about the abuse that went on in my student's home as she was growing up. You run the world, not me. If You delegated this little corner of the world to me, You must think I am capable, or at least capable enough. Please give me whatever it is that I need to get through this and make You proud."
Ahhh. Better than chocolate.
I feel my faith being stretched by life and experience There are some very dark places in the world. Dark, sad, lonely, frightening places. When we find ourselves in them, what do we do? A person of moderate faith has little trouble finding G‑d in the face of a newborn baby, a beautiful sunset, a spring butterfly. But what about on skid row, in the oncology unit, or the orphanage? When life dishes up a bitter brew, what do we do? When a baby is crowning, can the body widen enough to allow for new life? I feel my faith being stretched by life and experience. It feels like it might break me, but is there any option other than pushing forward?
The ideal way to light the Chanukah candles is to place them within ten handbreadths (called t'fachim) of the floor. The Talmud tells us that the Shechina, the Divine Presence, never dwelled below ten t'fachim. On Chanukah we are bringing the light of the Divine Presence where it had never been before.
Imagine living in the time of the Chanukah story, watching the Greeks grow in power and influence over the years, until the point when Torah cannot be learned in pubic without fear of torture and death. The Holy Temple, The House of G‑d, the place we would go to renew the purity of our souls, is now overtaken by idolaters. It's one thing for the Greeks to take over the mall, the media, the world of the body, but once the home of my soul has been invaded, where can I turn? What possibility is there to connect to the Divine? How can I serve a G‑d that has allowed His very own home to be overtaken by evil? What a dark place to live in. What bravery and faith the Macabbees had to bring light to such a place, to put their lives on the line for a G‑d that had, it seemed from their human perspective, abandoned them.
I could use some of that. A young woman asked me this week why G‑d gave her an eating disorder. Her friends are enjoying the pleasures of youth, looking forward to marriage and sweet hopeful horizons. She struggles every moment for her health and sanity. She is young. She doesn't remember ever asking for this. She prays every day for healing, for a normal life. She wants me, her teacher, to tell her why G‑d is making her suffer, to tell her why G‑d is not answering her prayers.
Let's create some light here I take a deep breath. I am holding my month-old baby in my arms. "When I gave birth it hurt. Birth is tough. If someone had come to me when I was screaming and sweating with pain and given me a technical or logical explanation for why I was suffering, I might have chopped off his head. There are no answers for someone in the midst of suffering so great that it stretches the boundaries of their survival. I can only hold your hand and tell you that I believe that there will be a baby.
"I don't know why you are suffering. I do know that G‑d hears you every time that you cry out. I believe that you can overcome this. I believe that G‑d believes that you can overcome this and that you will be much greater from the experience. You are surrounded by darkness that you cannot chase away, so let's just do our best to create some light in here. We can't see G‑d's goodness with sunshine clarity from within your pain, but our faith can be a candle that gives enough light to see where the next footstep belongs."
Chanukah comes when the days are short and cold, the days when we need light the most. There are dark places in all of our lives. A candle in the sunshine is useless. A candle in the dark is a powerful tool. I can't take away all the pain and suffering, but I can try to carry colorful candles in my heart and leave strands of the Divine light in my wake.
by Shalvi Weissman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Shalvi Weissman is a mother, teacher, singer and writer living in Jerusalem with her husband and four children.
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Against All Odds
http://www.aish.com/h/c/mm/sf/78754242.html
The Holiday Card
by Kaila Lasky
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=70134357§ion=/h/c/s(http://)
A small Chanukah miracle for a lonely Jewish soldier in Iraq.
It was our first big celebration as a family since our son's bris, eight years earlier. Our daughter Aliza was becoming a Bat Mitzvah. We had a fun idea for how to celebrate it: We had been married years earlier on a boat in Manhattan, and since Aliza was born on our first anniversary, we thought we would do it again.
So we hired a boat and invited a small group of mostly relatives and classmates. In planning the food and the flowers and the music, there seemed to be something missing. We had the “bar,” but where was the “mitzvah”? Aside from my daughter's Dvar Torah (“the speech”), what could we do to elevate this gathering from being just another birthday party?
Providentially, there was a request in our synagogue to pray for a local soldier who was being deployed to Iraq. The idea was born; let's have all the kids at our simcha (celebration) make Chanukah cards to send to Jewish soldiers overseas. Nothing earth-shattering, just a way to inject some meaning into the festivities.
The date arrived and our ship sailed. God granted us a picture perfect September day and when Aliza's carefully prepared speech blew overboard, she adlibbed admirably. The Chanukah cards were written and colored and decorated. A lovely time was had by all. And the next day, the cards were mailed out with heartfelt wishes and love to our Jewish brothers and sisters. End of story.
Or so we thought.
Six months later, when the bat mitzvah was a fond, distant memory, there was a knock on my door in the middle of the day. Bravely, I unlocked the door, even though I didn't recognize the voice on the other side. A pleasant twenty-something man greeted me:
"I'm Lt. Steinberg, and your daughter sent me a Chanukah card when I was in Iraq."
Well, you could've blown me over with a feather.
But wait -- it gets better.
Apparently our few dozen cards had been thrown in with the hundreds and thousands of cards sent to celebrate that other December holiday. The chaplain showed up one day at the army base with an enormous sack, filled to the brim with cards and letters. As he passed out handfuls of cards to the grateful troops, Lt. Steinberg was hanging back, feeling pretty left out and lonely.
Suddenly amidst the celebratory crowd, the company captain noticed our soldier. "Steinberg, why are you so quiet? How come you’re not opening any cards?"
Oh brother, Steinberg thought, don't they get it? "Captain, I'm Jewish, remember?"
"C'mon, Steinberg, don't be a spoilsport. Take a card."
Steinberg tried to shrink himself into invisibility. But the captain wasn't having it. "Let's go, Steinberg. These people were nice enough to write to us. NOW TAKE A CARD!"
By now the captain had everyone's attention and Steinberg was getting pretty uncomfortable in the spotlight. Quick, he told himself, just grab a Christmas card and you’ll stop being the center of attention.
Steinberg reached deep into the sack, pulled out a card and looked at it. To his complete and utter shock the return address said Wesley Hills, New York. Steinberg is from Wesley Hills.
Hands shaking, he tore it open and found a beautiful hand-made Chanukah card, signed by my daughter Aliza, the Bat Mitzvah girl herself. Steinberg was dumbfounded by the providence of it all. He broke out in a huge grin and proudly showed the card to the captain and the entire platoon. Everyone understood the small miracle they had just witnessed.
Standing there in my Wesley Hills home, with my mouth gaping open and tears in my eyes, I begged Steinberg to come back and retell the story when my children were home. Indeed, he returned the following week with a friend and a camera. For our family, it was an incredible inspiration to see so clearly the power of our "little" mitzvah.
But that’s not the end of the story. Just this past September one of the chaplains I had contacted about sending those cards asked if I could help arrange kosher meals and snacks for troops in Afghanistan for the High Holidays and Sukkot. I organized some people in my community and we sent 144 kosher meals to Afghanistan. Aish HaTorah’s Project Inspire got involved and sent dozens of personal cards and honey sticks for Rosh Hashanah and then chocolates for Chanukah to troops in Afghanistan, Iraq, Italy and Kuwait.
The story of Lt. Steinberg continues to bear more and more fruit. May all my daughter’s mitzvot enjoy such success!
(The story is true; Lt. Steinberg’s name has been changed.)
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Holocaust Oil
by Aish.com Staff
Elijah's light still shines.
At the conclusion of every 16-hour work day in the hell called Bergen-Belsen, the block commander liked to have some fun with his Jews.
The meal at the end of the day consisted of old dry bread, filthy watery soup and a pat of something like margarine made from vegetable fat.
The margarine was scooped out of a large tub, and after the meal had been distributed and the tub was empty, the commander allowed the starving prisoners to jump into the empty tub and lick the remaining margarine from the walls of the tub. The sight of starving Jews licking up bits of margarine provided nightly entertainment for the commander and his guards.
One prisoner, however, refused to be a part of the commander's show. Though like all the rest he was a withered, starving shadow of a man aged far beyond his years, still, he would never allow himself to scavenge for a lick of margarine. The other prisoners called him Elijah. In some unspoken way, the others drew strength from Elijah's refusal to join the frenzy.
Then, one night, something happened that seemed to shatter whatever spirit remained in the prisoners. Elijah cracked. All at once he threw himself into the greasy vat and furiously rolled around like a crazed beast .
And how the commander howled. It was a deep belly laugh of satanic satisfaction. The last of the Jews had been broken.
Later, after the guards left and the Jews were in their barracks, Elijah took off his shirt and began to tear it to shreds. The others looked on in silence. Had Elijah gone mad?
He would study the shirt for a moment, carefully looking it over, as if searching for some exact location, and then tear that area into a strip. He looked up. His eyes were on fire.
"Do you know what tonight is?" he demanded. "Tonight is the first night of Chanukah."
Elijah studied the shirt again, finding another choice spot to tear. A spot he had purposely saturated with grease from his roll in the margarine tub.
That night Elijah led the others in the lighting of the Chanukah flames. The wicks came from the strips of his shirt, and the bits of margarine Elijah had furiously scavenged was the oil.
Elijah's light continues to shine.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/c/s/h/48956076.html
Holocaust Survival
by David C. Gross
With the help of God, the Jews as a people will outlive their cruel foes and emerge triumphant in the end.
The pious Jewish inmates in Bergen-Belsen were determined to kindle Chanukah lights and chant the appropriate Hebrew blessings. They were abject slaves, temporarily permitted to live and toil until their strength gave out. Death lurked on all sides. Even if they could manage to avoid detection by their taskmasters, they lacked the essential materials: Chanukah candles and a Menorah.
Yet, a seemingly impossible celebration came about on the first night of Chanukah 1943 in Bergen-Belsen. One of eleven fortunate survivors, Rabbi Israel Shapiro, better known among his Chasidim as the Bluzhever Rebbe, was the central figure of that macabre Chanukah celebration.
Living in the shadow of death, and not knowing when their own turn would come, the Jewish inmates were determined to celebrate Chanukah in the traditional manner and draw whatever spiritual strength they could from the story of the Maccabees.
- From their meager food portions, the men saved up some bits of fat.
The women, for their part, pulled threads from their tattered garments and twisted them into a makeshift wick.
- For want of a real Menorah, a candle-holder was fashioned out of raw potato.
- Even Chanukah dreidels for the dozen children in the camp were carved out of wooden shoes that the inmates wore.
LIGHTING THE MENORAH
At great risk to their lives, many of the inmates made their way unnoticed to Barrack 10, where the Bluzhever Rebbe was to conduct the Chanukah ceremony.
He inserted the improvised candle into the improvised Menorah and in a soft voice began to chant the three blessings. On the third blessing, in which God is thanked for having "kept us in life and preserved us and enabled us to reach this time," the Rebbe's voice broke into sobs, for he had already lost his wife, his only daughter, his son-in-law, and his only grandchild.
The assembled inmates joined him in a chorus of weeping, for all of them had also lost their own families. In low voices, choked by irrepressible sobs – they struggled to chant the traditional hymn, Ma’oz Tzur, which proclaims steadfast faith in God, the Rock of their strength.
On regaining some composure, the Rebbe tried to comfort them and instill new courage and hope. Referring to the words of the second blessing ("that He wrought miracles for our fathers in days of old"), the Rebbe asked, "Is it not anomalous to thank God for miracles that he had wrought for our ancestors long ago, while He seemingly performs none for us in our tragic plight?"
In answer to his own question, the Rebbe said, "By kindling this Chanukah candle we are symbolically identifying ourselves with the Jewish people everywhere. Our long history records many bloody horrors our people have endured and survived. We may be certain that no matter what may befall us as individuals, the Jews as a people will – with the help of God – outlive their cruel foes and emerge triumphant in the end."
Excerpted from the Jewish American Examiner, David C. Gross
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/c/s/h/48956896.html
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The Fifth Night
As told by Yanki Tauber
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/102970/jewish/The-Fifth-Night.htm
One of the legendary soldiers in the Lubavitcher Rebbe's army of teachers and activists who kept Judaism alive in Communist Russia in the darkest years of repression was Rabbi Asher Sossonkin, who spent many years in Soviet labor camps for his "counter-revolutionary" activities. In one of these camps he made the acquaintance of a Jew by the name of Nachman Rozman. In his youth, Nachman had abandoned the traditional Jewish life in which he was raised to join the communist party; he served in the Red Army, where he rose to a high rank; but then he was arrested for engaging in some illegal business and sentenced to a long term of hard labor in Siberia.
Rozman was drawn to the chassid who awakened in him memories of the home and life he had forsaken. With Reb Asher's aid and encouragement, he began a return to Jewish observance under conditions where keeping kosher, avoiding work on Shabbat, or grabbing a few moments for prayer meant subjecting oneself to near-starvation, repeated penalties and a daily jeopardy of life and limb.
One winter, as Chanukah approached, Reb Asher revealed his plan to his friend. "I'll get a hold of a small, empty food can -- the smaller the better, so it'll be easy to hide and escape notice. We'll save half of our daily ration of margarine over the next two weeks, for oil. We can make wicks from the loose threads at the edges of our coats. When everyone's asleep, we'll light our 'menorah' under my bunk...."
"Certainly not!" cried Nachman Rozman. "It's Chanukah, Reb Asher, the festival of miracles. We'll do the mitzvah the way it should be done. Not in some rusty can fished out from the garbage, but with a proper menorah, real oil, at the proper time and place. I have a few rubles hidden away that I can pay Igor with at the metal-working shed; I also have a few 'debts' I can call in at the kitchen...."
A few days before Chanukah, Nachman triumphantly showed Reb Asher the menorah he had procured -- a somewhat crude vessel but unmistakably a "real" menorah, with eight oil-cups in a row and a raised cup for the shamash. On the first evening of Chanukah, he set the menorah on a stool in the doorway between the main room of their barracks and the small storage area at its rear, and filled the right-hand cup; together, the two Jews recited the blessings and kindled the first light, as millions of their fellows did that night in their homes around the world.
On that first night the lighting went off without a hitch, as it did on the second, third and fourth nights of the festival. As a rule, the prisoners in the camp did not inform on each other, and their barrack-mates had already grown accustomed to the religious practices of the two Jews.
On the fifth night of Chanukah, just as Reb Asher and Nachman had lit five flames in their menorah, a sudden hush spread through the barracks. The prisoners all froze in their places and turned their eyes to the doorway, in which stood an officer from the camp's high command.
Though surprise inspections such as these were quite routine occurrences, they always struck terror in the hearts of the prisoners. The officer would advance through the barracks meting out severe penalties for offenses such as a hidden cigarette or a hoarded crust of bread. "Quick, throw it out into the snow," whispered the prisoners, but the officer was already striding toward the back doorway, where the two Jews stood huddled over the still-burning flames of their candelabra.
For a very long minute the officer gazed at the menorah. Then he turned to Reb Asher. "P'yat? (Five?)" he asked.
"P'yat," replied the chassid.
The officer turned and exited without a word.
As told by Yanki Tauber More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Originally published in the Hebrew weekly Sichat Hashavuah; translation/adaptation by Yanki Tauber.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Why Do We Play With a Top on Chanukah?
By Yeruchem Eilfort
Question:
Why do we play with Dreidels on Chanukah?
Answer:
A favorite pasttime of children and adults alike on the Festival of Chanukah is playing with a Dreidel (in English - top, in Hebrew - sevivohn). This delightful game has an ancient history. The Dreidel has four letters from the Hebrew alphabet, imprinted on each of its sides. In Israel the letters are Nun, Gimel, Hay, and Pay, which stands for Nais Gadol Hayah Poh -- a great miracle happened here. Outside of Israel the letters are Nun, Gimmel, Hay, and Shin, which stands for Nais Gadol Hayah Shahm -- a great miracle happened there.
The game is played by distributing to all participants either nuts, chocolates, or Chanukah Gelt (coins). Everyone places a coin in the middle and someone spins the Dreidel. If the Dreidel stops showing Nun, he neither wins nor loses. If Gimmel, he wins the entire pot. If Hay, he gets half the pot. If Shin, he must put one in the pot.
The game then continues with the next person taking his turn, and so on around the circle until someone has won everything. It is of course nice to distribute plenty of consolation prizes so that everyone can go home a winner!
Where did this wonderful game originate? Truth be told, it was a game of life or death. The Greek Syrians had become a progressively more oppressive occupying force. At first they felt they would convert the Jewish population to their pagan ways through being kind and gentle with the Jews. Much to their chagrin the Jews remained steadfastly committed to their own religion (aside from a small percentage who became Hellenized).
Frustrated by their lack of success the powerful regime passed a series of laws outlawing the study of Torah as a religious work. They additionally outlawed many types of ritual commandments like circumcision and Shabbat observance. The Jews were compelled to take their Torah learning "underground," for they knew, a Jew without Torah is like a fish out of water.
In order to disguise their activity the Children of Israel had to resort to learning Torah in outlying areas and forests. Even this plan was not foolproof, for the enemy had many patrols. The Jews therefore brought along small tops that they would quickly pull out and play with after secreting away their texts, so that they could pretend to be merely playing games.
This ruse did the trick, and the unbroken tradition of Torah scholarship thankfully remained intact!
By Yeruchem Eilfort More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Yeruchem Eilfort is director of Chabad at La Costa, California, and welcomes readers' comments and questions.
The Kabbalah of the Dreidel
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/60/Thwn604367.jpg)
By Yisrael Rice
Do you know the rules of Dreidel? You spin a top with four Hebrew letters on it. A Gimmel wins the whole kitty, a Hei gets you half, Nun gets nothing and for a Shin you must pay in. Aside from the inherent Kabbalistic meaning behind this method, there is the practical Yiddishe origin. Gimmel stands for Gantz, meaning the whole thing. Hei is for Halb, meaning half. Nun stands for Nisht or nothing. And Shin is for Shtell arein or put in.
These are four basic modes of being, depending upon the person, his or her period in life, or the particular day. We all have our Gimmel days. This is when we feel that everything is going great and turning out in a sensational way. (It's been a while, eh?) We have our Hei days, when things are going quite well. The Nun and Shin need no explanation.
But each of these letters represents only one face of the Dreidel -- only a single angle or perspective of the whole. What do the letters spell out? What is the "whole" of the Dreidel? Ness Gadol Hayah Sham, "a great miracle happened there." This refers to the great miracle of Chanukah that occurred in the Holy Land. The situation there seemed dire and beyond hope. They were definitely having a Shin day. The commitment of a few people turned the situation around (like a Dreidel) and brought out the miracle and G-d's salvation.
The Macabees did not dwell on the fact that they were being oppressed and persecuted. They focused on the Gimmel that was on the other side of the Shin. And then they acted to create a vehicle for a Divine miracle.
It is vital to remember that whatever letter we seem to be getting at a particular point in life, it's all part of one Dreidel. And that Dreidel is telling us that miracles happen. We can transform the dark situations of life into the bright light of the Chanukah Menorah. This depends upon our faith in G-d’s plan, and our commitment to create a vehicle for the miracle.
The Dreidel in the Bible?
Based on this theme we find a phenomenal "coincidence" with these four letters of the Dreidel. The first place where these letters occur as a word in the Torah is in the Parshah (Torah Reading) of Vayigash (Genesis 44-47, always in proximity to Chanukah), where they spell the word Goshnah, meaning "to Goshen."
The Patriarch Jacob was sending his son, Judah, to the Egyptian city of Goshen to set up a house of study, in advance of Jacob's, and his entire family's, relocation to that land. Our patriarch was aware that this was a dreadful descent into exile. But he looked at all of the letters of the Dreidel, and realized that hidden in the exile are the seeds of redemption. Study must continue, especially in exile. As long as we are able to retain the vital Divine information, the exile cannot hold sway over us. And our study and performance become the vehicle for the ultimate redemption.
This is similar to the origin of the Dreidel. According to tradition, during the times of Greek oppression Torah study was forbidden. When the children were studying, they would keep a Dreidel nearby to pull out and play in case they were discovered. (A bit opposite from our Hebrew school experience, perhaps.) At the time, the students may have thought that the game was a distraction from their true purpose in life. But in truth, G-d conceals His countenance to draw out our commitment and connection to Him. It's all about revealing the Divine in the least likely places. That's what a miracle is.
The Dreidel was the formula to elicit the underlying truth of the Jewish soul.
The Dreidel and Moshiach
And one more idea. If you add up the Gimatria (the Hebrew numerical value) of the letters of the Dreidel, you get 358 (Nun (50) + Gimmel (3) + Hei (5) + Shin (300) = 358). This is the same value as Moshiach (Mem (40) + Shin (300) + Yud (10) + Chet (8) = 358), the Messiah. When the Moshiach comes, he will teach each individual how to see the Divine purpose in every facet of life. Even the time of exile and darkness will be illuminated.
We may have been focusing on one particular letter. Moshiach will teach us to see that all of life is a tapestry of Divine wonder.
By Yisrael Rice More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Yisrael Rice is the Executive Director of Chabad of Marin, Marin County, California and Chairman of the Editorial Board of the Jewish Learning Institute. He is the creator of the "Infinite Within" seminar and author of "The Kabbalah of Now."
Illustration: Mosaic by Chassidic artist Michoel Muchnik.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Chanukah Play
Too cute for words. Watch a group of 5 year-olds re-enact this drama of struggle and redemption, the story of Chanukah. They do a really excellent job
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/449769/jewish/Chanukah-Play.htm
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/1070493/jewish/The-Beginning-of-Western-Civilization.htm
The Beginning of Western Civilization
By Barry Strauss
Chanukah is an eight-day annual Jewish holiday. But it also lays claim as the start of western civilization. Not Jewish civilization, which was already old at the time of the first Chanukah in the second century before the common era, and not Hellenic (ancient Greek) civilization, which was also ancient. But the encounter of the West with Judaism, of reason with revelation, of Athens with Jerusalem: that began on Chanukah.
"Man," said an ancient Greek philosopher, "is the measure of all things." The Bible disagrees: "the fear of the Lord," it says, "is the beginning of wisdom." Who is right? A great debate about G‑d and man lies at the heart of the West. From Sinai to Babylon, from the lions to the Crusaders, from the Wars of Religion to the Age of Reason–and of Revolution, from Stalin to John Paul II, from eugenics to a belief that life is sacred, and from globalism to a respect for individual states – even Israel! — it remains the central question. Athens and Jerusalem still are what they always were, the struggling twins of the West.
Chanukah commemorates a miraculous victory in a war in 167 B.C.E. A Greco-Macedonian kingdom, centered in what is today Syria, had tried to outlaw the Jewish religion in its homeland in Judea and to replace it with Hellenic culture. Many Jews, in fact, supported that goal. But that is no surprise, because Hellenism had enormous appeal.
Hellenism seemed to have everything going for it. It was up-to-date, sophisticated, and intellectually satisfying. It offered wealth, health, art, and glamour. It represented the entrance ticket to an imperial civilization. Hellenism offered the opportunity to think big.
Judaism sat at the opposite end of the scale. It was old, small, and poor. It had no empire. It had nothing to offer except faith, trust, love, and strength. But those things, it turns out, are items that the human heart cannot do without.
So the miraculous happened. A small band, burning with faith, went on to defeat an empire.
There is, of course, a rational explanation; there always is. "The Syrian-Greek state had passed its prime." "The Jews had short lines of communication." "They mastered guerrilla tactics." "The Greeks overplayed their hand." "Judea wasn't worth the bones of a Macedonian grenadier anyhow." If rational explanations are enough for you, then take your pick.
But if you think that "the heart has its reasons that reason knows not of," if you think that there is more to life than shifting particles, if you respect science without worshipping it – in short, if you doubt that man is G‑d, then wonder at the light of a miracle burning in the dark days of winter.
By Barry Strauss More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Dr. Barry Strauss is professor of history and classics at Cornell University
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Weekly Sermonette
We're Not Alone
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/233943/jewish/Were-Not-Alone.htm
By Yossy Goldman
How many Jews came down to Egypt?
By the time of the Exodus, there were 600,000 men of military age (and, according to all estimates, a total of a few million people) in the young nation. But the number who originally went down to Egypt in the days of Joseph were only, by the Torah's attestation, "seventy souls." However, if one examines the text, Jacob's sons and their children -- even including Joseph and his sons who were already in Egypt -- only amount to a total of sixty-nine. The commentaries offer a number of explanations. Some say that the Torah simply rounds off the number to the nearest ten. Another explanation is that the seventieth person is Jocheved, born as Jacob's family was entering Egypt. Or, Jacob himself is counted as number seventy.
But, for me, the most touching one of all comes from the Midrash:
What did the Holy One, Blessed be He, do? He Himself entered into the count and thus it totaled seventy, to fulfill his promise made earlier to Jacob (Genesis 46, 3-4), "Have no fear of going down to Egypt, for I shall establish you as a great nation there. I shall descend with you to Egypt and I shall also surely bring you up..."
How inspiring! How magnificently encouraging. G-d is with us in Egypt. Amidst the bondage, the pain and persecution, He is with us. And in all our wanderings and dispersions, He is there. As He assures us in Psalm 91, "I am with him in his affliction." In all our anguish, in all our tzorris, He is right there with us!
It was this conviction of the invisible but tangible Divine Presence being with us in the Galut and in the ghettoes that sustained our people throughout a torturous history. This was the promise that inspired us with an inexhaustible fountain of faith, courage and strength to survive our enemies and to flourish again long after they were gone.
Many continue to ask, "Where was G-d during the Holocaust?" I could never even attempt to debate this question with an embittered survivor who has lost his faith. And who are we to criticize those holy tormented souls? But my father, and many like him, survived with their faith intact. How did they maintain their beliefs in spite of their suffering? One answer they might offer is this: "How did I survive? Do you understand how many miracles it took to get me out of Poland? Or out of the camps? And how about escaping Lithuania, Russia, Japan or Shanghai? How can I deny the hand of G-d that plucked me from danger again and again?"
Surely the greatest miracle of our generation is that after Auschwitz Jews still wanted to be Jewish. That our people rebounded and rebuilt their families, their communities and their homeland. For many, the certainty that a higher power was guiding them to survival is what sustained them in their darkest moments and what gave them the confidence to regroup and regenerate.
Soon, we will observe the fast of Tevet 10, commemorating the siege of Jerusalem by the Babylonians. So who is having the last laugh? Do you know any grandchildren of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon? (Saddam Hussein is not one.) All that is left of his mighty empire are a few statues. All our enemies, down to the Third Reich, have come and gone. The Jews are here, alive and well, still doing their thing 2,500 years later.
G-d's promise to Jacob that "I will go down with you" has kept us going. And the conclusion of the verse assures us all of a happy conclusion. "And I shall surely also bring you up" -- from Egypt and from our own exile. May it be speedily in our day.
By Yossy Goldman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Yossy Goldman was born in Brooklyn, New York to a distinguished Chabad family. In 1976 he was sent by the Lubavitcher Rebbe as shliach to serve the Jewish community of Johannesburg, South Africa. He is Senior Rabbi of the Sydenham Highlands North Shul since 1986, and president of the South African Rabbinical Association.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Weekly Sermonette
No Time to Weep
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/342879/jewish/No-Time-to-Weep.htm
By Yossy Goldman
The wisest of men said there is a time to weep, which implies that there will be occasions when weeping is inappropriate. Though King Solomon's exact words were there is a time to weep and a time to laugh,1 obviously there are times when other responses are called for. Clearly, life is not simply about crying or laughing.
This week's parshah relates the story of Joseph's dramatic reunion with his brothers. Though he embraces them all, he reserves his deepest emotions for his only full brother, Benjamin. Joseph was separated from his brothers when Benjamin was a mere child, and Benjamin was the only one who was not involved in the plot against Joseph. Theirs was, therefore, an exceptional embrace:
And he (Joseph) fell on his brother Benjamin's neck and cried, and Benjamin cried on his neck (Genesis 45:14).
Rashi, quoting the Talmud,2 explains that for both brothers, their cries were, beyond the powerful feelings of the moment, nothing short of prophetic. Joseph wept over the two Temples of Jerusalem, destined for destruction, which were in the land apportioned to the tribe of Benjamin. And Benjamin cried over the Sanctuary at Shilo, located in the land apportioned to the tribe of Joseph, which would also be destroyed.
The question is why: are they each crying over the other's churban (destruction)? Why do they not cry over their own destructions?
The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains that when it comes to someone else's problem, we may be able to help but we cannot solve other people's problems. Even good friends can only do so much. We can offer generous assistance, support and the best advice in the world, but the rest is up to him or her. No matter how strenuous our efforts, there can be no guarantee that they will be successful. As hard as we may try to help, the individual alone holds the key to sort out his or her own situation.
So, if we are convinced that we have done our absolute best for the other person and have still failed to bring about a satisfactory resolution, the only thing we can do is shed a tear. We can pray for them, we can be sympathetic. Beyond that, there is really nothing else we can do. When we have tried and failed, all we can do is cry.
But when it comes to our own problems and challenges, our own churban, there we dare not settle for a good cry. We cannot afford the luxury of giving up and weeping. If it is our problem, then it is our duty to confront it again and again until we make it right. For others we can cry; but for ourselves we must act.
Sixty years ago, the great spiritual leaders of Europe were counting their losses -- in the millions! The great Chassidic courts of Poland, the prestigious yeshivas of Lithuania, were all destroyed by the Nazi hordes. What did these righteous people do? Did they sit down and cry? Of course there were tears and mourning and indescribable grief, but the emphasis quickly shifted to rebuilding. And today, thank G-d, those same institutions are alive and well, thriving and pulsating with spirit and energy in Israel and the United States. The leadership focused on the future. And painstakingly, over time, they were able to resuscitate and rejuvenate their decimated communities.
Those leaders cried bitter tears for their fallen comrades, but for themselves they did not sit and weep. They set about the task of rebuilding -- and succeeded in the most inspiring, miraculous way.
When we have problems (and who doesn't?), so many of us simply moan and sigh and heave a good old-fashioned yiddishe krechtz (Jewish groan). How many times have we sighed, What can I do? And what does that leave us with? -- with the moaning and groaning and nothing else. In the words of the fifth Chabad Rebbe, Rabbi Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch, One good deed is worth more than a thousand sighs.
Leave the krechtzing for others. If it's your problem, confront it, deal with it, work at it. You'll be surprised by the results
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How Can the Commentaries All Be Right?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1077720/jewish/How-Can-the-Commentaries-All-Be-Right.htm
By Yisroel Cotlar
Question:
I bought a set of Torah and the Prophets with all the classic commentaries and I enjoy studying it very much. I am unsure, however, how to understand the vast differences of opinions concerning any particular story. Often, the opinions contradict one another.
How can I appreciate studying such commentaries when only one could be right?
Response:
This is a commonly asked question. It is predicated on the assumption that the purpose of the Torah is to tell us the history of our people, and history had to happen in a certain way.
But that isn't the purpose of the Torah. True, it is stories that fill much of the Torah. And true, these episodes literally happened in a specific manner. Nonetheless, when studying the Torah, we are meant to go past "what happened" and view the stories as a means for G‑d to convey us a message—a lesson for our lives right now.
Indeed, one needs look no further than the very translation of the word "Torah" to realize that the Torah is not a mere guide to Jewish history. Torah means "teaching"—not "history book." This is also apparent from the Torah's (seemingly strange) selective history, the occasional non-chronological order in which events are recorded, and the mysterious wording it sometimes uses to tell a story.
For, beyond the storyline, each story, verse, word, and letter in the Torah is a glimpse into a higher truth. It is the infinite wisdom of G‑d concentrated into stories the human mind can comprehend.
This truth can be observed from a number of dimensions, called pshat (simple), remez (hint), drush (seek) and sod (secret). And there are countless avenues of understanding within each of these perspectives.
Pshat is the simple interpretation of the Torah, following the smoothest, most elegant path of words and context. Remez uncovers the hints and allegoric meaning behind these words. Drush (or midrash) seeks the deeper meaning of the verse. And sod is the esoteric, mystical part of Torah, the meaning that can only be known to those who have been told. Read this article(posted below)for more about these four, with examples of each of them.
When our holy commentators studied a story in the Torah, they each noticed another aspect of this truth. And so, we treasure them all.
And if you will ask, "So which one is true? Which one really happened?"—the answer, quite simply, is that all are true, all really happened.
Why is it difficult for us to swallow that? Because we believe that there is only one reality, and so only one history. The Torah, however, knows of many realities, all of them true, each of them containing a different lesson for us in this reality now. There are worlds where pshat is real—different worlds for different pshatim. Then there are worlds of remez, of drush and of sod.
For example, in our physical world, Moses may have been say, six feet tall. But in a certain world of drash, he was 10 amot—about 15 feet tall. Which one is more true? That depends: Are you looking for his height or for his stature? Are you measuring the Moses that fit into a physical body in a physical world, or are you measuring the real Moses, the soul and true character of the man–so that you will know how to relate to him and appreciate his character?
You see, a stature of 10 amot implies that this person is complete in every way—since there are 10 aspects of the human character. That's who Moses really was—a whole and balanced person in the ultimate sense of those words. Our physical world cannot handle a human being of those proportions, and so we see the truth in a poise of compromise. But in a world that does not have our physical limitations, Moses is actually 10 amot tall.
So you see, it all has to do with what we are taking from the story, what we need to learn. And each different approach to Torah will provide another lesson, all equally valuable, all equally true.
Sources:
Rabbi Yeshaya Horowitz presents and discusses the classic views concerning the study of Midrash in Shnei Luchot Habrit, Torah Shebaal Peh, 17 (Klal Hadrushim). He refers there to the idealist perspective in Torah that he presents ibid, Toldot Adam, Bayit Acharon. The concept is based upon the words of Rabbi Menachem Azaria of Fano in Assara Maamarot, Maamar Chikur Din, 3:22.
By Yisroel Cotlar More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Yisroel Cotlar, a native of Houston, Texas, is on Chabad.org's Ask the Rabbi team.
All names of persons and locations or other identifying features referenced in these questions have been omitted or changed to preserve the anonymity of the questioners.
How Is the Torah Interpreted?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/819698/jewish/How-Is-the-Torah-Interpreted.htm
By Naftali Silberberg
Torah is G‑d's wisdom. Intellect, by its very nature, allows for – and indeed demands – different avenues of understanding; how much more so when dealing with the infinite wisdom of the Infinite G‑d.
Our sages tell us that Torah can be interpreted in four different general ways: peshat, remez, drush and sod.
1) Peshat is the simple interpretation of the Torah. When the verse says (Genesis 1:1) that "In the beginning G‑d created the Heaven and Earth," it means exactly what it seems to mean, in a very literal sense.
Within these four methods of understanding Torah, there exist countless possible avenues of understanding2) Remez is the different hints and allusions which are contained within the Torah. One of the methodologies the Torah employs to make these hints is gematryia, the numerical value of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. For example, the gematriya of "Bereshit bara" ("In the beginning He created)" is the same as "b'Rosh Hashanah nivra ha'olam" (on Rosh Hashanah the world was created)!"
3) Drush (or Midrash) expounds upon the deeper meaning of the verse. The Hebrew word for "In the beginning" is bereshit. The midrash tells us that this word can be split into two words—b reshit. The Torah is telling us that the world was created for two ("b") "reshit"s ("firsts")—the Jews and the Torah. Although this is not the simple interpretation of the word, nevertheless it is a true and valid way of understanding the Torah.
4) Sod (secret) is the esoteric, mystical part of Torah. The Tikkunei Zohar (a book which gives seventy (!) different esoteric explanations for the word bereshit) explains that the word bereshit can also be split into "bara shis" (created [with] six). This is because the world was created through G‑d's six emotional powers: kindness, severity, beauty, victory, splendor and foundation.
Within these four methods of understanding Torah, there exist countless possible avenues of understanding. For example: There are many different ways to understand the Torah according to Peshat. That's why there are many Torah commentators who concentrate on Peshat -- Rashi, Ibn Ezra, Rashbam and many more – and they will very often (it seems, more often than not...) disagree on the literal meaning of a verse. In fact, according to Kabbalastic teachings there are 600,000 ways to understand Peshat, 600,000 ways to understand Remez, 600,000 ways to understand Drush, and 600,000 ways to understand Sod!
Any insight in Torah is acceptable as long as it (makes sense and) does not contradict any of our fundamental beliefs.
Our sages tell us that "any chiddush (novel idea) which a reputable disciple will ever come up with was already given to Moses by Sinai." Moses might not have heard this specific idea which the rabbi living thousands of years later has just thought of, but the basis of this idea was already given by Sinai.
G‑d gave us the tools to delve into the words of Torah and reveal the divine wisdom hidden therein.
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Weekly Sermonette
Immortality
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/345608/jewish/Immortality.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Why does this week's Torah reading -- a Parshah which describes the end of Jacob's life, his death and his funeral -- carry the title Vayechi, "And He Lived"?
Let me be faithful to Jewish tradition and try to answer one question with another question. Interestingly, the Torah never actually states that Jacob died. It simply says that "he expired and was gathered unto his people."1 This prompted one of the Talmudic sages to expound that "our father Jacob never died." Whereupon his colleagues challenged him and asked, "Did they then bury Jacob for no reason? Did they eulogize him in vain?" To which the Talmud answers: "As his descendants live, so does he live."2
Life does not end with the grave. The soul never dies and the good work men and women do on earth continues to live on long after their physical passing. More particularly, if there is regeneration, if children emulate the example of their forbears, then their parents and teachers live on through them.
When Jacob was about to breathe his last, he called his children to gather round his bedside. Our Parshah recounts what he told each of them. But the Oral Tradition gives us a behind-the-scenes account. Apparently, Jacob was anxious to know whether all his offspring were keeping the faith and he put this concern to them at that time. They replied, Shma Yisrael Hashem Elokeinu Hashem Echad--"Hear O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d, the L-rd is One." They were saying that the G-d of Israel their father would always be their G-d, too. Jacob was comforted and responded, Baruch Shem Kevod Malchuto L'olam Vaed--"Blessed be the Name of the glory of His Kingdom forever and ever"3 (or in plain English, Baruch Hashem! Thank G-d!)
When all of Jacob's children remained faithful to his tradition, that was not only a tribute to Jacob's memory but the ultimate gift of eternal life bestowed upon him. His spirit lives on, his life's work continues to flourish and he is still present in this world as his soul lives on in the next.
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending the International Conference of Chabad-Lubavitch Emissaries in New York. At the closing banquet, there were over 2000 rabbis and hundreds of lay leaders in attendance at the New York Hilton. One of the most special moments for me in an altogether powerful event, was when the chairman, Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky did his now famous global roll call. While I was proud to rise and represent South Africa when our turn came, an even prouder and profoundly moving moment was when the rabbis were asked to indicate in which decade they went out to their respective communities as sheluchim (emissaries) of the Rebbe. A handful of old men stood for the 1940's, a somewhat larger group of senior rabbis rose for the 1950's, and so it grew by the decade. But when the call was made for those who had gone out to serve communities around the world after 1994--i.e. after the passing of the Rebbe--many hundreds of young rabbis rose. At that moment, it was clear to everyone in that huge hall that Jacob never died. Just as his students are alive, carry on his teachings and still answer his call to go out and change the world, so too does the Rebbe live on. Whether it means moving to Belarus or Bangkok, Sydney or Siberia, Alaska or the bottom of Africa, the Rebbe's mission is still moving people, literally and spiritually.
In following his path, Jacob's children immortalized him. Such a Parshah is aptly entitled Vayechi, "And he lived." Ultimately, our children make us immortal. And so do our students, our spiritual children. May we each be privileged to raise families and disciples who will be true children of Israel, faithful to our father Jacob and the G-d of Israel. Amen.
FOOTNOTES
1. Genesis 49:33.
2. Talmud, Taanit 5b.
3. Talmud, Pesachim 56a.
By Yossy Goldman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Yossy Goldman was born in Brooklyn, New York to a distinguished Chabad family. In 1976 he was sent by the Lubavitcher Rebbe as shliach to serve the Jewish community of Johannesburg, South Africa. He is Senior Rabbi of the Sydenham Highlands North Shul since 1986, and president of the South African Rabbinical Association.
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Kaddish for My Father
by Rabbi Yehuda Weinberg
It's been 11 months since my beloved father left this world.
Today marks the end of the11th month since my father, Rabbi Noach Weinberg zt"l, passed away. This day is not marked as an official day that one has to do anything specific other than to stop saying the Kaddish prayer. But for me it's an especially sad day.
Essentially, this is the first time I have to deal with mourning. I have learned that there are four stages in the mourning period. The first stage started from the minute I found out that my father passed away until the burial. This stage is obviously the most painful.
The second stage begins from the burial and goes through seven days of sitting shiva. These seven days are a mix of pain and comfort, where so many friends come to console the mourners.
The third stage is sheloshim, that starts after shiva and goes for 30 days from the burial. On those days, even though the pain is still present, it starts to get mixed into other areas of life.
The last stage is the completion of the year since the death. At this time, the pain surfaces at different times in one's daily routine.
Our Sages devised such a wise way to mourn and find comfort. King Solomon wrote that there is a time for everything, including a time to be happy and a time for sadness. Why do we need a time for sadness? During this period, I've learned to appreciate this teaching. Being sad presents an opportunity to grow and gain a deeper understanding about the meaning of life and the correct way to handle a crisis.
During the first stage, from the minute that my father passed away, it was impossible for me to even talk. The pain and the sadness were so intense. The ceremony and the funeral afterward felt like a non-ending darkness. I felt like I was going down without any hope that the pain would subside. At the funeral, there were so many people who came to give their last respects to my great father, but I was someplace else, even though I was right next to him.
Then came that moment where I was forced to speak. Fortunately, these were the first words that I needed to say: "Yisgadal V' Yiskadash Shemay Raba..." – reciting the Kaddish. Suddenly I felt I'm not alone. I remembered that I have the Almighty to rely on, forever and ever. I felt not only the pain of the loss of my father, but also the opportunity to remember him and everything he taught me through this special way of sanctifying and praising God's name. From that moment, I felt that I was starting to climb upwards and had hope that happier days were to come.
Everyday when I have the opportunity to say the Kaddish prayer, I reconnect to this emotional healing feeling. So today when I need to stop saying Kaddish, it's an especially sad day.
The reason that we stop saying Kaddish at the end of the 11th month is because the Sages say that the longest period of time that a person could be judged in the next world is 12 months. But we assume that the deceased does not require the maximum 12 months of judgment and stop saying Kaddish, which helps the deceased during this period, after 11 months.
Although it's hard for me to stop saying Kaddish today, to stop using this tool that enables one to have a stronger spiritual connection with God, as well as with my beloved father, it's much easier to stop, knowing that this is giving honor to my father.
I will definitely continue to learn in the merit of my father, to continue this meaningful connection.
During this year of mourning, one of the things that I have gained was a long conversation with my father. My father has left behind a priceless treasure -- his teachings on so many topics and ideas. Whenever I would have something on my mind, I would dive into this sea of knowledge and listen to his words. I see this as a special privilege for me. I have received a priceless gift and I wish to share it with the whole world.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/rebNoach/e/80251387.html
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Apology Accepted
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1049762/jewish/Apology-Accepted.htm
By Mirish Kiszner
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/354/rkyD3546181.jpg)
Darkness had descended on the small town of Gostynin. All the inhabitants were fast asleep, their doors and shutters closed tightly against the frigid night. For the traveler arriving to the town, this was a most unwelcoming sight. Tired, weak and hungry, he had nowhere to turn, no place to rest his weary head.
Suddenly, from afar, he noticed a light shining in one of the windows. Sighing with relief, he hurried in that direction and knocked on the door, hoping to be allowed to stay for the night. It was the home of Rabbi Yechiel Meir of Gostynin.
A smile lit up the face of Reb Yechiel Meir as he opened the door. "Shalom aleichem, Reb Yid! Welcome!" he called out as he ushered the stranger inside.
Filled with joy, the host rushed about to serve his guestQuiet reigned in the little cottage; all the household members had long since retired for the night. Filled with joy, the host rushed about to serve his guest a glass of warm tea and pastry. However, when the visitor had downed the last of his drink and nary was a crumb left on the plate, Reb Yechiel Meir, perceiving that his guest was still hungry, searched about the house for some more food. To his delight, he found some raw oats and a saucepan of cooking fat. Never having played his hand at cooking before, the host placed it inside the oven and then, with his face wreathed in smiles, served the dish to his guest. While the visitor polished off the food, the host stood by, beaming with pleasure.
When the meal was over, Reb Yechiel hastened to prepare the guest a warm bed, his own, for the little house boasted no spare bed. While the traveler slept soundly, the host pored over his Talmudic volumes all through the night, learning with increased enthusiasm.
In the morning, the traveler awoke from his restful sleep and went to the synagogue. After prayers, in the course of conversation with the townsmen, he discovered that his host was no other than the illustrious Rabbi Yechiel Meir of Gostynin. Utterly ashamed and distressed, he approached the tzaddik, the holy man, to offer his apologies.
"I refuse to accept an apology from you," came the reply.
"But," the traveler protested, "I had no idea whose house it was, or whose bed I'd slept in. Had I known, I would never have put the tzaddik through such troubles."
Rabbi Yechiel Meir remained unfazed, but the traveler, eager to be forgiven, persisted in his explanations.
At last, Reb Yechiel Meir declared, "If you promise to do as I tell you, I will accept your apology."
For a slight moment, the traveler hesitated. Perhaps the tzaddik had looked into his soul and discerned some sort of reprehensible sin that needed rectification? Would he be able to carry out a strict regimen of repentance that the tzaddik might require of him?
"Anything the tzaddik will ask of me, I am ready to fulfill"No matter, he decided, with a shake of his head. If amends needed to be made, he was ready, come what may. As long as Rabbi Yechiel Meir would accept his sincere apology, it was worth everything.
"Anything the tzaddik will ask of me, I am ready to fulfill," he solemnly promised.
The rabbi smiled. "Well," he said. "This is my request to you. Every time you pass by the town of Gostynin, you will come to my home and be my guest. For when do I ever get a chance to fulfill the mitzvah of hospitality, hachnasat orchim, as I was able to this time? My townspeople spoil it for me!"
By Mirish Kiszner More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Mirish Kiszner is a teacher, counselor and lecturer living in Jerusalem. She's published hundreds of articles in numerous Jewish publications. Her latest book is Extraordinary Stories about Ordinary People (Artscroll), a collection of true stories about real people. She is also a regular contributor to our Help! I've got Kids... parenting blog.
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Why Must There Be Darkness?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1081342/jewish/Why-Must-There-Be-Darkness.htm
Question:
Darkness seems to be the default position, the regular state of things... Why does our Creator plunk us down into despair, misery and sorrow and then ask us to struggle toward the light? Why not, out of love for his creations, just put us in the light in the first place?
Response:
From G‑d's perspective, light is the default. Darkness only came later, as He created a world. From within that world which He created, however, it is darkness that takes the dominant, default position, and light has to play new kid on the block. That's certainly how we experience life: We enter a world of suffering and confusion, and battle our entire lives to bring some kindness and harmony into it.
Why did He make the world that way? There are several ways to answer—all depending on what you see as the ultimate purpose of creation.
Rabbi Chaim Vital writes that G‑d created the world because He is good and He who is good naturally does good. So what is good about darkness?
One way to answer is that if you want to provide human beings real satisfaction, it's not going to served at the beach chairs by the swimming pool. The ultimate good is when you go out and sweat and achieve it for yourself. Darkness provides the backdrop for your achievements, the challenges with which you struggle. You work hard, and you have the satisfaction of having earned it yourself. As the Talmud puts it, "A person would rather one portion of his own over nine that belong to someone else."
And if you will say, yes, it's true that human beings only appreciate something good when they achieve it themselves. But why does it have to be that way? He could have, after all, created us differently, so that we would enjoy free handouts rather than well-deserved earnings.
So we answer that there is a reason G‑d gave us this nature: Out of His ultimate goodness, He wanted to provide us the highest, most ultimate good. What's the highest state there is? To be the Creator. So the highest thing He could grant us is to be His partner in creating your world. You work your way up, introducing light to a place of darkness, transforming your world from a mundane "place that's just here because it's here" into a divine place, a place where every breath sings to the One that breathes it. You finish off the job that G‑d began and thereby earn a partnership in the act of creating it. That's true good.
This explanation works nicely—if you accept the idea of darkness as a background for light. But could it be that darkness has an end in itself?
You see, darkness is only darkness in a superficial sense. To G‑d, "even darkness does not darken" and "nighttime shines like day." Light (revelation) and dark (concealment) are simply two modalities by which He discloses Himself to His creations. It is just that certain things can be said explicitly and other matters can only be disclosed by withholding them and allowing the listener to unravel them on his own.
Take a good poem, for example. As soon as the poet explains what he meant, the meaning is gone. Similarly, a good novel: The most meaningful things are said by being not said. The innuendo of silence can speak that which words cannot contain.
That is the purpose of the struggle with darkness—to disclose the secrets that darkness holds, secrets far deeper than those held by the light. In the language of Lurianic Kabbalah, darkness at its essence is also a form of light—"rebounding light," so called because it does not emanate directly from the Creator, but is disclosed from within, a product of the labor of the created.
Think of the teacher who ponders a subject for years before lecturing upon it to his students. Yet then, in the midst of the lecture, a clarity of insight strikes him that he never before experienced. Even more so as his students present their questions and difficulties with his thesis. At times it is the simplest student who presents the greatest challenge—and extrudes the greatest depth of thought from the teacher's mind. As deep as the content of the lecture may have been, there is yet greater depth that is plumbed by those challenges to the lecture.
And beyond that, yet a more profound depth: Somehow, the student who knows his teacher well is able to find in the nuances of language, in the mode of presentation, in the oblique implications and ellipses of thought, a window into the most hidden recesses of the teacher's subconscious mind, revealing there insights of which even the teacher himself was unaware. (In the language of Torah scholars, this method is called diyuk—the process of understanding the underlying intent of the words through semantic analysis.)
The struggles each of us endures with the darkness of our world parallel the challenges of the students and their forays deep into the teacher's mind. Light is information that is immediately intelligible: There is a G‑d and He is running the universe. Darkness is also information, but of a much deeper sort; a knowledge that transcends knowing, decrypted only by those who engage the darkness face-to-face.
Ultimately, this answer is also insufficient. G‑d is understood to be omnipotent. Obviously, He is also capable of revealing the hidden without our struggle. Obviously, as well, He can give us the ultimate good without the darkness. Why then does He set it up this way?
The answer goes back to the classic statement of one Jewish philosopher, Rabbi Yosef of Castille, who was asked the question, "Why did G‑d make the world when He did?" He answered (to paraphrase), "At the beginning of all things, there is no reason. For if there would be a reason to the beginning, it would no longer be the beginning—the reason would be the beginning. And then you would ask me, "What is the reason for that reason?"—yet another beginning!"1
Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi said it in different words. He cited the Midrash that G‑d created a world because "He desired a dwelling in a mundane world." Why? Because He so desired. Not because anything was lacking, not because anything will be gained. He desired because He decided to desire. When dealing with a raw desire there are no questions.
So what does He desire? That a place of darkness be transformed into light. The Creator states it at the outset: "Let there be light!"—better translated as, "It should become light!" He chose that and He invested, so to speak, His entire being in that goal. Not only the entire cosmic structure is designed around that objective, but at every step along the way, wherever you find that purpose unfolding, you will find Him in all His essence, enwrapped within the veils of darkness, "sitting within the supernal hiddenness, in the shade of the Al-mighty He dwells."2
Lots more to discuss here—there's so much written on the topic, particularly in Chassidus Chabad. For a touch more, please read What is the Purpose of Existence?
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Living with Our Souls
by Sara Debbie Gutfreund
I can hear the echo of Rav Noach's words: You need to learn. You need to teach. You need to live with what you know.
I was surprised that Rav Noach, zt"l, took my phone call at all. He didn't know me, and he had just returned from an overseas trip. Given his exhausting schedule, anybody else would have either not taken the phone call or at least kept it short. But Rav Noach spent a half hour on the phone going over the basics with me. I was in the middle of a challenging situation in my life, and I needed advice.
"Do you know what you're living for?" Rav Noach asked me. I had thought that I knew but hearing the question articulated made me pause. Did I really know what I was living for? Suddenly, I wasn't so sure. But I wanted a practical solution.
"Tell me what I should do," I said to the Rav.
"Do you know the six constant mitzvoth? Are you reviewing them every day? Do you live them? That's the secret to real happiness. And after you learn them again you need to teach them."
I was silent on the other end of the line. I'm not a teacher. Who would I teach? "Whatever we know we can teach. We all have an obligation to share what we learn." After I hung up the phone I re-learned the six constant mitzvot, and I spent that month reviewing them and integrating them into my life:
1. Know there is a God
2. Don't believe in other gods
3. God is one
4. Love God
5. Fear God
6. Don't be misled by your heart and eyes
Learning and reviewing the six constant mitzvot did help me deal with the particular challenge at the time, but then life became busy. I got distracted by all the urgent matters of daily life, and I forgot to teach what I had learned. Anytime I would remember that I was supposed to share what I had learned I let the old, familiar protests take over. Who would I teach? I don't really know it well enough anyway. Maybe tomorrow I'll do it. Maybe next week. Maybe next month. And soon I forgot not only about teaching but about the six constant mitzvot themselves.
When I heard of Rav Noach's passing I felt a wave of grief wash over me followed by a pang of regret. I tried to remember the whole conversation that I had been blessed to have with the Rosh Yeshiva. What had he told me to do? Why couldn't I remember? And then a day after he passed away, like a free gift directly from Rav Noach in Heaven, I remembered. The six constant mitzvot -- learn them, teach them, live them.
That Saturday night a neighbor passed away, and I found myself standing for the first time at a funeral in Israel. I had known that there are no coffins here, but actually seeing this was shocking. In the end our bodies literally go back to dust. In the funeral parlor I saw the famous sentence: "When a person leaves this world he does not take with him his money or jewelry or possessions. All we take with us are the words of Torah that we have learned and the good deeds that we have done." But as we were driving home, I looked out at the hundreds of tiny lights dotting the Judean Hills and I suddenly realized what Rav Noach had been telling me months before on the phone. It's not just when we die that we only take with us our Torah and our good deeds. It's also all we really have when we're alive. That is why Rav Noach always said: Identify with your soul, not your body.
The six constant mitzvot demand that we focus on our souls. They outline the goals of our lives; they show us how to be and how to focus. The first of the six mitzvot tells us not just to believe there is a God. We need to know. And in order to know we need to ask questions and search for true answers. And once we know that God exists and is the Source of everything then that knowledge obligates each of us to change the world. Because, as Rav Noach wrote in his article of "Know There is a God": "What can one person do? One person can accomplish anything and everything -- since it's all a gift from God anyway! Now we can understand why the Torah obligates each and every one of us to change the world."
Rav Noach Weinberg lived this wisdom until his last day. His shining example and teachings are still with all of us. And now more than ever, I can hear the echo of his words. You need to learn. You need to teach. You need to live with what you know. And you need to ask yourself every day: What am I living for? Take care of your body but live with your soul.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/rebNoach/s/48971636.html
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Real Motives
By Tzvi Freeman
No person can know his own inner motives.
He may be kind because kindness brings him pleasure.
He may be wise because wisdom is music to his soul.
He may become a martyr burned in fire because his nature is to defy, his nature is to be fire.
When can you know that your motives are sincere? Only when it is not within your nature to do this thing.
And how do you know that it is not within your nature? Only when you travel two opposite paths at once.
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http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1153/jewish/Moses-The-Birth-of-a-Leader.htm
Chassidic Masters
Moses: The Birth of a Leader
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
The parshah of Shemot is the story of a galut - of the exile and enslavement of the Children of Israel in Egypt, which our sages regard as the father and prototype of all subsequent exiles and persecutions of the Jewish people. It is also the story of the making of the quintessential Jewish leader, Moses.
Everything the Torah tells us about Moses is a lesson in Jewish leadership. We are told that Moses' mother, Jocheved, was born "between the boundary walls" of Egypt when Jacob's family first arrived there. This, explains the Lubavitcher Rebbe, means that Jocheved belongs neither to the "old generation" born in the Holy Land, to whom galut will always be a foreign and unknowable world; nor is she of the generation born in Egypt, to whom the state of exile is a most natural and obvious fact of life. Rather, she straddles both these worlds, meaning that she has intimate knowledge of the circumstance of galut as well as the transcendent vision to supersede it. So Jocheved is the woman in whose womb could be formed, and under whose tutelage could develop, the one who could redeem the Children of Israel from their exile.
The circumstances of Moses' birth are a lesson in the selflessness demanded of the leader. Jocheved and Amram had separated when Pharaoh decreed that all newborn Hebrew males be cast in the Nile. Their eldest daughter, Miriam, rebuked them: "Your decree is worse than Pharaoh's: Pharaoh decreed to annihilate the males, and your action shall spell the end of all Jewish children." Amram and Jocheved realized that, as leaders whose actions will be emulated by others, they had to rise above the personal danger and anguish involved in fathering Jewish children in these terrible times. The result of their remarriage was the birth of Moses.
Infancy and Childhood
When Moses is born, the "house was filled with light" attesting to his future as the enlightener of humanity. But right away this light has to be hidden, for he, as all Hebrew newborn males, lives in perpetual fear of discovery by Pharaoh's baby killers. Then he is placed in the Nile, precariously protected only by a reed basket, sharing, if only in potential, the fate of his fellow babes cast into its waters.
Here we have a further lesson in leadership: the leader cannot appear from "above," but must share the fate of his people. This was the lesson which G-d Himself conveyed by first appearing to Moses in a thornbush: "I am with them in their affliction."
But Moses' placement in the Nile was not only a demonstration of empathy with the plight of Israel: it was also the first stage of their salvation. Our sages tell us that Pharaoh ordered all Hebrew male babies to be cast into the Nile because his astrologers told him that the savior of Israel will meet his end by water (this prediction was fulfilled many years later when Moses was prevented from entering the Holy Land because of the "Waters of Strife"). On the day that Moses was placed in the Nile, Pharaoh's astrologers informed him that the one destined to redeem the people of Israel has already been cast into the water, and the decree was revoked. As a three-month-old infant, seemingly a passive participant in the events surrounding him, Moses was already fulfilling his role as a savior of his people.
Thanks to Miriam's ingenious ploy, Moses is nursed and raised by his own mother in his early childhood. But then he is brought to Pharaoh's palace to be raised as a member of the royal family. Moses must be both Hebrew slave and Egyptian prince. To lead his people, he must share their fate; to defeat the forces that enslave them, he must infiltrate the citadel of Egyptian royalty. He must "come to Pharaoh" (Exodus 10:1) and gain intimate knowledge of the essence of his power and vitality.
Defender of Israel
The first of Moses' actions to be explicitly recounted by the Torah delineate two central tasks of the leader: to defend his people from external threat, and to safeguard their internal integrity.
On the day that Moses attains adulthood, he "goes out to his brothers" and "sees their affliction" - his years in Pharaoh's palace have not inured him against affinity with this tribe of Hebrew slaves and sensitivity to their plight. He sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew to death. He is compelled to act, sacrificing, with this single action, his privileged life as a member of the ruling class and binding his fate to that of his brethren.
The very next day Moses acts again, this time to intervene in a quarrel between two Jews. Seeing two of his brethren in conflict, he suddenly comprehends that the source of their enslavement is not the power of Egypt, but their own internal disunity, and that the key to their redemption lies in fostering a sense of mutual interdependency and responsibility among the members of the fledgling nation of Israel.
From these two demonstrations of leadership one would expect Moses to proceed directly to his ordained role as leader of Israel. But first he had to become a shepherd.
The Faithful Shepherd
For the role of a leader in Israel is not only to defend, redeem, preach and govern, but, also and primarily, to nurture. Moses is the savior of Israel and their teacher and legislator, but also their raaya meheimna - their "faithful shepherd" and "shepherd of faith" - meaning that he is the provider of their needs, both materially and spiritually, feeding their bodies with manna and feeding their souls with faith.
So Moses is driven from Egypt to faraway Midian to become a shepherd of Jethro's sheep. The Midrash relates how another shepherd, David, learned the art of leadership by caring for his father's flocks: he would have the small kids graze first on the tender tips of grass before allowing the older sheep and goats to feed on the middle portion of the stalks, and only afterwards releasing the strong, young rams to devour the tough roots. A leader cannot simply point the way and a teacher cannot simply teach; he must "shepherd" his flock, supplying to each guidance and knowledge in a manner that can be absorbed and digested by its recipient.
The Midrash also tells how, one day, a kid ran away from the flock under Moses' care. Moses chased after it, until it came to a spring and began to drink. When Moses reached the kid he cried: "Oh, I did not know that you were thirsty!" He cradled the runaway kid in his arms and carried it to the flock. Said the Almighty: "You are merciful in tending sheep - you will tend My flock, the people of Israel."
The Lubavitcher Rebbe points out that in addition to demonstrating Moses' compassion, the incident holds another important lesson: Moses realized that the kid did not run away from the flock out of malice or wickedness - it was merely thirsty. By the same token, when a Jew alienates himself from his people, G-d forbid, it is only because he is thirsty. His soul thirsts for meaning in life, but the waters of Torah have eluded him. So he wanders about in foreign domains, seeking to quench his thirst.
When Moses understood this, he was able to become a leader of Israel. Only a shepherd who hastens not to judge the runaway kid, who is sensitive to the causes of its desertion, can mercifully lift it into his arms and bring it back home.
The Ultimate Sacrifice
After many years of leadership in the making, the stage is set. He was a Hebrew baby cast into the Nile, an infant at Jocheved's breast, a young Egyptian prince, a fearless defender of his people, an equally fearless campaigner for Jewish unity, a shepherd in the wilderness. Then G-d revealed Himself to him in a burning bush to say: I have seen the affliction of My people, I have heard their cries, I know their sorrows. I'm sending you to redeem them. Go, take them out of Egypt, and bring them to Mount Sinai for their election as My chosen people.
Most amazingly, Moses refuses to go.
He doesn't just refuse - for seven days and seven nights he argues with G-d, presenting every conceivable excuse to decline his commission, until "G-d's anger burned against Moses."
First came the excuse of humility: "Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?"
G-d ends all debate along those lines with the words: "I will be with you." Can even "the humblest man on the face of the earth" plead unworthiness after that?
But I don't know Your essence, says Moses. How can I present myself as a messenger when I can't explain the nature of the One who sent me?
So G-d tells him who He is.
They won't believe me when I say that G-d sent me.
G-d rebukes Moses for slandering His people. Yes, they will believe you. Whatever else you say about them (and there's lots to say), they are believers. But if you're not convinced of their faith, here's a few magic tricks you can perform.
Moses' excuses are running out. He tries: But I have a speech impairment. A leader needs to give speeches, you know.
G-d's answer is so obvious it hardly needs repeating.
So Moses finally just cries: O please, my G-d, don't send me. "Send by the hand of him whom You shall send."
Why, indeed, is Moses acting so strangely? His brothers and sisters are languishing under the taskmaster's whip; Pharaoh is bathing in the blood of Jewish children. The moment for which the Children of Israel have hoped and prayed for four generations has finally come: G-d has appeared in a burning bush to say, "I am sending you to redeem My people." Why does Moses refuse? Out of humility? Because he's not a good speaker?
Our sages interpret the words, "Send by the hand of him whom You shall send," to mean: send by the hand of him whom You shall send in the end of days, Moshiach (the Messiah), the final redeemer of Israel.
The Chassidic masters explain that Moses knew that he would not merit to bring Israel into the Holy Land and thereby achieve the ultimate redemption of his people. He knew that Israel would again be exiled, would again suffer the physical and spiritual afflictions of galut (if Moses himself would have brought the Children of Israel into the Holy Land and built the Holy Temple, they would never have been exiled again and the Temple would never have been destroyed, since "all Moses' deeds are eternal"). So Moses refused to go. If the time for Israel's redemption has come, he pleaded with G-d, send the one through whom You will effect the complete and eternal redemption. For seven days and nights Moses contested G-d's script for history, prepared to incur G-d's wrath upon himself for the sake of Israel.
(This extreme form of self-sacrifice, in which a man like Moses jeopardizes his very relationship with G-d for the sake of his people, was to characterize Moses' leadership throughout his life. When the people of Israel sinned by worshipping the Golden Calf, Moses said to G-d: "Now, if You will forgive their sin--; and if You will not, blot me out of the Book which You have written.")
Nor did Moses ever accept the decree of galut. After assuming, by force of the divine command, the mission to take Israel out of Egypt, he embarked on a lifelong struggle to make this the final and ultimate redemption. To the very last day of his life, Moses pleaded with G-d to allow him to lead his people into the Holy Land; to his very last day he braved G-d's anger in his endeavor to eliminate all further galut from Jewish history. In Moses' own words: "I beseeched G-d... Please, let me cross over and see the good land across the Jordan, the good mountain [Jerusalem] and the Levanon [the Holy Temple]. And G-d grew angry with me for your sakes... and He said to Me: Enough! Speak no more to Me of this matter..." (Deuteronomy 4:23-26).
Says the Lubavitcher Rebbe: G-d said "Enough!" but Moses was not silenced. For Moses' challenge of the divine plan did not end with his passing from physical life. The Zohar tells us that every Jewish soul has at its core a spark of Moses' soul. So every Jew who storms the gates of heaven clamoring for redemption continues Moses' struggle against the decree of galut.
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe More articles... |
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson; adapted by Yanki Tauber
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Very good one Rachel!
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Va'etchanan Parshah Lesson
By Malka Touger
The boys from Bunk Twelve were hiking down a mountain trail. After a while, they came to a clearing with cliffs on either side.
"Hello," shouted out Mia.
"Hello, Hello," came the answer as Mia's voice bounced back and forth from cliff to cliff. Soon the entire bunk was doing it. The valley became filled with the echoing of the campers' voices as each one tried out his vocal chords.
"Why do some echoes last longer than others?" Leah asked his counselor, Rachel.
"It depends on how loudly you shout," Rachel explained. "Creating an echo is like throwing a ball against the wall; the harder you throw, the harder the ball bounces back. So, the louder you call out, the more powerful are the sound waves and the more powerfully they will bounce back when they meet something hard which they cannot penetrate. When the sound waves bounce back, they create an echo.
"Calling out in the mountains is liking throwing a ball in a ball court where you have one wall in front of you and one wall behind you. The ball will continue bouncing back and forth until its strength ebbs away. Here too, the voices continue to bounce from one cliff to another until they lose their strength. The stronger the voice, the longer it will continue to echo."
"Wait a minute," Leah said. "I remember, you said that when G-d gave the Ten Commandments, He spoke and there was no echo. G-d surely spoke very loudly. According to what you just explained, His voice should still be echoing throughout the world."
"Now, that's a great question," Rachel replied, smiling. "But you forgot one thing. I said that sound waves bounce back when they meet something they cannot penetrate. Our sages explain that there was a miracle and G-d's voice did not have an echo. It did not bounce away from the world. Instead, it sounded from one end of the world to the other, and the world absorbed G-d's voice.
"When G-d gave the Ten Commandments, He intentionally changed the rules of nature. His voice changed the world, making it ready to receive holiness. Ever since then, doing a good deed blends in with the nature of the world; it helps the world follow the voice of G-d which it accepted at the time of the giving of the Torah."
"The same is true when we study the Torah. We are not just learning laws and ideas. We want the Torah to seep into us and be absorbed in our innermost selves, changing the way we think and feel. The Torah should not bounce back, away from us. It should become part of our nature."
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Jews of Zakynthos
by Leora Goldberg
Uncovering an unforgettable story on an isolated island in Greece.
[img][http://media.aish.com/images/JewsOfZakynthos230x150-EN.jpgimg]
ZAKYNTHOS, Greece - I needed a break at the end of a long and exhausting semester. My family was off to the southern end of the Balkan Peninsula, to an unknown island in Greece. I decided to join them.
We flew from Tel Aviv to Athens. From Athens, towards the famous sunrise of the eastern isles, we landed on the island of Zakynthos -- "Fiore di Levante" (Flower of the East) -- which is also known by its Italian name - Zante.
During the ride, I read the travel guide, and learned a little about the history, the agriculture, the weather and finally about the poetic origins of the national anthem. I did not read one word about what I was really about to discover on the island. The drive from the airport to our villa lasted a few minutes. From the coastal plateau, we drove up through twisted village bends to our destination.
An old lady, a typical Greek villager dressed all in black, welcomed us with a warm smile into her home. She asked to show us around her beloved mansion. It was obvious that this place was the source of her pride.
The landlady gave us a short tour of the old-style bedrooms, bathrooms and salon. In the kitchen, we noticed the beautiful authentic Greek dishes that were hanging over her antique-looking stove. All these were for our use.
We explained to her that for religious reasons, unfortunately, we would not be able to enjoy using her kitchenware and that we had brought our own.
This is when it all began.
She seemed confused. She looked at my dad and suddenly her eyes lit up. She noticed his kippa. We were asked to follow her out to the garden.
From the high point where we were standing, we saw a fantastic view of the ocean and the ships. But she pointed the other way completely.
"Look over there!" she said.
She wanted to know what we saw.
"Trees, vegetation," we said.
"Look again and focus!" she demanded.
"Something unidentified that looks like teeth, white dots," my dad said.
She stared at us for a long moment and said: "That is the Jewish cemetery."
I was shocked. We were all astounded. Here we were on an isolated island in Greece. Who ever heard of Jews here?
I tried reminiscing about stories and experiences I had heard from friends who had visited here. Nothing came to mind.
From this moment on until I left Greece, the relaxing summer holiday drinking ouzo on the beach became a fascinating journey. By the end of it, I uncovered an unforgettable story.
The Mystery of 1955
The next morning, I got on my rented moped and drove to the cemetery. The shudder that went through me started when I first saw the Star of David on the little black gate. The trembling grew as I walked in. It was a huge cemetery containing hundreds of graves from the 16th century up until 1955. The grounds were well-kept and little stones were set on many graves, as if they had had visitors recently.
1955. I thought for a moment. Whoever knows the history of Greece and its islands even faintly knows that there was no place struck harder by the Nazis.
Rhodes, Corfu, Salonika, Athens. The loss of Jewish life in Greece was devastating.
From 1944, there were almost no Jews left even in the bigger communities.
I did not, however, understand the meaning of the "1955" grave, and decided to investigate.
In a small house that stood in the heart of the property, I found the cemetery keeper, a third generation of custodians of the Jewish graveyard in Zakynthos. My inability to speak the language prevented me from having a deep conversation with him.
I sought to continue my search for the Jewish history of this town, and within five minutes I was at City Hall.
When I told the clerk at the front desk what I was after, he asked if I had already been to the synagogue. The question was posed casually, as though it's asked on a daily basis.
"Excuse me?" I thought I hadn't heard right. "A synagogue on this island?"
He gave me directions.
The synagogue was located on a busy road in the center of the island. Off the main street, in a space between two buildings, was a black iron gate, just like the one I had seen not long ago at the cemetery. Above it was a stone arc with an open book. It read, in a loose translation from the original Hebrew, "At this holy place stood the Shalom Synagogue. Here, at the time of the earthquake in 1953, old Torah scrolls, bought before the community was established, were burned."
Through the locked gate I saw two statues. Judging by their long beards, they looked to me like rabbis. The writing on the wall proved me wrong: "This plaque commemorates the gratitude of the Jews of Zakynthos to Mayor Karrer and Bishop Chrysostomos."
[img]http://media.aish.co.il/images/Zakynthos1.jpg/img]
What was the acknowledgment about? Who were these people? Why the statues? What happened here? I had lots of questions. I had to find a lead, if not an answer. I returned to City Hall, excited and trembling.
I approached the clerk, who already recognized me, and started questioning him about what had happened here. He referred me to the mayor's deputy on the third floor. I found his room, knocked at his door and asked him if he would spare me a few minutes. He willingly accepted.
Names for Nazis
Half an hour later I came out with this:
On September 9 1943, the governor of the German occupation named Berenz had asked the mayor, Loukas Karrer, for a list of all Jews on the island.
Rejecting the demand after consulting with Bishop Chrysostomos, they decided to go together to the governor's office the next day. When Berenz insisted once again for the list, the bishop explained that these Jews weren't Christians but had lived here in peace and quiet for hundreds of years.
They had never bothered anyone, he said. They were Greeks just like all other Greeks, and it would offend all the residents of Zakynthos if they were to leave.
But the governor persisted that they give him the names.
The bishop then handed him a piece of paper containing only two names: Bishop Chrysostomos and Mayor Karrer.
In addition, the bishop wrote a letter to Hitler himself, declaring that the Jews in Zakynthos were under his authority.
The speechless governor took both documents and sent them to the Nazi military commander in Berlin. In the meantime, not knowing what would happen, the local Jews were sent by the leaders of the island to hide inside Christian homes in the hills. However, a Nazi order to round up the Jews was soon revoked - thanks to the devoted leaders who risked their lives to save them.
In October 1944, the Germans withdrew from the island, leaving behind 275 Jews. The entire Jewish population had survived, while in many other regions Jewish communities were eliminated.
This unique history is described in the book of Dionyssios Stravolemos, An Act of Heroism - A Justification, and also in the short film of Tony Lykouressis, The Song of Life.
According to tour guide Haim Ischakis, in 1947, a large number of Zakynthinote Jews made aliya while others moved to Athens.
In 1948, in recognition of the heroism of the Zakynthians during the Holocaust, the Jewish community donated stained glass for the windows of the Church of Saint Dionyssios.
In August 1953, the island was struck by a severe earthquake and the entire Jewish quarter, including its two synagogues, was destroyed. Not long afterwards, the remaining 38 Jews moved to Athens.
In 1978, Yad Vashem honored Bishop Chrysostomos and Mayor Loukas Karrer with the title of "Righteous among the Nations."
In March 1982, the last remaining Jew in Zakynthos, Ermandos Mordos, died on the island and was buried in Athens. Thus the circle of Jewish presence came to its close after five centuries.
In 1992, on the site where the Sephardic synagogue stood before the earthquake, the Board of Jewish Communities in Greece erected two marble memorial monuments as a tribute to the bishop and mayor
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The Missing Money
A few days before I had planned to leave the island and return home, I went into a bank to convert some dollars into euros. But even in a simple place like a bank, I managed to add another piece to this Jewish puzzle.
A clerk who had been on the phone and eating a sandwich, called on me when my turn came. When I gave her my dollars to be changed, she handed me the converted money in an envelope without asking for any identification.
Later on, when I opened it, I was surprised to see so much money.
The money that had been put into the envelope had not been counted properly, and instead of changing $1,000, she had given me the equivalent of $10,000!
This was really no surprise to me, because the clerk hadn't paid me any attention.
Ultimately, however, once the bank realized that the money was missing, it would have no way of reaching me since no contact information was requested.
The following morning, I called the bank and asked to speak to the manager. I inquired to know if there was a problem with the previous night's accounts.
"You must be the woman with the dollars," he said, immediately inviting me to his office.
An hour later, I was at the bank. When I walked into the office, the man sitting across from the manager moved to another chair and gave me his seat.
I shared my bank experience with him, saying how easy it would have been for me to disappear with the money.
The manager himself was profusely apologetic about the unprofessional way I was treated and thanked me repeatedly for returning the money.
To express his gratitude, he invited me and my family to dinner at an exclusive restaurant. I explained that eating out was too complicated for us due to the fact that we were observant Jews.
He asked for my address so he could send us a crate of wine.
"That is a problem too," I said.
I told him I had come from Israel a week ago for a holiday, but had gotten sidetracked.
"A few days after I landed, I was surprised to discover the Jewish community that was here up to 25 years ago," I said. "You don't owe me anything. Indeed, you have given me and my people a lot. The least I can do as a Jew to show my appreciation for what you have done for the Jews of Zakynthos is to return this money that doesn't belong to me and say, 'Thank you!'"
There was silence for what appeared to be a long minute.
The man who had given me his seat when I walked in and hadn't said a word during the conversation, stood up with tears in his eyes, turned to me and said:
"As the grandson of Mayor Karrer, I am extremely overwhelmed and want to thank you!"
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Living is Giving
by Blima Moskoff
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1075107/jewish/Living-is-Giving.htm
As I was eating breakfast Thursday morning, I took out an old vegetarian cookbook to see if there was some interesting recipe to spice up my regular Shabbat menu. I've taken to experimenting with new salads, and I thought this cookbook might have a good idea. The book fell open up to the introduction, so I began skimming through it as I munched on my breakfast. It was a fascinating little history of how this woman had turned from a hopeful artist, writer and musician into a cookbook writer.
She had found satisfaction in helping others Originally, she had hoped to have her paintings hanging in the Met, or her novels becoming bestsellers, but had ended up writing cookbooks read by thousands. But it wasn't the fame or fortune that brought her happiness. At the end of her introduction/personal history, she summed up a thought that rings true for humanity. She concluded that "to be of use, to have the opportunity to impart information and skills that serve to enrich people's daily lives – this is what matters most to me." Simply put, she had found satisfaction in helping others.
When all is said and done, isn't that what matters most to all of us? It's not the money or the renown that bring contentment. People want to affect others, to influence them, and just to make their lives a little easier.
My friend Tova, a fellow writer, called me the other day to let me in on some good news. "I had a literary triumph," she told me, with a giggle in her voice.
"Let's hear," I responded cheerfully, waiting to hear which magazine had accepted her latest.
But the success she wanted to share was not about an appearance in a periodical. Instead, she went on to tell me how her daughter-in-law had been complaining that her daughter refused to eat fruit. And the little girl kept coming down with colds. Tova suggested that her daughter-in-law tell her child a story about someone who didn't want to eat fruit and kept having to stay home from nursery school, because of her ailments. Knowing that Tova is a better writer than she, the young mother asked her if she would write that story and she (the young mother) would read it to her daughter. Tova happily accepted and whipped out a fast story about a little duck who wouldn't eat fruit…She e-mailed it to her daughter-in-law.
This was her literary triumph The next day Tova got a call from her daughter-in-law with good news. After hearing the story, her little girl agreed to eat three tiny slivers of a tangerine! Tova's day was made.
This was her literary triumph. Not an article accepted in a well-read newspaper. Not a whopping royalty check in the mail. Tova's story had helped her little granddaughter half-way across the world to enter into the world of fruits. And hopefully, her health will improve.
As a mother, I've had my own share of personal triumphs. Like the time my young daughter came home from a friend and told me that her friend had accidentally slammed a window on my daughter's finger. After sympathizing with her, I told her that her friend must have felt so bad. My daughter confided that she didn't tell her friend what had happened, because she didn't want her to feel bad.
I have to say I was very proud of my daughter, but I was also filled with a feeling of satisfaction. Consideration and sensitivity are two virtues I try hard to instill in my kids. And my daughter showed me that my efforts were not for naught.
My friend Sara used to work at Hebrew University. She organized classes on Jewish thought, Shabbatons, challah-baking, and other activities to introduce Jewish students from abroad to a deeper look at their heritage.
One day she was standing in the lobby of the building for overseas students, publicizing one of her upcoming activities. At the time, there were student body elections for the overseas students. It seemed to be a hot election, with two main alternatives for president, a young man vs. a young woman. Unexpectedly, Sara bore witness to an upsetting quarrel between the two. As she stood there behind her table, Mr. Would-Be President taped a campaign sign right over the sign of Ms. Would-Be, covering it completely. What he didn't realize was that his opponent was on the other side of the lobby, looking. Needless to say, a very vocal fight broke out right there in the middle of the hubbub, with her demanding he remove the sign, and him refusing. Not wanting to lower herself to taking it off, she told him he better take it down, and off she went in a huff. He just walked away.
Sara knew that the right thing to do was to take off his sign and move it to the side. So she did it herself. This way, she figured that Ms. Would-Be would come back and see the problem had been corrected and would think that Mr. Would-Be had done it, thus putting out some of the coals of contention.
Later that morning, Ms. Would-Be approached Sara, who assumed she was interested in information on the upcoming program Sara was organizing. But Ms. Would-Be surprised her.
"I saw what you did before," she told Sara.
Sara wasn't sure how to respond, but Ms. Would-Be beat her to it.
"That was the nicest thing I ever saw anyone do," she told Sara. Then she turned around and walked away, to hang up more signs.
Thinking back to that short interchange, Sara was left with a feeling of satisfaction that she still carries with her today, more than ten years later.
So much of Judaism is based on the importance of giving. There are numerous mitzvos that are classified as bein adom lechaveiro, literally "between a person and his friend," i.e. interpersonal. From giving charity and loans to helping even one's enemy to reload his fallen donkey, the Torah requires us to think beyond ourselves and help out those around us. The number one mitzvah that sums up the importance of altruism is "Love your neighbor as yourself." The root of the word "ahava" (love) is "hav" – to give. Giving requires love, but it also develops love. In fact, Torah scholars have taught that if someone wants to increase his/her love for another, the secret is to give. That is one of the many reasons why parents love their children so much. All that parental giving creates tremendous love for the recipient. So if you want to love someone more, give to him, and soon those loving feelings will follow. By doing acts of kindness, you are fulfilling the mitzvah of "Love your neighbor as yourself," since your actions have increased love between you and the other.
As we see from the stories above, giving does not necessarily mean providing physical items. It could mean a good word, a thoughtful note, a cheery phone call, or some helpful advice. And the giving could be something big or quite small.
Giving could be something quite small When my daughter came home from nursery school and had a huge tantrum, not for anything in particular, just from her exhausting day, I held her on my lap and let her cry. I made a few sympathetic sounds, but that was about it. I didn't feel annoyed that she was wasting my time or guilty that maybe nursery school is too much for her. I just reminded myself that by being there for her to cry on, I was doing an act of giving. Turning this small act into a heroic one gave me the strength to get through a period of almost daily meltdowns.
Everyone has their little stories. It's not the glory that fills up the soul with contentment. It's those small unassuming acts we perform, the consideration and sensitivity to make someone's day just a little bit better -- that make a person feel he has accomplished something. After all, people are made in G‑d's image, and G‑d loves to give. So when people give of themselves for others, they are tapping into their own G‑dliness. And that makes them feel like their lives are worth living.
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Rachel,
Thanks for your post. This gives me the perfect opportunity to voice my fatigue with Jewish "do gooders". I am sorry, but below IS how I feel.
"She had found satisfaction in helping others Originally, she had hoped to have her paintings hanging in the Met, or her novels becoming bestsellers, but had ended up writing cookbooks read by thousands. But it wasn't the fame or fortune that brought her happiness. At the end of her introduction/personal history, she summed up a thought that rings true for humanity. She concluded that "to be of use, to have the opportunity to impart information and skills that serve to enrich people's daily lives – this is what matters most to me." Simply put, she had found satisfaction in helping others."
That's fine. She dreamed and pursued her own fame and fortune and later decided this was not rewarding and than sought personal gratification helping others - I presume now that she is personally financially secure.
But why do liberal Jews think it wonderful to tax, confiscate and spend other people's monies to, in their deluded thinking, help the "poor" with ever increasing entitlements.
If one wants to get rich and later give it a way as a mitzvos that is "nice" and their right and privilege. But when we start talking modern day versions of Karl Marx than as I've said before I part ways.
I already work several months a year, toiling like a slave to have money confiscated and given away by liberals who use tax money to buy themselves votes. I've had enough. I am tired.
As for me they can shove their make love, and lets all be freinds and lovers, up their you know whats.
Many of these same people are pure hypocrits. Others don't seem to mind they are hurting the lives of many for their perceived good deeds.
We part ways.
I can be a good person but I don't need to forced to be a F.. saint or a masochist.
Enough is enough.
Frankly such liberals have lost me. Mitvohs my ass.
It's time to speak up and stick it back in the liberals faces before they destroy this country - if not too late.
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CCP:
While this website is clear testimony that there is considerable overlap in our political views, and I understand that these times can leave us susceptible to the cyberspace equivalent of road rage, what you have posted here is profoundly wrong.
Rachel made no assertion of coercing others!!! Indeed what she has posted is exemplary in its expression of individual responsibility.
However, YOU made a huge non-sequitur in assuming that because she is Jewish, and many/most Jews are liberals, that she was asserting a right to governmental theft, coercion, and meddling.
You need to take several deep breaths and reconsider your words here.
Marc
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Crafty,
My anger was meant for the writer not Rachel.
And yes - I made a logical conclusion the writer is a liberal.
I would be totally shocked if she wasn't.
I have had to hear this stuff from liberals all the time.
I believe it is this kind of rationalization that causes many of my fellow Jews to think it OK to believe in socialism.
And if they choose to do so then go ahead.
But I don't don't want it forced on me or this country.
I have liberal relatives that drive me crazy with their socialistic views. It is no coincidence a couple of them are Federal government employees BTW.
I mean no offense to Rachel and I hope my "cyberage" if you want to call it that does not keep her from posting as I enjoy her posts.
That said I still believe in what I posted. Now if the writer turns out to not be a liberal with a socialist bent I will apologize. But till then. And I would be shocked.
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CCP,
Thank you for the generous compliment on my posts.
You need to reread the article. No where it in did she say anything about coercion or political coercion.
I really liked the article because it reminded of one of favorite Anne Frank Quotes "How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world"
It is nice to be reminded when you feel powerless that although you may not be able to change the world on a larger scale you can always improve your small corner of it.
Chabad is Orthodox. Orthodox Jews do often vote Republican. The author's political views and yours are probably much closer than my views and yours.
If you are going to mad at someone it should be me. I don't think I ever personally made the argument that the Torah says you should pay higher taxes. You could probably use the Jewish mandate of Tikun Olam (repairing the world) to support both higher and lower taxes. As far as hypocrisy goes one should make sure that when she is doing something in service to her creator that she is actually serving and not using it as a rationalization to do what she wants. However if you want to direct you rage at someone you can direct it at me. If someone says I don't hate all Jews just Jews that act like this... I want to be included in the hated group.
Religious coercion that I do participate in. :-D
I thought the below article was good.
I also listened to a podcast from Chabad on the subject and it made a really excellent point. You should not be interested in religious growth that takes you away from you spouse. If you think God is telling you that in order to have a relationship with me you will have to dump your spouse than you should tell God never mind dump me too. A true marriage means I choose you among all others and my fate and yours all the same. In general if this point is clear to you and your spouse your wanting to be more involved in religious observance might be slightly annoying to your spouse but it won't be a threat.
The More Religious Spouse
by Emuna Braverman
What to do when she wants Shabbas and he wants the football game.
What to do when most of us want to learn and grow. We may take classes and read books, all in an effort at self-improvement. Some of us find our way to the wisdom of the Torah and the tools for growth it promotes. We thus begin a deep and profound journey, a truly life-changing one.
Embarking on this voyage as a married couple can be very exciting. The wisdom and insights can deepen your relationship, and learning and growing together is a special experience not many couples are privileged to enjoy.
But what if it doesn’t work quite like that? What if your excitement isn’t shared by your spouse? What if it’s viewed as “his thing” (as one woman said, “It’s better than buying a corvette and moving to a bachelor pad at the marina!”) or her hobby?
What if you can’t share the new ideas you’re learning because your husband is actually more interested in Monday Night Football? What if Shabbos in your home isn’t quite like you’ve experienced elsewhere because your wife only participates reluctantly or not at all? Struggles like these are not uncommon. What can you do about it?
Unfortunately conflict over growth in Judaism can sometimes be played out in the marriage itself. I think the most important initial recognition is this: Judaism is not causing the conflict; existing fissures in the marriage are. Or, to put it more positively, a strong, healthy marriage built on mutual respect can accommodate individuals with differing viewpoints on their Jewish growth.
So the place to begin -- before even talking about your Jewish life -- is with your marriage itself. Be interested in your spouse. Be attentive to their needs. Be respectful of their wishes. Ask about their goals and dreams. Find ways and strategies to resolve conflicts reasonably and amicably. Be loving and caring. Be kind and solicitous.
Then, and only then, can you talk about your growth in Torah observance.
I know it’s a tall order. But it’s the crucial foundation for all growth to come.
He's a Different Person!
A person once said to me, “I married one person, a non-religious, driven businessman, and I woke up and overnight he has become someone else -- a religious Jew who has slowed down his pace to make time for learning and praying.” There are two fallacies in this statement. One is that your spouse has become another person and two is that it happened overnight.
Most of us (I hope) don’t marry a doctor or a lawyer or a businessman on account of their profession. We don’t think their career is the essence of who they are. We marry our spouses for their character. We are interested in them because they are kind and loyal, honest and easy-going, fun-loving and with a good sense of humor -- you have your list. These basic internal qualities don’t change. If you choose well, these qualities will only be heightened and further developed through involvement in Jewish learning. If God forbid you didn’t choose well, if you are one of those smart people who made foolish choices, don’t blame the Torah.
And it is an exaggeration to say that it happened overnight. If it seems that way to you, it’s because you weren’t paying attention, you weren’t listening, you weren’t expressing true interest in your spouse’s life. This, fortunately, can be easily remedied. Show interest, ask questions, be open. You might be surprised by what you discover.
Being Held Back
Many people complain that they'd become more observant but their spouse is holding them back. People may sincerely believe that their spouse is placing obstacles in their way. Yet here it would be helpful to recognize that there are many mitzvot that can be done without your spouse’s assistance -- starting with saying blessings, praying, putting on tefillin.
When you are working on your marriage (basic step one), when you have used the tools from Torah to strengthen your character and enhance your marriage (step two) and when you have mastered the list (and it’s a long one) of mitzvot you can do without your spouse (step three), then we can discuss how to grow further in the challenging circumstances of your particular home!
It's true that it's easier if the wife is the more observant one since, generally speaking, she's primarily running the home. Shabbos and keeping kosher are taken care of. But I’ve seen it happen the other way around as well. It may require a little more effort on the man’s side, but if your wife is focused on your happiness, if Jewish observance is presented in terms of love and not coercion, it can work. I know men who do the shopping and cooking to ensure that their home is a kosher one and I think those wives think they have a very good deal!
With Patience and Love
It is crucial to present Jewish observance and your new-found relationship with God and Torah in a loving way. Sometimes a newcomer’s enthusiasm and zeal overwhelm the other party. Sometimes we mistakenly try to impose our views on others instead of gently and patiently explaining them. Needless to say this is not an effective strategy.
One frequent concern about a home in which parents have differing levels of observance is how it will affect the children. This is of course a legitimate worry to which there are two answers and no guarantees (there are no guarantees when both parents are fully committed either).
The first point to recognize is that the most fundamental lesson your children will learn about marriage and the Torah’s impact on it will be reflected in how you treat each other. If you show your children that you love and respect each other, that behavior will leave a permanent impact that will ultimately bring them closer to Judaism. Conversely, if you constantly yell at your spouse and berate them for their lack of observance, the end result should be obvious -- and not good.
The final and perhaps most important point of all is that you need to trust in the Almighty. Everything is in His hands. If you make your best, most patient, most understanding, most loving effort you can with your spouse and your children, He will take care of the rest.
We may not know why we each face our particular challenges -- why wealth is someone else’s challenge and poverty another’s, why someone enjoys perfect health and another suffers. Likewise we don’t why that other couple seems to have grown at the same pace while we seem to struggle. And we have no control over it. All we can control is our behavior.
How we behave – and the character we exhibit -- demonstrates whether or not we are truly on a journey toward spiritual growth. Our personal example will have the deepest impact of all on our life partner.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/f/m/80884607.html
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Why Did Moses Have To Complain?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1090944/jewish/Why-Did-Moses-Have-To-Complain.htm
By Tzvi Freeman
Question:
When Moses saw things backfired in Egypt, he complained to G‑d, "Why have you done bad to these people? From the time You sent me, things have gotten worse instead of better!"
Didn't G‑d know that things had gotten worse? Isn't G‑d aware of what's going on in His world? Why does He need Moses to tell him?
Response:
G‑d sees all and knows all. But sometimes you need a report from down on the ground.
Here's an example: As a music composition major at the University of British Columbia (had a great faculty at the time), I set myself the task of writing a string quintet. With lots of help from my mentor, I toiled for months to come up with an original piece of complex counterpoint and clean form. Eventually, it won first place in its category in a provincial festival of the arts.
I recall vividly the morning that we first placed the sheet music in front of the quintet. This was in the days before instrument synthesizers, so I had heard nothing until now except whatever could be duplicated on the piano, plus the constructions of my own mind. As you can imagine, it was hard to keep my seat from shaking across the floor as my music came alive before me.
Then the double-bass player stopped the rehearsal. He took out his pencil and started changing some of the notes. I almost leaped at his neck, but my mentor grabbed my arm. I could see he was reading my very loud thoughts: "A chutzpah! The counterpoint is perfect! It's all be checked by my profs. The form is exquisite--I spent months on this! He thinks he knows the intent of the composer better than the composer himself!"
"They do that," he said. "And they're usually right. It's different when you're playing from the inside."
G‑d has two views of reality. One is the grand view from above. From there, the ugliness blends with its context to create even greater beauty. All is exquisite and ideal, a perfect whole.
Then He has the view from within. Within time, within space, within the confines of a flesh body that cringes at pain and is outraged at suffering; a view for which the now is more real than a thousand years of the future. The view not of the Composer, but of those who must play the music. And sometimes, what looks magnificent from above, is the pits from within.
Both views are true. Both views are G‑d.
In the Torah, the view from above is presented in G‑d's voice. G‑d's view from within is presented in the voice of Moses. The two come together to compose the ultimate truth of Torah.
Moses was simply practicing a common Jewish habit: Kvetching to G‑d. We call it prayer. It's the pencil granted us by the Composer. We preface our prayer with the verse, "G‑d, open my lips, that my mouth may speak Your praise." We ask, in other words, that our prayers should be the words of G‑d from within, speaking to G‑d as He stands above.
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Rachel,
I am glad I didn't offend you. I didn't intend to although I could see how my angry post could have.
It says a lot about your character that you took it in stride.
Hopefully without being intrusive I do admit I am interested in your political views.
I may or may not agree.
But if I disagree I am still interested because I don't understand liberals, Jewish or not.
Perhaps if you are one you could help me understand the values.
I don't mean to burden you with this and you could just refuse.
On the other hand I think it is good for the message board if we have diversity of thought.
If we all simply agree than we cannot learn.
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CCP.
I'm sorry but my current posting level and the limited topics that I post on are not going to change any time soon. If it makes you feel any better I pretty much only post here and facebook and my facebook posts are usually more social than political.
If you are personally interested in learning how liberals think I would recommend that you spend some time reading liberal websites and books. I recommend Salon and Moral Politics by George Lakeoff. I believe I read Moral Politics in 2002 so I couldn't really comment on its specifics other than I remember it being good but dry'
http://www.chabad.org/blogs/blog_cdo/aid/1092266/jewish/Why-Have-You-Done-Bad-to-this-People.htm
Why Have You Done Bad to this People?!
One Rabbi's Response to the Haitian Earthquake of 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
By Shais Taub
It's hard enough to comprehend the significance of what a 7.0 magnitude earthquake does to a densely populated area. It's even harder to imagine what this means when most of the people affected are already living in sub-standard conditions.
Haiti is figured to be the poorest country in the Americas. Something like a third of its GNP is foreign aide. It's been wracked by disease, war, hurricanes and, now, earthquake. It's unreal. Anyone who says that they can understand it clearly doesn't understand it at all.
Most of us will react with compassion. We will feel sympathy for the millions displaced from their homes, searching for lost relatives and left without access to even the most meager resources. Some of us will find somewhere to quickly donate online to help in the relief effort.
And then there are those – a very, very small number actually – who will take it upon themselves to interpret for us the meaning of the disaster. They will try to extract moral lessons from what happened. Perhaps they will find some reason to explain why the Haitian people deserve such pitifully bad luck. They did the same thing after Katrina and after the Tsunami. They are quick to figure out why people suffer and to hold up the victims as a frightening example of G‑d's potential wrath to us as well.
Please, do not listen to those who exploit human suffering for rhetorical flare.
They will tell you that G‑d wants to tell us something and that if we don't learn from this, there will be more calamity.
I know this because this is how they respond to every tragedy that grabs the world's attention.
What they are loath to admit is that we have no idea why this happened. We have no idea why G‑d did this. There are no answers that we can understand.
How then are we of faith to react? I mean, in addition to offering our help and our sympathy. How are we supposed to look at something like this?
Just this past Saturday, in Jewish communities all over the world, we read the first portion of the Book of Exodus—a portion which ends with Moses' complaint to G‑d: "Why have You done bad to Your people?"
The answer to this question comes at the beginning of this week's Torah reading, in which G‑d basically answers that the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, also had cause to question Him but never did. In other words, G‑d doesn't answer the question. Rather, He tells Moses that from another perspective – the perspective of the Patriarchs – it would not even occur to ask such a question.
It's actually quite remarkable. G‑d never answered the question.
I wonder it that's because G‑d knew that Moses wouldn't be able to understand the answer... or because He knew that he would?
It is not for us to be comfortable with human suffering. It is certainly not for us to rationalize it away or, worse yet, to use false piety to audaciously explain the unexplainable.
Does G‑d have a plan? Does He know what He is doing? Yes.
Are we able to explain what that is? If we do, we show that we have not only lost our hearts but also our minds.
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2754/jewish/Freedom-in-Five-Dimensions.htm
Freedom in Five Dimensions
By Tali Loewenthal
Our sages speak of the close relationship between the individual and the history of the Jewish people as described in the Torah. The grand events of the slavery in Egypt and the Exodus recounted in our Parshah can take place within the personal world of each man or woman living today.
One example is the Plagues, prominent in our Parshah. On Passover, reading the Haggadah, we chant a list of them, spilling out a drop of wine for each. Then the Haggadah recalls a discussion about them between two ancient Sages, Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva.
Rabbi Eliezer says that each Plague actually consisted of four Plagues. Rabbi Akiva says not four, but five. Sitting at the Seder table, reciting from the wine-stained Haggadah, we hurry on towards the Matza, the bitter herbs and the meal. But what are these two Sages telling us today?
It is at this point that we can discover something about the process of leaving Egypt on an inner, personal level.
The function of the Plagues in history was to break the negative power of Egypt and of Pharaoh, the tyrant who enslaved the Jewish people. Inwardly, the equivalent of the Plagues is our attempt to break through our own situation of enslavement. Who or what enslaves us? Our own negative desires, our own self-centerdness.
In this inner enslavement there are four levels, according to Rabbi Eliezer, and five according to Rabbi Akiva. Understanding that, we ourselves are better able to apply the 'Plagues' in order to release our inner self.
The first level is when the negative within ourselves has so much power over us that it can force us to do something wrong. This is the plain and simple level of daily life, at which a person struggles to gain control his behavior.
The second, more subtle level of enslavement is when the person does the right thing. But he is always worried about what other people are thinking about him. He is trapped by his own concept of society.
A third level of enslavement is yet more subtle. The person has a sense of freedom, and stands above the opinions of other people. Yet he remains limited by his own intellect and understanding. He remains cold, without passion. By contrast Jewish teaching demands from us the ability to go beyond this limitation: "You should love G-d, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might." There are situations which demand something more than cold rationality.
The fourth level is that the person can go beyond understanding. He or she acts with self-sacrifice. As far as Rabbi Eliezer is concerned, this is the highest level attainable.
But Rabbi Akiva can still see a possible problem. The person may continue to be trapped by his own sense of righteousness: "I am sacrificing myself! Aren't I wonderful?!" For Rabbi Akiva the fifth level of freedom is when the person is totally free of self.
Then he or she can truly be devoted to the service of G-d, bringing Redemption ultimately not just to themselves but to the whole world
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The Car Menorah
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1079985/jewish/The-Car-Menorah.htm
By Sara Esther Crispe
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/374/vxNV3744548.jpg)
The author’s husband and children at the Menorah Parade in Philadelphia. Photo by Baruch Ezagui.
I'll never forget the look on my sister's face when I came to pick her up from the train station a few weeks ago. I thought I should warn her that I was almost there so I called as I rounded the corner. She asked what car I was driving and I assured her she would have no problem finding me. And then I heard the gasp. She found me.
You see, for the past few years during Chanukah we have strapped a large menorah to the top of our van. Depending on where you live, you may have seen this. But for the general public of Philadelphia, this still definitely draws attention. Granted, we are far from the only car to sport one; there are probably a few dozen even in our immediate area, and we always honk and wave to each other when we pass. But regardless, a large menorah on the top of a van wishing you a Happy Chanukah is still quite the attention grabber.
Then I heard the gasp. She found me We first rented one (oh yes, you can rent them) to partake in the large menorah parade in which hundreds of cars join each year and drive through the streets of downtown Philadelphia. This is an amazing experience all in itself with those on the sidewalks waving and shouting and my kids in the back screaming "Happy Chanukah" at the top of their lungs. It is a time of pride, unity, and empowerment.
But what's most powerful about my car menorah takes place when I drive alone. That is when I learn what it means to make a statement and the responsibility that comes with it.
I guess as a woman I fit into the crowd much more than my beard-toting, kippah-wearing husband. Wherever he goes it is pretty obvious that he is a Chassidic Jew (or Amish…a real possibility when you live right outside of Philadelphia). When I walk through the streets, on the other hand, unless someone knows what they are looking for, it is not certain that I could even be identified as a Jew. Especially now in the winter, a skirt, boots and turtleneck certainly don't raise any suspicions. And even in the summer, I think that when spotted fully dressed in the midst of a heat wave, the assumption is just that I am bizarre or fearful of the sun.
But when you drive with a menorah on the top of your car, you are very in-your-face-Jewish. And the message you are telling the world is that you are proud to be just that! And I admit that I wasn't really ready for the attention that came with my menorah. I soon learned that every single time I got into my van, no matter where I was going or what I was doing, I was going to be watched.
I learn what it means to make a statementAt every traffic light people stare. As cars pass, they wave or honk. I could see in my rear view mirror those in the cars behind me trying to figure out who I was. People wanted to know, what kind of person drives around like this? Who is this proud Jew? What does one look like?
One of the main reasons we light the menorah is to publicize the miracle that took place when just that little bit of oil lasted for eight days. Another aspect is to add more light to this world. Driving around with my car menorah managed to accomplish both. I saw the smiles, I watched the kids point out the menorah to their parents. I noticed the waves. And I felt good knowing that just through running my errands I could bring about Jewish pride and unity to my fellow Chanukah celebrators.
But it did more than that. It reminded me that I always need to be conscious of who I am and what I represent. Even if the rest of the year people don't even know I am Jewish as I go about my day to day life.
I kid you not, there were days that as I was about to run out to drop the kids off to school, I ran back in to make sure I looked decent. It was not so much that I cared if I had on makeup or not, but I realized that if I was going to be making a statement, I certainly didn't need the world knowing that I jumped out of bed thirty seconds earlier!
When the light was about to turn yellow, rather than stepping on the gas I slowed down. I mean, how embarrassing to fly through a borderline red light with a menorah on the top of the car! I let cars pass, I was more patient, I smiled at passing drivers. After all, it was not about me, it was about the message I was carrying.
She had no choice but to respond in kind As for my sister, she was really embarrassed getting into my van. We debated the whole ride home whether people were laughing with us or at us. A menorah on the van was unbelievably out of her comfort zone and not anything she had any interest in doing. But as we drove around those few days, and the cars next to us smiled and waved, she, too, had no choice but to respond in kind.
After all, when you realize that people are watching, you definitely want to be on your best behavior. And once you are aware that even the most mundane errand contains possibilities for a message and connection, that five minute drive suddenly is no longer meaningless or boring! And that is the truth year round. Menorah or not, we are always being watched, certainly from Above and from all around even more than we think. So it is up to us what message we bring when people look our way.
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Living through the Parshah
The Warming of Egypt
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1083647/jewish/The-Warming-of-Egypt.htm
By Rochel Holzkenner
"G‑d wants the heart"—Talmud, Sanhedrin 106b.
Three hundred years ago, the Baal Shem Tov used this Talmudic adage to trigger a revolutionary shift in the Jewish psyche. Although you may dedicate your skilled hands, and even your intellectual prowess, don't neglect to give G‑d a piece of your heart.
When the Baal Shem Tov entered the scene in the early 18th century, much of European Jewry suffered from what we would today call post-traumatic stress. Centuries of persecution and violent anti-Semitism had climaxed in the Chmelneitzki massacres of 1648-9 which wiped out an estimated six hundred thousand Jews and left the Jewish social and economic infrastructure in shambles. Any remaining illusion of stability had been shattered as they watched the Cossacks rampage freely while their neighbors turned a blind eye.
Passion is only for the safe, for the thriving; survivors just try to make it through the dayAnd then came the collective emotional numbness. Although most Jewish folk clung to religious ritual, if you would've stripped away the layer of observance you'd have found a wounded heart with a weak pulse. Passion is only for the secure and thriving; survivors just try to make it through the day.
The Baal Shem Tov made it his life's mission to reawaken that passion. He knew that the Jewish nation could not survive without enthusiasm, idealism and love of G‑d. If we lacked the spirit that enlivens the ritual observance and keeps us perpetually resilient, we'd eventually fade out and die as a people.
And so he devoted his life to rubbing warm numb Jewish hearts. He bent down to speak lovingly to children and uplifted their parents with stories from the Talmud. He called for singing and dancing and enthusiastic prayer, and slowly hearts began to heal. Engaging in an authentic relationship with G‑d seemed safe and even enticing again.
The story is not a new one. It happened once before in Egypt. Moses, too, found a nation that was deeply wounded, jaded and depleted. Leaving Egypt was not only a matter of emigration; it would be a far more challenging psychological transition from oppression to empowerment. You could take the Jew out of Egypt but could you take Egypt out of the Jew? Moses' job was to facilitate this redemption.
One therapeutic technique that he used at G‑d's behest was orchestrating the ten plagues. With this ten-step process he weakened the evil of Egyptian culture and began to heal the Jewish psyche.
The initial treatment entailed a tangible transformation of the Nile River's water into blood. Simultaneously, an intangible transformation was triggered. While the cold Egyptian waters were turned into warm blood for seven days, the frigid apathy that the Egyptians displayed towards spirituality and human suffering was undergoing intensive heat therapy. At the root of Egyptian culture and brutality lay the Nile River, a river that was worshipped for its fertile mineral-filled water that would dance onto the shore and irrigate the soils. The river's ebb and flow was the Egyptian NASDAQ, it called the economic shots and built up its host to be a super-power. Everyone paid tribute to the Nile.
The Nile's allure made the Egyptians cool—way too hip and self-confident to care about some Jewish G‑d. "Who is this G‑d that I should listen to Him?" roared Pharaoh at Moses and Aaron. I'm too cool for your G‑d and too apathetic to feel for the plight of my Jewish slaves.
G‑d instructed Moses to heal Egypt of its apathy by targeting the root of its dysfunction; the Nile River flowed with warm blood. This warmth spread also to the Jews and worked to melt away the cold apathy that the Egyptian bondage bred.
The Exodus model outlines the first step in facilitating liberation and growth: turn your cold water into warm bloodThe Exodus from Egypt remains the classic model for inner transformation. Egypt, or Mitzrayim in Hebrew, shares the same root as the word meitzarim, meaning constrictions. Personal exodus means moving beyond the status quo so that I'm no longer defined by my previous limitations. In its more developed stage, exodus is about moving beyond a self-centered orbit towards a closer relationship with G‑d.
The Exodus model outlines the first step in facilitating liberation and growth: turn your cold water into warm blood. Blood is life, pleasure and vitality. You can do all the right things, but if it's without warmth, the rituals will wither and performance will be but a skeleton without a soul.
I see the Exodus dynamic playing out vividly each day in school. As a teacher, I like to think of my role as facilitating emotional and spiritual growth through the study of Torah. But it would never work without lots of warmth and love. Information alone doesn't inspire transformation in most teenagers I've met. They are way too cool for that. But if we can turn cold water into blood, turn apathy into warmth and enthusiasm, then the ground is fertile and the work can begin.1
FOOTNOTES
1. Based on a talk of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, as recorded in Likutei Sichot volume 1.
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Seeding Miracles
By Tzvi Freeman
When our universe as we know it first emerged, the soil of the earth was imbued with a wondrous power—the power to generate life. Place a tiny seed in the ground and it converts the carbon of the air into a mighty redwood— a decomposing seed awakens the power of the infinite.
Yet another miracle, even more wondrous: A quiet act of kindness buried in humility ignites an explosion of G‑dly light.
Infinite power is hidden in the humblest of places.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1093498/jewish/Can-You-Sell-Your-Soul-to-the-Devil.htm
Can You Sell Your Soul to the Devil?
By Baruch S. Davidson
Question:
Do Jews believe that a person can sell his/her soul to the devil?
Response:
The idea of "selling one's soul to the devil"—meaning, becoming a slave of the devil in exchange for favors provided—does not exist in Torah. Jewish ethical works do describe instances where one can be somewhat "possessed" by evil drives. But even that state is always reversible.
Before addressing this, here's a bit on the nature of Satan in Jewish thought:
Satan is a Hebrew verb meaning "provoke" or "oppose" and is used several times in the Bible as a verb. The first instance is in the story of Balaam, when Balaam decides to take the mission of cursing the Jewish People:
"G‑d's wrath flared because he was going, and an angel of the L‑rd stationed himself on the road to oppose him [translation of l'satan lo], and he was riding on his she-donkey, and his two servants were with him.1
In other cases, the word appears as a noun, "a provocateur." Generally, the title appears with the definite article—"the satan"—which means that it is not a proper name, just a job description. For example, in the book of Job, the satan appears as a prosecutor before G‑d:
"Now the day came about, and the angels of G‑d came to stand beside the L‑rd, and the satan, too, came among them…"
"Now the L‑rd said to the satan, "Have you paid attention to My servant Job? For there is none like him on earth, a sincere and upright man, G‑d-fearing and shunning evil."
And the satan answered the L‑rd and said, "Does Job fear G‑d for nothing? Haven't You made a hedge around him, his household, and all that he has on all sides? You have blessed the work of his hands, and his livestock has spread out in the land. But now, stretch forth Your hand and touch all that he has, will he not blaspheme You to Your face?"
Now the L‑rd said to the satan, "Behold, all that he has is in your hands; only upon him do not stretch forth your hand." Now the satan left the presence of the L‑rd."2
From this passage, we see that G‑d created an angel to play the role of provocateur; that he is a messenger of, and subservient to, G‑d. He was not a fallen angel or sent to Hell, where he began fighting G‑d; he was created to be Satan. Neither does Satan spend his days stoking the flames of hell with his pitchfork. He is a presence on earth with a mission: to provoke people to disobey G‑d's will.
Indeed, the dualistic notion of a powerful anti-G‑d figure that fights with G‑d for the destiny of the human race is incompatible with Jewish belief. There is no power of evil independent of G‑d; otherwise this would imply a lack of G‑d's all-inclusive control and power. To quote the Book of Isaiah:
"…from the place where the sun rises until the place where it sets, there is nothing but Me. I am G‑d, there is nothing else. [I am He] Who forms light and creates darkness, Who makes peace and creates evil; I am G‑d Who makes all these."3
Obviously then, the satan is not an autonomous force who opposes G‑d and recruits people to his militia. Rather, the satan is a spiritual entity that is completely faithful to its maker. For example, regarding the Biblical story of the satan's particularly aggressive attempt to seduce Job to blaspheme, Rabbi Levi declares in the Talmud:
"Satan's acted for G‑d's sake. When He saw how G‑d was so focused on Job, he said, "Heaven forbid that G‑d should forget His love of (our forefather) Abraham!""4
The Zohar compares the satan to a harlot who is hired by a king to try to seduce his son, because the king wants to test his son's morality and worthiness. Both the king and the harlot (who is devoted to the king) truly want the son to stand firm and reject the harlot's advances. Similarly, the satan is just another one of the many spiritual messengers (angels) that G‑d sends to accomplish His purpose in the creation of man.5
This is not the satan's entire job description. The Talmud sums it up saying that the satan, the impulse to evil ("yetzer ha-ra"), and the angel of death are one and the same personality. 6 He descends from heaven and leads astray, then ascends and brings accusations against humankind, and then carries out the verdict.
However, the above-mentioned passage in Zohar concludes that if one does succumb to the urging of the evil inclination, he is "giving energy to the other side". This means, that an act defying G‑d's will grants those forces that hide G‑d's presence—at His bidding—additional strength to hide G‑d from us even more. This presents itself as even greater internal and external challenges for one to experience and identify with the truths of G‑d and His Torah.
One extreme example of this would be Pharaoh, who enslaved the Jewish people in Egypt. Though G‑d told Moses to command Pharaoh to free the Israelites, He stated that, "I have hardened his heart and the heart of his servants"7 in order to ultimately punish the Egyptians with the ten plagues. As a consequence for his earlier oppression and abuse of the Jewish nation, his ability to abandon his evil ways was made even more difficult, to the point that he seemed to have lost free choice, and his vision and ability to repent was completely impaired.8
There is nothing that can ultimately stop one who truly seeks to return.9 Pharaoh, too, was therefore still capable of overcoming this block, and ultimately repenting, as discussed at length in Why was Pharaoh Punished?10 Thus, even when someone seems to be completely possessed by the satan–as divine retribution for his earlier misdeeds, not by choice of negotiation with the devil—he is still not sold, and can overcome his instinct and impulse to act satanically. To become completely sold with no hope of redemption would be counter-productive of G‑d's intent, and could not exist.
Regardless of where you've fallen, you are never sold to these impure forces, and your soul can wrestle free and recommit to serve G‑d with sincerity and passion. The axe of earnest remorse can bring down any wall, whether preexisting or created by your actions, clearing the way for you to come home to your true self.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Numbers 22:22.
2.
Job 1.
3.
Isaiah 45:7.
4.
Bava Batra, 16a.
5.
Zohar vol. 2, p 163a. See also Tanya chapters 9 and 29.
6.
Bava Batra, ibid.
7.
Exodus 10:1.
8.
Maimonides, Laws of Repentance 6:2.
9.
Jerusalem Talmud, Peah 1:1.
10.
Based on Likutei Sichot vol. 6, pp. 65-66. Similarly, see Maharsha to Chagigah 15a.
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Prayer in Response to Natural Disaster
By Sir Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi
Adon ha-olamim, Sovereign of the universe,
We join our prayers to the prayers of others throughout the world, for the victims of the earthquake which this week has brought destruction and disaster to many lives.
Almighty God, we pray You, send healing to the injured, comfort to the bereaved, and news to those who sit and wait. May You be with those who even now are engaged in the work of rescue. May You send Your strength to those who are striving to heal the injured, give shelter to the homeless, and bring food and water to those in need. May You bless the work of their hands, and may they merit to save lives.
Almighty God, we recognise how small we are, and how powerless in the face of nature when its full power is unleashed. Therefore, open our hearts in prayer and our hands in generosity, so that our words may bring comfort and our gifts bring aid. Be with us now and with all humanity as we strive to mend what has been injured and rebuild what has been destroyed.
Ken Yehi Ratzon, ve-nomar Amen.
May it be Your will, and let us say Amen.
(c) Rabbi Jason A. Miller
Site: http://www.rabbijason.com
Blog: http://blog.rabbijason.com
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Chassidic Masters
The Soul of Evil
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/35883/jewish/The-Soul-of-Evil.htm
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
And G‑d said to Moses: "Come to Pharaoh; for I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his servants in order that I might show My signs in their midst..." (Exodus 10:1
Why does it say, "Come to Pharaoh"? It should have said, "Go to Pharaoh" .... But G‑d brought Moses into a chamber within a chamber, to the... supernal and mighty serpent from which many levels evolve...which Moses feared to approach himself... (Zohar, part II, 34a)
Among the fifty-four parshahs ("sections") of the Torah, several stand out as milestones in the narrative of the history of humanity and of the people of Israel. The Parshah of Bereishit recounts G‑d's creation of the world in six days and Adam's banishment from Eden; Lech Lecha describes Abraham's journeys to bring the truth of the One G‑d to a pagan world; Yitro includes the revelation at Sinai and the giving of the Torah to Israel; and so on.
A list of pivotal Parshiot would certainly include the Parshah of Bo, which tells of the exodus of the children of Israel from the land of Egypt. The Exodus marked our birth as a people, and we are enjoined to "Remember the day that you went out of Egypt, all the days of your life." Indeed, when G‑d revealed Himself to us at Sinai, He introduced Himself not as the Creator of heaven and earth, but as "...your G‑d, who has taken you out of the land of Egypt"! For the defining element of our relationship with G‑d is not that we are beings created by Him (of which there are many others in G‑d's world), but that we are free beings--beings in whom He has invested of His own infinity and eternity, beings empowered by Him to transcend the constraints of the material world and the limits of their own natures.
The Name
Bo means "come." The name derives from our Parshah's opening verse, in which G‑d instructs Moses to "come to Pharaoh" to warn him of the seventh plague (the plague of locusts) and once again deliver the divine demand that the ruler of Egypt set free the children of Israel.
The Torah considers the name of a thing to be the articulation of its essence; certainly, such is the case with the Torah's own names for itself and its components. The name of a Torah section always conveys its primary message and the common theme of all its subsections and narratives.
One would therefore expect the section of the Exodus to be called "Exodus," "Freedom," or some other name that expresses the significance of this defining event in the history of Israel. Instead, it derives its name from Moses' coming to Pharaoh--an event that seems but a preliminary to the Exodus. Indeed, the concept of the leader of Israel coming to Pharaoh's palace to petition him to let the Jewish people go--implying that the Jews are still subservient to Egypt and its ruler--seems the very antithesis of the Exodus!
The phrase "Come to Pharaoh" also evokes much discussion in the commentaries. Why does G‑d tell Moses to come to Pharaoh? Would it not have been more appropriate to say, "Go to Pharaoh"?
The Zohar explains that Moses feared confronting Pharaoh inside his palace, at the hub of his power. (On earlier occasions, Moses had been directed to meet Pharaoh in other places, such as on the king's morning excursions to the Nile). So G‑d promised Moses that He Himself would accompany him to Pharaoh. The word "come" is thus to be understood in the sense of "come with me"; G‑d is saying to Moses, "Come with Me to Pharaoh."
The Zohar goes on to say that Moses is being invited by G‑d to meet with the innermost essence of Egypt's ruler and god. Thus we have another meaning of the phrase "Come to Pharaoh--"come" in the sense of "enter within." To liberate the people of Israel from the "great and mighty serpent," it was not enough to merely go to Pharaoh; Moses had to enter into the core of Pharaoh, into the very root of his power.
My River
Who is Pharaoh and what does he represent? What is his "innermost essence"? Why did Moses dread confronting Pharaoh in his palace if G‑d Himself had sent him there? And how does "coming into Pharaoh" hold the key for the Exodus from Egypt and the liberation of the soul of man?
The prophet Ezekiel describes Pharaoh as "the great serpent who couches in the midst of his streams, who says: My river is my own, and I have made myself" (Ezekiel 29:3). In other words, the evil of Pharaoh is not defined by the promiscuity that characterized the pagan cults of Egypt; not by his enslavement and torture of millions; not by his bathing in the blood of slaughtered children; but by his egocentrism, by his regarding his own self as the source and standard for everything.
For this is the root of all evil. Self-centeredness might seem a benign sin compared to the acts of cruelty and depravity to which man can sink, but it is the source and essence of them all. When a person considers the self and its needs to be the ultimate arbiter of right and wrong, his morality--and he might initially be a very moral person--is a sham. Such a person is ultimately capable of committing any act, should he regard it as crucial to himself or to his self-defined vision of reality.
Ultimately, every good deed is an act of self-abnegation, and every evil deed is an act of self-deification. When a person does a good deed--whether it involves contributing a single coin to charity or devoting an entire lifetime to a G‑dly cause--he is saying: there is something greater than myself to which I am committed. When a person violates the divine will--whether with a minor transgression or with the most heinous of crimes--he is saying: "My river is my own, and I have made myself"; good is what is good to me, evil is what is contrary to my will; I am the master of my reality, I am god.
The Soul of Evil
So is the ego evil? Is this fundamental component of our soul an alien implant that must be uprooted and discarded in our quest for goodness and truth?
In the final analysis, it is not. For the cardinal law of reality is that "There is none else besides Him" (Deuteronomy 4:35)--that nothing is contrary to, or even separate from, the Creator and Source of all. The ego, the sense of self with which we are born, also derives from G‑d; indeed, it is a reflection of the divine "ego." Because G‑d knows Himself as the only true existence, we, who were created in His image, possess an intimation of His "sense of self" in the form of our own concept of the self as the core of all existence.
It is not the ego that is evil, but the divorcing of the ego from its source. When we recognize our own ego as a reflection of G‑d's "ego" and make it subservient to His, it becomes the driving force in our efforts to make the world a better, more G‑dly place. But the same ego, severed from its divine moorings, begets the most monstrous of evils.
This, explains the Lubavitcher Rebbe, is the deeper significance of the opening verses of the Parshah of Bo. When G‑d commanded Moses to "Come to Pharaoh," Moses had already been going to Pharaoh for many months. But he had been dealing with Pharaoh in his various manifestations: Pharaoh the pagan, Pharaoh the oppressor of Israel, Pharaoh the self-styled god. Now he was being told to enter into the essence of Pharaoh, into the soul of evil. Now he was being told to penetrate beyond the evil of Pharaoh, beyond the mega-ego that insists "I have created Myself," to confront Pharaoh's quintessence: the naked "I" that stems from the very "self" of G‑d.
Moses did not fear the evil of Pharaoh. If G‑d had sent him, G‑d would protect him. But when G‑d told him to enter into the essence of Pharaoh, he was terrified. How can a human being behold such a pure manifestation of the divine truth? A manifestation so sublime that it transcends good and evil and is equally the source of both?
Said G‑d to Moses: "Come to Pharaoh." Come with Me, and together we will enter the great serpent's palace. Together we will penetrate the self-worship that is the heart of evil. Together we will discover that there is neither substance nor reality to evil--that all it is, is the misappropriation of the divine in man.
If this truth is too terrifying for a human being to confront on his own, come with Me, and I will guide you. I will take you into the innermost chamber of Pharaoh's soul, until you come face to face with evil's most zealously guarded secret: that it does not, in truth, exist.
When you learn this secret, no evil will ever defeat you. When you learn this secret, you and your people will be free.1
FOOTNOTES
1. Based on the Rebbe's talks on Shabbat Parshat Bo 5752
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http://viatherabbi.blogspot.com/2010/01/prayer-after-earthquake-in-haiti.html
This is a sermon that I delivered on Shabbat Va-era that others may find useful in thinking about their own struggles with prayer after a tragedy like the one caused by the recent earthquake in Haiti.
These have been difficult days for me to pray. Somehow, watching the images of the utter devastation and chaos has placed a trace of cynicism in my heart, a cynicism that pierces the words I say, shattering them into individual letters. These letters float toward the heavens alone, isolated from one another, empty of meaning in their solitude. I intuit that prayer is the right response, but it has felt different, a bit more strained and angry. But really, what else do I have? I can donate money and organize relief shipments, but after that check is sent, my soul is left to stir about restlessly in that same dark room into which it retreated as each new story of destruction and trauma made its way out of Haiti. But sometimes, prayer is not about me. It is not about my soul, with its angst and anxieties and its wonder. Sometimes, prayer is the telling of a story, the beginning of which was recorded thousands of years in our Torah, the middle of which was written on the parchments of our chachamim, the ancient sages, and the latest chapter is added in our voices. In this way, prayer is like the weaver’s quilt, with many patches of clashing colors and un-corresponding designs, yet somehow complementary to one another. These discordant patches need not be harmonized. It is precisely because they are discordant that the story prayer tells is simple while nuanced, intelligent and passionate, hopeful yet skeptical. Prayer is not univocal because human experience is not predictably singular. People are not emotionally steady from year to year, month to month, or even day to day. When we remove the doubt and anger from the story in order to sanitize it, we end up doing violence to the very notion that prayer is avodah she’balev, the utterance of the heart.
One of the patches on this quilt was written by Moses. In the two verses before our parsha, he lashes out at God in anger and frustration. He screams:
?אֲדֹנָי לָמָה הֲרֵעֹתָה לָעָם הַזֶּה
Lord! Why did you bring harm upon this people?
?לָמָּה זֶּה שְׁלַחְתָּנִי
Why did you send me? Ever since I came to Pharoah to speak in your name he has dealt worse with this people, and you still have not saved your people!
Moses is furious with God. “Not only didn’t you redeem your people, but you made their pain and suffering worse! It would have been better to leave them enslaved as they were!” Moses doesn’t hide his anger. He doesn’t beat around the bush with God, he prays his anger. God responds, but with a seemingly detached rejoinder. “I am Adonai! I appeared to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as El Shaddai, but I did not make name Adonai known to them.” What? What kind of response is that to Moshe’s protest? It sounds a lot like, “Hey, I am God- who are you to question me?”
In 11th Century France, Rashi sews the next patch onto our quilt, right next to Moshe’s patch that blazes with anger and disappointment. Rashi’s patch has a different tenor to it. It continues the story and adds to the prayer by revealing a deeper well of God’s compassion than was apparent to Moshe. Rashi tells us that when God says these words to Moshe, he doesn’t intend his words to be taken literally. Rashi suggests that in saying, “I am Adonai,” God is saying that He did not make certain characteristics associated with that name known to the patriarchs. The actual words that Rashi put into God’s mouth and sewed onto our quilt are, “I did not make Myself known to them in My aspect of utter truthfulness and reliability, which is represented by my name Adonai, for I made them promises but I did not fulfill them.” According to Rashi, God’s response to Moshe is stunning in its compassion and support. God is pointing out that He made promises to the patriarchs that they did not see fulfilled in their lifetime, but Moses, he will see these slaves redeemed and brought into the land he swore to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He tenderly reassures Moses that this plan will come to fruition; he will see his people escape the brutality of slavery.
Prayer contains both of these voices: the anger and fury of a man who watches injustice swell throughout the world and a God who seems to only make matters worse, and the hope felt by the man who knows that redemption is at his fingertips, that it is a dream that he will one day see with his own eyes and feel with his tired fingers. We live with both of these emotions at one in the same time, and because they oppose one another, we grow weary trying to sort them out and keep them separate. It’s better not to try. It’s okay to be furious with God. It’s okay to look at the chaos and destruction that this earthquake wreaked and still feel hope, that redemption is around the corner. It’s okay to feel both of these things at the same time. That is, after all, part of our story. Even the angels live with this conflict. Rabbi Barry Katz pointed me to a teaching of Elie Holzer, a wonderful Jewish educator. He points out that in the kedusha for Musaf there is a curious literary and thematic construct. The angels declare that God’s presence is everywhere as they boldly assert: Kevodo Malei Olam, “God’s glory fills the earth.” Yet without missing a beat, they quite literally doubt this assertion when they immediately ask one another, “Ayeh mekom kevodo? Where is God’s glory?” Even the angels live in the tension of feeling the absence of God’s presence while simultaneously sensing the immanence of Gods’ glory. In the rabbinic imagination, the creatures closest to God, God’s heavenly court, sanction this human experience of feeling both doubt and connectedness at the same time.
As I said earlier, I was reminded this week that prayer isn’t always about me and the longings and uncertainties of my soul. Prayer at its best forces us to do tzim-tzum, to contract our own needs while we focus on others. In Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s book Between God and Man, he suggests that even for the most inward focused person who prays the longings of his soul, prayer must transcend his own personal needs. He writes, “Genuine prayer is an event in which man surpasses himself. Man hardly comprehends what is coming to pass…At times all we do is utter a word with all our heart, yet it is as if we lifted up a whole world.” This is what we desperately need today. We can startle ourselves and each other with the realization that we human beings have the power to lift up the world, to place the power of healing on Haiti. During these days, prayer is an act in which our personal needs disintegrate as we attempt to lift Haiti out of the depths of the hell into which it has been shattered. With Heschel’s words, I am reminded that prayer in its most potent form is an expression of solidarity.
Today, I find Moshe’s accusation, Moshe’s prayer to God from a few thousand years ago on my lips:
?אֲדֹנָי לָמָה הֲרֵעֹתָה לָעָם הַזֶּה
Adonai, why did you bring harm upon this people, this nation already living impoverished and in desperate need of your outstretched arm and your compassion?
In the silence after my prayer, I take comfort in the heights not of heavenly compassion, but of human kindness and solidarity.
As we lift Haiti up from its wreckage by praying with our feet, by aiding and digging and collecting and giving and rescuing and hugging and crying, I take comfort.
As we mark Rosh Hodesh, the new month of Shevat, I take comfort. The waxing and waning of the new moon reminds me that rebirth that always follows death, that redemption is built into the natural world.
I will conclude with a prayer written by an Israeli writer, Bradley Burston, as a reminder that during these difficult days, prayer, somehow, is a beautiful human response.
"A prayer for the people of Haiti"
By Bradley Burston
A prayer for the people of Haiti,
who, on a good day,
must take heroic measures just to wake the next,
And who must now find a way
to live through the end of the world:
Lord who speaks in earthquakes
Speak now in miracles.
I thank you, that first prayer begins. Modeh Ani. The words spoken for the marvel of having woken up alive.
Lord whose relief work is beyond our capabilities
Breathe life today into those buried alive
I lie grateful before You, this King who lives and endures, for having brought me back this soul inside me, and with compassion.
Lord who speaks in childbirth, hear Your children now.
Hear those who have yet to be saved,
Hear those who have been saved but whose limbs and lives are crushed, Hear those who pray for those who can no longer pray for themselves.
Lord who invented the language of love
Teach those who, in Your name, who, calling themselves men of God, can find it in their hearts to speak only blasphemy and cruelty and scorn.
Lord who speaks in apocalypse
Armor the souls of those who call out now in rescue
Lord who has taught us by example the language of loss
Send strength to those who, with their last strength
Now seek nothing more than finding loved ones
Teach Your children by example, to comprehend the last line of that first prayer:
Your faith
is immense.
POSTED BY DAVID SCHUCK / JANUARY 19, 2010 /
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"These have been difficult days for me to pray. Somehow, watching the images of the utter devastation and chaos has placed a trace of cynicism in my heart, a cynicism that pierces the words I say, shattering them into individual letters."
It has been a sight to behold those survivors being pulled from the wreckage explaining how they never gave up hope, they felt they would be saved all along - thanks to God.
One questions how can there be a God when we witness such evil. Yet one understands the phrase, "the power of prayer" after seeing how many Haitains have dealt with their lot.
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"
One questions how can there be a God when we witness such evil. Yet one understands the phrase, "the power of prayer" after seeing how many Haitains have dealt with their lot.
CCP,
I don't have answer for you on why God allows such evil. I do know I want no part of any religion that has an "Answer" to that question.
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/622117/jewish/Why-Do-Bad-Things-Happen-to-Good-People.htm
Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?
By Aron Moss
Question:
Why do bad things happen to good people? Why is this world so unfair? Please don't tell me "We can't understand G‑d's ways." I am sick of hearing that. I want an explanation.
Answer:
Are you sure you want an explanation? Do you really want to know why the innocent suffer? I think not. You are far better off with the question than with an answer.
You are bothered by the fact that people suffer undeservedly. As you should be. Any person with an ounce of moral sensitivity is outraged by the injustices of our world. Abraham, the first Jew, asked G-d, "Should the Judge of the whole world not act fairly?" Moses asked, "Why have You treated this people badly?" And today we still ask, "Why G‑d, why?"
But what if we found the answer? What if someone came along and gave us a satisfying explanation? What if the mystery were finally solved? What if we asked why, and actually got an answer?
If this ultimate question were answered, then we would be able to make peace with the suffering of innocents. And that is unthinkable. Worse than innocent people suffering is others watching their suffering unmoved. And that's exactly what would happen if we were to understand why innocents suffer. We would no longer be bothered by their cry, we would no longer feel their pain, because we would understand why it is happening.
Imagine you are in a hospital and you hear a woman screaming with pain. Outside her room, her family is standing around chatting, all smiling and happy. You scream at them, "What's wrong with you? Can't you hear how much pain she is in?" They answer, "This is the delivery ward. She is having a baby. Of course we are happy."
When you have an explanation, pain doesn't seem so bad anymore. We can tolerate suffering when we know why it is happening.
And so, if we could make sense of innocent people suffering, if we could rationalise tragedy, then we could live with it. We would be able to hear the cry of sweet children in pain and not be horrified. We would tolerate seeing broken hearts and shattered lives, for we would be able to neatly explain them away. Our question would be answered, and we could move on.
But as long as the pain of innocents remains a burning question, we are bothered by its existence. And as long as we can't explain pain, we must alleviate it. If innocent people suffering does not fit into our worldview, we must eradicate it. Rather than justifying their pain, we need to get rid of it.
So keep asking the question, why do bad things happen to good people. But stop looking for answers. Start formulating a response. Take your righteous anger and turn it into a force for doing good. Redirect your frustration with injustice and unfairness and channel it into a drive to fight injustice and unfairness. Let your outrage propel you into action. When you see innocent people suffering, help them. Combat the pain in the world with goodness. Alleviate suffering wherever you can.
We don't want answers, we don't want explanations, and we don't want closure. We want an end to suffering. And we dare not leave it up to G-d to alleviate suffering. He is waiting for us to do it. That's what we are here for.
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One of my favorite books on belief in God is Why Faith Matters.
Defender of Faith:
Rabbi David Wolpe explains why faith matters
BY TOM TEICHOLZ
http://www.jewishjournal.com/tommywood/article/defender_of_faith_rabbi_david_wolpe_explains_why_faith_matters_20080917/
If the bestseller charts are any indication, it's become popular to condemn religion.
Books such as Sam Harris' "Letter to a Christian Nation" and "The End of Faith," Richard Dawson's "The God Delusion," Christopher Hitchens' "God Is Not Great" and Bill Maher's soon-to-be-released film, "Religulous," would have us see faith as antiquated, illogical and dangerous.
And let's face it, the arguments they make are not without merit: In the shadow of Sept. 11, religion seems at the root of much hatred and violence the world over. The announcement of a financial, sexual or political scandal involving a religious official -- whether we cringe or feel some secret schadenfreude -- no longer shocks us. At the same time, in this country as in others, it seems like religion is increasingly seeking to take on public and political dimensions, reaching into education, medicine, science and social programs.
In a world where religion is the cause of so much folly, it becomes harder to defend faith, which makes Rabbi David Wolpe's new book, "Why Faith Matters" (HarperOne), all the more important.
"Why Faith Matters" is not a book that will convince anyone who doesn't already believe in God -- nor is it meant to. Yet believer and nonbeliever alike should find "Why Faith Matters" thought-provoking and challenging.
What the book does well, in short, succinct chapters, is address some of the more popularly held charges leveled against religion, such as "religion causes violence" or "science and religion are at odds." And it does so in a readable and erudite way, quoting from sources as diverse as Tacitus, Heinrich Heine, Nietzsche and Rabbi Hayyim of Zans.
More importantly, it makes the case for the seldom-acknowledged benefits of faith, such as community and charity, and elucidates how religion and religious practice can enhance the lives even of those who don't and will never believe in God. Wolpe also hopes the book will give comfort to those who have faith.
"It's not only written for those who doubt," Wolpe said recently, "but to settle the souls of people who believe."
Wolpe is turning 50 this Friday, Sept. 19, and has been the rabbi at Sinai Temple in Los Angeles for the past 11 years. "Why Faith Matters" is his sixth book, and he wrote it not as a polemic response to the "New Atheists," but as a personal book about his own journey.
He was born in Harrisburg, Pa., where his father, Gerald Wolpe, was a Conservative rabbi. When David was 10, the family moved to Philadelphia, when Wolpe's father became the rabbi of Har Zion, a large Conservative synagogue on the city's Main Line.
Stephen Fried's "The New Rabbi" (Bantam 2002) chronicled the search to find a replacement for Wolpe's father when he retired. A New York Times' article about the book describes Wolpe's relationship with his father as "wonderfully complicated."
In "Why Faith Matters," Wolpe explains that as a teenager, after seeing the vivid documentary footage about the Holocaust in Alain Resnais' "Night and Fog," he became an atheist, embracing Bertrand Russell as one of his sages. Wolpe said he is attempting in this book to speak to his younger self. Yet, to a great extent, Wolpe now regards atheism as a failure of the imagination.
His central argument boils down to a rejection of the notion that "the only thing that is real is what you see or measure." Faith, he argues, adds another dimension to our experience of the world.
To Wolpe, religious faith is "an orientation of the universe," a way to invest all we do and all we experience with wonder and with meaning. When Peggy Lee asks: "Is that all there is?" Wolpe answers, "No."
This reminded me of an incident that occurred when my daughter was very young. She went through a phase, as all children do, of looking at the world around her, full of questions.
One night she asked me who made the stars in the sky. I replied, "God did," as much to come up with a quick and final answer as to avoid giving a more complicated scientific one.
A few weeks later, coming home late, as my wife, daughter and I stood at the front door, and as I fumbled to find my keys, my daughter said: "Listen." I listened and didn't hear anything.
"What?" I asked. She pointed upward and said, "It's The God. The God is everywhere."
Many people don't see or hear God's presence at all. And some feel that believing is childish.
Wolpe believes, however, that "there are things we outgrow and things we grow into." That struck me. What we dismiss as young people (like the value of having a job with a health care plan or retirement fund), we might revisit as we grow older.
Wolpe's own journey led him after graduating from the University of Pennsylvania from teenage atheist to studying to become a rabbi at the University of Judaism (UJ) in Los Angeles (now American Jewish University). He spent a year in Israel and was ordained in 1987 at the Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS) in New York, where he wrote his first book, "The Healer of Shattered Hearts" (Henry Holt & Company).
Over the next few years, Wolpe bounced back and forth between Los Angeles and New York, serving as director of UJ's library and assistant to the chancellor of JTS before returning finally to Los Angeles to serve as rabbi at Sinai Temple. Although Wolpe has been Sinai's rabbi for the last 11 years, he has performed High Holy Day services at Sinai since he was a student 25 years ago.
His tenure has not been without controversy. Whether it's been making peace among his diverse congregants or addressing the allegorical nature of Scripture or encouraging "rock" services, such as Craig Taubman's "Friday Night Live" (which can draw as many as 1,000 attendees to services with gospel, hip-hop or rock music and speakers from Elie Wiesel to writer David Kohan of "Will & Grace"), Wolpe's tenure has been marked by a certain fearlessness.
He brings the same approach to his brief in defense of faith, embracing the objections others avoid. For Wolpe, the notion that religious ritual is primitive or some form of magical thinking misses the point.
"Ancient can be venerable and cherished," he told me. "Religious practice can't always be explained in a utilitarian fashion. Sometimes, religious practice is its own reward."
Similarly, Wolpe feels that study of Scripture offers its own pleasures at every stage of life that we encounter it. For him, it is not the literal words alone, as much as the experience we garner from studying Scripture that faith adds to our lives. Not unlike a psychiatrist interpreting a dream, we may care less about whether it's true than what we can learn from it.
As to the charge that religion causes violence, Wolpe answers simply that "the feeling of certain groups that they are better or exempt is ... an ugly side of human nature. It's not specific to religion."
Without minimizing the deaths caused in the name of religion, Wolpe asks us to consider the historical record that demonstrates that the toll of war has been great or greater in those periods when religion was suppressed. We need only consider the millions of victims of the anti-religious regimes of the 20th century: Hitler, Stalin, Mao and Pol Pot.
Monotheism, Wolpe said, is based on "not how you treat God, but how you treat others" -- and in that respect, religion may be seen as a brake on human nature's more evil inclinations.
Faith can also be a salve, or as Simon and Garfunkel put it, "a bridge over troubled waters."
I can report that my daughter no longer asks the same questions she once did. (Now they begin with, "Why can't I?"). Neither do I.
As we get older, we no longer ask so many questions aloud. Our questions become more private: Why? Why are we on this earth? Events occur, and we ask: Why me? Or, why not me? These questions fill us not so much with wonder but attack us in moments of despair.
Wolpe knows these questions well, not only as a rabbi but from personal experience. His wife is a cancer survivor, and Wolpe himself has had neurosurgery for a benign brain tumor, as well as chemotherapy for non-Hodgkins lymphoma, a cancer that remains incurable, but for which he is now in remission. Wolpe told me that it was on the day he finished chemotherapy that he decided to write "Why Faith Matters."
In "Why Faith Matters" he does not suggest that faith can provide specific answers to our existential questions, so much as that it offers ways for us to look at those questions and the universe differently -- and that doing so provides each of us with ways to address those questions.
While writing this article, I happened to have lunch with two friends who both have been diagnosed with cancer, one of whom is still undergoing treatment. When I asked them whether their cancer experiences had impacted their faith, both said it had, but in ways they would not have predicted.
Neither said it made them more observant, but both remarked on how much they appreciated the hospital visits or phone calls they received from their clergy and fellow congregants, and how moved they were upon hearing that others were praying for them. They felt that those aspects of faith helped them endure. Those are elements of faith that don't get mentioned enough.
Religion for Wolpe "is a complex of things, rather than an abstract set of beliefs." What Wolpe feels is lost in the discussion of religion by "the new atheists" is the positive benefits of religion, such as community, a sense of social responsibility, a commitment to charity and charitable acts and of believing that there is something larger than oneself, having boundaries, submitting to a "higher power."
By contrast, faith, Wolpe said, can also make a "disturbance" of life, making life more difficult. As Wolpe put it, the sense that you are put on this earth for a reason carries with it responsibilities and challenges to meet a higher standard. Speaking with Wolpe, you get a sense that this is particularly true for him; that he is a person who is always pushing himself.
In honor of Wolpe's 50th birthday, Sinai Temple is hosting a dinner on Sept. 21, at which time he will formally announce the creation of an Israel Center at the temple.
He is creating what he believes to be the first independent center in the United States to promote Israel. Recognizing that a connection to Israel enhances one's Jewish identity, Wolpe wants to deepen that relationship. He wants families to travel there, to offer specialized tours tailored to specific interests, to be able to teach about Israel better, not only in terms of its history, but also its culture, to invite Israeli artists, writers and performers. He envisions perhaps even having a program for an Israeli artist in residence.
"I'm very excited about the possibility" Wolpe said, adding that he hoped that the center would be offering its first programs a year from now, "if not before."
The center is still in its formative stage. Eventually, Wolpe hopes to hire a full-time director for the Israel Center and determine a place for the center to be housed (whether in the synagogue or elsewhere). Wolpe believes that the community has shown great support for Israel and is ready to sustain a dedicated independent Israel Center. A center that, Wolpe asserts, "is not political." He wants each congregant to find their own connection to Israel -- whatever their political and personal interests.
Similarly, in "Why Faith Matters," Wolpe suggests that faith, religion and religious practice are to be valued -- if not for what they offer us then for the benefits they offer our children by learning to look beyond themselves, to be charitable, to treat others as they would like to be treated.
Clearly, you don't need religion to teach these ideals, but these are aspects of religion that rarely receive recognition from its critics. Faith, Wolpe believes, offers us a chance to give our children a way to suffuse their own lives with meaning and better prepare them for the challenges they will encounter.
Recently, I went to see the Coen brothers' comedy, "Burn After Reading," which I enjoyed very much. However, as I remarked on my blog, someone viewing the film from a purely moral perspective would say that the world the Coens present on screen is a faithless, nihilistic one: The characters curse with abandon. Marital vows mean nothing; adultery is rampant. Crimes are committed without much thought. Life isn't valued; murder isn't so much a crime as an annoyance. People are motivated by narcissism, greed, lust, revenge. People don't so much care about their jobs as care about keeping them. Life has no greater meaning or purpose.
The movie is very entertaining, but it reminded me that Wolpe's point is well taken: Life without the benefits of faith is the poorer for it.
The objective narrative of our lives is mundane and prosaic: We are born; we live; we die. It is the subjective that colors and enriches our experience. We all know the power of music or art, of laughter and love to transport us. Why then, not add faith to the list? And what of the connection between the two?
My freshman year of college, I met a woman who told me, "Al Green is God." Now, whenever the first chords of "Love and Happiness" play on my iPod, I know she was right.
Which brings me back to Wolpe the writer -- not the rabbi.
It is also worth noting that "Why Faith Matters" is a book meant to settle the soul of David Wolpe, given that his first impulse when concluding chemotherapy was to write a book.
"I love literature," Wolpe said. "I have always found consolation in words, in both reading them and also writing them and speaking them. One of the really great gifts of being a rabbi is that you are expected to translate your experience into something that other people can understand and benefit from. That forces you to reflect on it and create some kind of mosaic out of the jagged pieces of a life. And that's really a great lesson."
Wolpe elaborated: "A teacher of mine, Simon Greenberg, once said that the best sermons are always delivered to yourself. And I would say that's true of the best books, too. The best books are written to yourself. If you don't write something that means something to you, it's unlikely to touch anyone else."
And so, on the occasion of his 50th birthday, Wolpe has given us -- and himself -- a memorable gift.
Tom Teicholz is a film producer in Los Angeles. Everywhere else, he's an author and journalist who has written for The New York Times Sunday Magazine, Interview and The Forward. His column appears every other week.
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Laibls Blog- 'A Carpet of Snow'
14 Jan 2009
Being an Aussie, gazing at a snow covered mountain-side, close- up, is an exhilarating and rare experience. I am in Aspen, Colorado to deliver a lecture, but cannot help but stare at the majestic panorama and thank the Divine sculptor for the immense beauty of the cosmic handicraft.
From the distance, the glistening white carpet covers the cracks and fissures of architectural ineptitude. Our boxed houses often jar the undulating smoothness and curvature of a perfect landscape. But come the gentle snows and the white-covered roofs hide this disparity bringing a commonality with the gentleness of the white pure and pristine vista that meets the eyes here in winter.
In the same way, human misbehavior jars the beauty of human potential. Terrorism is a cancerous blight. Greed and envy are reflections of human ugliness. Self deprecation, a result of absent self-worth, is a vacuous cavern of emptiness. Sometimes however, the landscape of human frailty enjoys the purifying and uplifting cover of spiritual whiteness. These glistening crystals of whiteness sparkle through love, forgiveness, compassion, and profundity.
For the Jewish soul, the universal blanket of whiteness is viscerally felt on Yom Kippur (also notated in the plural as Yom Kippurim - the Day of Atonements). On this sacred occasion the soul is purified, stains are scrubbed clean, and a weight of darkness is lifted off our shoulders. Another time-zone is approaching that offers this opportunity again – Purim (the festival of drawing lots). Interestingly, both names have the common letters of Purim. At a Kabbalistic level this bespeaks a connection. But how could the gravity and seriousness of Yom Kippur at all compare with the seeming lightheartedness and raucous festivities of Purim? Therein lays the power of whiteness. When are we most profoundly at one with our soul? When we are in a state of intense Deveikut (profound meditative state of connectedness with the All), but also when we are in a state ecstasy, totally in love with life, fully experiencing its moment of intense beauty. Purim reflects the glistening whiteness of joy. Yom Kippur reflects the intense whiteness of inner retreat.
The physical and spiritual snows melt. The ‘reality’ of our daily lives fills the stage of our present tense. The working days of the week confront us with their urgency and necessity. Yet the truly spiritual person allows the ambience of whiteness to enter into the arena of the seeming ordinary and mundane. The snow continues to reflect its whiteness in the exigencies of the daily events. The potential purity within all things can be opened, uncovered, and the core of whiteness perceived.
I watch the skiers gliding gracefully down the white velvet of earth’s carpet. And I think: how much easier life can be if we allow ourselves to glide upon the whiteness of positive disposition, joyful personality, compassionate nature, deep insight. These choices are always available for us to make. Do you have the courage to make this choice? Do you have the commitment to glide gracefully through life? Do you have the dedication to train, practice, and focus on the goal? I believe in you. You can do it!
Laibl’s web site: www.laiblwolf.com
Laibl’s blog site: www.laiblwolf.com/blog
Spiritgrow – The Josef Kryss Wholistic Center, Australia site www.spiritgrow-josefkrysscentre.org
Is Your GPS Working?
- Laibl Wolf, Dean, Spiritgrow - The Josef Kryss Wholistic Centre, Australia
‘The main thing is to keep the main thing, the main thing’. (Steven Covey). The most important thing is whatever you are doing right now. (The Kotzker Rebbe). ‘Just do it!’ (Nike). Three wisdom teachings. A recipe for a full and meaningful life.
Covey’s word-play seeks values clarification and prioritization. The Kotzker’s insight provides life’s journey with depth and beauty. Nike makes it happen.
A perfect formula. The only problem: The GPS seems to be malfunctioning. We entered the right addresses: Monday morning workout, Tuesday night family time, Thursday study group, daily meditation, etc. But it didn’t happen. Got to bed too late Sunday night and didn’t get up in time for that jog. Tuesday night came but family members had other plans scattering in all directions. The Simons dropped by Thursday night and, well, we couldn’t ask them to leave, could we? Actually, am having a hard time focusing in the mornings, mind is wandering, meditation just too challenging, too much on my mind.
Sounds familiar? Face it, the problem is not with the GPS! The problem is you. The calm and pleasant voice, the soul’s Tom Tom, informs you where to go at each turn but you are simply not listening! The plan is there – but you don’t have the ‘zitz fleisch’ to follow it through. The good intentions lack commitment, fore-planning and finesse. You know the main things, but don’t protect them as main things. You are doing what you are doing, but doing it at the wrong thing. You are assiduously clambering up life’s ladder, but it’s leaning against the wrong wall – doing it, but undoing it!
The world’s most profound wisdoms aren’t worth a cracker if you lack strength of character. The key lies in true consciousness and awareness. So here are Laibl’s three rules for getting the job done:
a) On Sunday afternoon take five minutes with your wall calendar, Microsoft outlook, i-pod, or note pad. Make three appointments - with yourself. Clear three half hour time frames for physical, spiritual, and family events. Protect those appointments with the dedication you reserve for business and medical appointments.
b) Prepare for those protected times by checking out the landscape: prepare any equipment you may need. Make sure the people you seek the company of have cleared their own time frames for you. Review preparations and arrangements the night before.
c) Give each event three minutes quiet thought just before it takes place. Build that extra time into your appointment time.
Don’t let life slip by. You don’t want to find yourself lying on your deathbed wallowing in the sorrow of lost time, complaining, “I just didn’t have the time”. Wrong! You did. But you lacked true commitment to the radical act of living. The GPS was working perfectly well thank you. You just kept steering in different directions.
Do it, (Nike), mainly (Covey), now (Kotzker).
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By Tzvi Freeman
Question:
When Moses saw things backfired in Egypt, he complained to G‑d, "Why have you done bad to these people? From the time You sent me, things have gotten worse instead of better!"
Didn't G‑d know that things had gotten worse? Isn't G‑d aware of what's going on in His world? Why does He need Moses to tell him?
Response:
G‑d sees all and knows all. But sometimes you need a report from down on the ground.
Here's an example: As a music composition major at the University of British Columbia (had a great faculty at the time), I set myself the task of writing a string quintet. With lots of help from my mentor, I toiled for months to come up with an original piece of complex counterpoint and clean form. Eventually, it won first place in its category in a provincial festival of the arts.
I recall vividly the morning that we first placed the sheet music in front of the quintet. This was in the days before instrument synthesizers, so I had heard nothing until now except whatever could be duplicated on the piano, plus the constructions of my own mind. As you can imagine, it was hard to keep my seat from shaking across the floor as my music came alive before me.
Then the double-bass player stopped the rehearsal. He took out his pencil and started changing some of the notes. I almost leaped at his neck, but my mentor grabbed my arm. I could see he was reading my very loud thoughts: "A chutzpah! The counterpoint is perfect! It's all been checked by my professors. The form is exquisite--I spent months on this! He thinks he knows the intent of the composer better than the composer himself!"
"They do that," he said. "And they're usually right. It's different when you're playing from the inside."
G‑d has two views of reality. One is the grand view from above. From there, the ugliness blends with its context to create even greater beauty. All is exquisite and ideal, a perfect whole.
Then He has the view from within. Within time, within space, within the confines of a flesh body that cringes at pain and is outraged at suffering; a view for which the now is more real than a thousand years of the future. The view not of the Composer, but of those who must play the music. And sometimes, what looks magnificent from above, is the pits from within.
Both views are true. Both views are G‑d.
In the Torah, the view from above is presented in G‑d's voice. G‑d's view from within is presented in the voice of Moses. The two come together to compose the ultimate truth of Torah.
Moses was simply practicing a common Jewish habit: Kvetching to G‑d. We call it prayer. It's the pencil granted us by the Composer. We preface our prayer with the verse, "G‑d, open my lips, that my mouth may speak Your praise." We ask, in other words, that our prayers should be the words of G‑d from within, speaking to G‑d as He stands above.
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A Great Story about Friendship
http://www.aish.com/rebNoach/mm/82145857.html
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(http://media.aish.com/images/TefillinBomb140x100-EN.jpg)
The irony of tefillin threatening the lives of innocent people.
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
http://www.aish.com/jw/s/82576067.html
At first I thought the call was a prank.
The caller identified himself as a reporter for the Associated Press. He asked if it would be all right for a TV crew to come meet with me immediately and do an interview that would be sent to all their national affiliates. Timing was crucial, he said. The story was breaking just now and it was headline news. They really needed a rabbi for background information.
“What's it all about?” I innocently asked.
“Didn't you hear?” the reporter breathlessly responded. “A plane has been diverted on its flight from LaGuardia Airport due to a possible terrorist attack from a Jewish passenger.”
Okay, I said to myself, what's the punchline? I know that flying isn't as safe as it used to be. I'm well aware of the shoe bomber and the underwear bomber but without overstepping the boundaries of political correctness I realized I was missing a piece of vital information when the caller suggested that there was threat of a terrorist attack from one of our people. A Jew threatening to bring down a plane? I knew in my gut that couldn't be true.
Sure enough, it was a false alarm. The passenger who gave the crew a fright was indeed Jewish. In fact it was a young man who was religiously observant. But it turned out no one really had any reason to be afraid. The teenager only wanted to recite his morning prayers while wearing the required tefillin, the biblically commanded boxes to be placed on the arm and the head - known in English as phylacteries. The first is bound round the arm seven times to indicate devotion to God for all the days of the week and then around the fingers in a manner that spells out one of the names of the Almighty. The other, on the head, is a symbol of our willingness to subject our minds to the will of the one above us.
For someone who's never seen these religious items they can certainly appear strange. To the stewardess who alerted the captain to these foreign objects, with their unrecognizable black boxes and their unusual attached strings, they represented a potential danger strong enough to warrant the plane making a forced landing in Philadelphia to be welcomed by FBI agents, the police and the fire department.
Remarkably enough on a flight from New York City, one of the major Jewish population centers in the world, not one person on board had ever seen tefillin, or could vouch for their authenticity as a mitzvah rather than a menace!
So the Associated Press came to ask me about this ritual which I explained has been around for more than 3000 years. While the Pilgrim fathers who were all extremely conversant with the Bible would surely have known the meaning and the makeup of these phylacteries, meant to afford a measure of spiritual protection to its wearers, our contemporary guardians of national security unfortunately had no idea of this Torah law. At least, I thought to myself, the one good thing to come out of this unfortunate incident that inconvenienced unwary passengers and temporarily mistook a pious Jew for a terrorist was the God-given opportunity to explain a mitzvah to a national audience on TV.
Yet in retrospect I can't help but reflect on the irony that of all ritual objects it was tefillin that caused the crew to suspect a threat that would endanger the lives of innocent people. After all, it is this very mitzvah that on a more profound level speaks to the issue that represents the greatest challenge today to the civilized world.
The tefillin is a ritual item comprised of two parts. In its own way it symbolically says that our devotion to God consists of a dual commitment. It is an idea that has a remarkable precedent in the 10 Commandments when God gave the fundamental moral laws for all mankind not on one but on two separate tablets.
Why were these laws not written on one and the same tablet? Surely it was not for considerations of space. God could have made one tablet large enough to contain all 172 words of the Decalogue. The reason, as explained by the rabbis, is that this allowed God to introduce what many theologians have called perhaps the most important idea promulgated by Judaism, the most powerful innovation in the realm of religious thought. Religion, this division of the tablets means to teach us, is concerned not only with the way in which mankind is meant to relate to God but also the way in which people are meant to treat each other.
There are two tablets with five Commandments on each. The first five reflect upon our duties to God, the last five concern themselves with proper behavior towards our fellow man. And it is both of these categories that are indivisibly included when we speak of religion!
It was Cotton Mather, the famous Puritan preacher of colonial American times, who put it well when he once pithily said, “Woe unto those who pray unto the Lord on Sundays and prey on their fellow man throughout the rest of the week.” What was the source of his insight? The very point we see so clearly embedded in the structure of the 10 Commandments inscribed by God on the two different tablets of stone.
To accept only one of these categories as the definition of our striving for spiritual perfection is to be guilty of nothing less than religious schizophrenia.
As many contemporary theologians and philosophers have pointed out, the greatest danger to Western civilization today comes from those who in the name of God are willing to murder innocents, and to use suicide bombers as missiles to massacre civilians in a perverted attempt to glorify the Almighty.
The two tablets stand as irrefutable testaments to the sacredness of both God and man, the Creator and his creations, the One in the heavens above and all those representing his divine image below.
And where else other than in the two tablets is this message repeated, indeed on a daily basis? Of course in the very mitzvah of tefillin. The box to be placed on our head symbolizes our aspirations to be connected with the one above. It corresponds to the first tablet and all of its injunctions relating to our responsibilities to God. The box we are taught to place on our arm with the strings wound round our hand remind us to reach out to others, to fulfill all those religious obligations that mark our humanity in our relationships with others. It is the symbolic link to the message of the second tablet which is just as important in the eyes of Law Giver of Sinai.
“When do Jews put on these tefillin?” the interviewer asked me. I explained that whenever Jews recite morning prayers every weekday we need to remind ourselves of the two messages of the tablets. We speak to God and don the little box we put on our heads remind us that He exists, that He runs the world, and that He must be acknowledged and worshiped. But even as we do so we emphasize with a box on our hands that true service of God includes reaching out to all of His children. It reaffirms our commitment never to do anything to harm fellow human beings with the absurd rationalization that our intent is solely to glorify God. It is the combination of these two that define us. Respect for God and concern for His children are the hallmarks of Judaism. Which is why no Jew true to his name and his mission could ever be guilty of endangering the lives of innocents in the name of his religious beliefs.
With perhaps a hidden touch of heavenly humor , the plane with the teenager on board whose tefillin terrified the security personnel was diverted to, of all places, Philadelphia. The nickname of that city, based on the Greek root of the word, is “the city of brotherly love.” How appropriate in a way that the end of this story was at a metropolis whose very identity is synonymous with the goal of the mitzvah that caused all the misunderstanding. After all, brotherly love is the divine purpose behind the law of the phylacteries which the young man attempted so scrupulously to fulfill. And far from being a cause for concern isn't it true that if tefillin and its message were properly understood and practiced, it would make the threat of terrorism and suicide bombers a universally longed-for impossibility?
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The Most Difficult Commandment
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/254115/jewish/The-Most-Difficult-Commandment.htm
This is the week G-d gives the Torah to the Jewish people. The reading of the great Revelation at Sinai occurs in this Parshah and with it come, of course, the world famous Ten Commandments.
Which would you say is the most difficult of the Big Ten to keep? Would it be the first, the mitzvah to believe in G-d? Faith doesn't come as easy to our generation as it did in the days of our grandparents. Children with aged parents suffering ill health and who require much attention might argue that the fifth commandment, "Honor your father and mother," is the most difficult to properly fulfill. Still others would say that the fourth commandment, to keep Shabbat, cramps their lifestyle more than any other.
While each has a valid point, personally, I would cast my vote for the last one on the list -- commandment number 10: Thou Shalt Not Covet.
"You shall not covet your friend's house; or his wife, servant, ox, donkey, or anything that belongs to your friend." Or in simple English, don't desire his beautiful home, stunning wife, dream job, nifty sports car or anything else that is his.
It's one thing not to steal the stuff; but not even to desire it? That's got to be the hardest of all. Really now, isn't G-d being somewhat unreasonable with this one? Is He being realistic? Surely He doesn't think we're angels -- He created us!
So allow me do what all good Jews do and try to answer a question with... another question. Why does the text of this commandment first list a variety of specifics -- house, wife, servant, etc. -- and then still finds it necessary to add the generalization, "and all that belongs to your friend"?
One beautiful explanation offered by the rabbis is that this comes to teach us a very important lesson for life -- a lesson which actually makes this difficult commandment much easier to carry out. What the Torah is saying is that if perchance you should cast your envious eye over your neighbor's fence, don't only look at the specifics. Remember to also look at the overall picture.
Most of us tend to assume that the grass is greener on the other side. But we don't always consider the full picture, the whole package. So he's got a great business and a very healthy balance sheet. But is he healthy? Is his family healthy? His wife looks great at his side when they're out together, but is she such a pleasure to live with at home? And if he should have health and wealth, does he have nachas from his children? Is there anybody who has it all?
Every now and then I find out something about someone whom I thought I knew well that reminds me of this lesson. A fellow who seemed to be on top of the world suddenly has the carpet pulled out from under his feet and in an instant is himself in need. Another guy whom I never really thought that highly of turns out to be an amazing father, raising the most fantastic kids.
As the Yiddish proverb goes, everybody has his own pekkel. We each carry a backpack through life, a parcel of problems, our own little bundle of tzorris. When we are young, we think that difficulties are for "other people." When we get older we realize that no one is immune. Nobody has it all.
So if you find yourself coveting your fellow's whatever, stop for a minute to concider whether you really want "all that is your fellow's." When we actually see with our own eyes what the other fellow's life is all about behind closed doors, what's really inside his backpack, we will feel grateful for our own lot in life and happily choose our very own pekkel, with all its inherent problems.
There is a famous folk story about a group of villagers who formed a circle and each individual opened his sack, revealing his most precious possessions for all to see. They walked around the circle of open sacks and everyone had the opportunity to choose whichever one he wanted. In the end, each one chose his own.
The Almighty is giving us good advice. Be wise enough to realize that you've got to look at the whole picture. When we do, this difficult commandment becomes more easily observable. Not only is it sinful to envy what other people have; it's foolish. Because life is a package deal.
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Parshah Messages
The Ten Commandments: The Inside Story
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/461039/jewish/The-Ten-Commandments-The-Inside-Story.htm
By Naftali Silberberg
The Ten Commandments were engraved on two tablets. The five commandments etched on the first tablet deal with man's relationship with G-d; the second tablet contains five commandments which concern man's relationship with his fellow man.
Of the 613 biblical commandments, G-d selected these ten commandments for special attention. He directly communicated them to the Jews without using Moses as an intermediary, and inscribed them on the tablets which were placed in the Holy Ark within the Holy of Holies. It is evident that although all the mitzvot are vital, the five carved into the first tablet were chosen because they form the basis of our relationship with the Creator, while the latter five serve as the foundation of our relationship with fellow people. The following is an attempt to delve briefly into the deeper meaning of the Ten Commandments.
First Tablet:
1. I am the L-rd your G-d who took you out of the Land of Egypt: It isn't beneath G-d – the A-lmighty omnipotent G-d, before whom "all is considered like naught" – to personally interfere in the workings of this world, to liberate a persecuted nation from the hand of their oppressors. We can always trust that He is watching over us attentively and controlling all the events which affect our lives.
2. It isn't beneath G-d to personally interfere in the workings of this world, to liberate a persecuted nation from the hand of their oppressorsYou shall not have other gods in My presence: G-d is the only one who controls all events and occurrences. No other entity – not your government, not your boss, not your spouse – can benefit or harm you unless G-d has so decreed. Every one of us shares a special relationship with G-d, and no power can interfere and disturb this relationship.
3. You shall not take the name of the L-rd, your G-d, in vain: The above described relationship may indeed be intimate and personal, but you must never lose perspective—He's your Creator, not your buddy. Just as "familiarity breeds contempt," so, too, prayer three times a day can dull one's senses and cause one to lose some of the reverence due to the King of kings.
4. Remember the Sabbath day to sanctify it: Maintaining this relationship with G-d requires effort on our part. All too often we are so immersed in our daily routine that we forget that in actuality it is our connection with G-d which matters most. Therefore, G-d commanded us to allocate one day every week for "relationship maintenance." This is the Sabbath, a day to focus on the real priorities in life, and draw inspiration for the following week.
5. Honor your father and your mother: Why is this commandment included in the "between man and Creator" tablet? Doesn't this command belong on the second tablet? Perhaps the lesson is that although we owe everything to G-d, we must not forget to express gratitude to those people whom G-d has empowered to help us in our journey through life. As the Talmud says: "The wine belongs to the host, but thanks is [also] said to the waiter."
Second Tablet:
Although most of the following prohibitions are admonitions against egregious sins which most of us wouldn't even consider committing, these prohibitions have subtle undertones which are applicable to every person.
1. Do not murder: Murder is a result of one person's deeming another person totally insignificant. In truth, every human was created by G-d in His holy image, and therefore has an innate right to exist. The first message we must internalize is the importance of respecting every individual. G-d thinks this person is important—so should you.
2. G-d thinks this person is important—so should youDo not commit adultery: Misguided love. Yes, we must be loving, kind and respectful to everyone, but love isn't a carte blanche which justifies all. There are guidelines which we must follow. Sometimes, faithful love – to a child, student, member of the opposite gender, etc. – entails being severe and abstaining from exhibiting love.
3. Do not kidnap:1 The essence of kidnapping is utilizing another for personal gain. Focus on being a real friend; don't be in the relationship only for your own benefit. Be there for your friend even when it is uncomfortable or inconvenient for you.
4. Do not bear false witness against your neighbor: Every person is a judge. We are constantly observing our acquaintances and friends, judging their every word and action. We must be wary of a tendency to "bear false witness" in the process of issuing our personal verdict. We must always give the benefit of the doubt, taking into consideration various factors of which we may be unaware, ensuring that we don't reach an erroneous judgment.
5. Do not covet your neighbor's possessions: Be happy for your neighbor's good fortune! All the abovementioned exercises pale in comparison with this final message imparted by the Ten Commandments. After you've trained yourself to intellectually respect your fellows and consistently view them in a positive light, now it's time to get your heart involved. Love them. Be happy with their accomplishments. Share their sorrow during their difficult moments. Don't be afraid of getting emotionally involved—that's what family is all about!
FOOTNOTES
1.
Popularly translated as "Thou shall not steal," the sages explain that this prohibition is actually against kidnapping -- as opposed to the prohibition against stealing, which is mentioned in Leviticus 19:11.
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The Ten Commandments That Shook the World
The narrative you are about to read is unique in the history of mankind. It is an event never repeated by any other nation or religion.
Dateline: The 6th of Sivan, 50 days after the Exodus.
Year: 2448 from Creation.
Day and Time: Shabbat morning at sunrise.
Place: Mount Sinai in the Sinai desert.
Scene: The entire world is silent. All of nature is on hold. Not a bird chirps! Not a frog burps! The Jewish people (who somehow slept that night!) are en route to their divine encounter at the mountain.
Soon will be enacted the most important event in human history.
Suddenly there is thunder, lightning and a loud shofar blast. The mountain is smoking like a furnace and trembling like a volcano. The people are terrified. The Divine Presence descends on the mountain in the form of a great fire.
All the people hear Moses being summoned to converse with the Almighty. They have clear evidence, without doubt, that Moses is the prophet of God.
God tells Moses to fence off the mountain so the people cannot run up.
The first Commandment is proclaimed. The entire nation attains prophecy by hearing the words of the Almighty directly. But they cannot absorb the intensity and their souls "pop out" of their bodies.
The angels resurrect them, and the people run for their lives. The angels return the people to the mountain, and the second Commandment thunders forth. Again their souls "pop out," again the angels revive them, and again they flee in fright (Talmud - Shabbat 85b).
Finally the people request that Moses transmit the remainder of the Torah because they are afraid of death (Exodus 20:16). They tell Moses: "You have had your credentials established. We know you are in contact with God and we trust you." (Notice how the first two commandments are given in the 2nd person, and the last 8 in the third person.)
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TO SEARCH FOR TRUTH
This Parsha, perhaps the most important in the Torah, is named after a convert, Yitro, who also happens to be Moses' father-in-law. Why did Yitro merit such honorable mention?
Yitro was a searcher for truth. He resigned his prestigious position as Pharaoh's advisor when his advice to spare the Jews was not heeded. Yitro investigated every form of idol worship and tried out every cult, even fattening up animals to sacrifice them to the gods.
In the end, Yitro rejected all idolatry, and when he heard about the miracles of the Exodus, he ran to the wilderness to join the Jewish people.
This Parsha is named Yitro to teach us that the way to acquire Torah is to follow the ways of Yitro. Search for truth and be critical. Reject falsehood. And when you discover truth, be ready to sacrifice everything for it! (Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe)
When Yitro came to the desert, he brought Moses' wife and children with him. (Moses had sent them away from Egypt out of fear they'd become slaves.) Moses and the entire camp went out to meet Yitro.
Yitro says that upon hearing the details of the Exodus, he was greatly inspired to the point of goose bumps (Rashi). Yitro recognized the "measure-for-measure" punishment of each and every plague, and decided to become a Jew.
The people welcomed Yitro with a banquet in his honor -- and Moses serving as the waiter. As the Talmud says: When you partake of a meal with Torah scholars, it is compared to dining with the Divine Presence.
The next day, Yitro begins criticizing Moses, and as a result advises him to create the first Supreme Court system. Yitro departs to convert his family (mentioned here, although it didn't occur until much later).
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EVENTS LEADING UP TO THE REVELATION (based on Midrash)
(1) The people arrive at Mount Sinai and encamp across from the mountain (Exodus 19:2).
Although they were just attacked by Amalek, they didn't encamp on the mountain for protection, out of their faith in God. (Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch)
(2) God tells Moses to call all the women together and gently explain to them the significance of the holy Torah they are about to receive. (Exodus 19:3, Rashi)
Only afterward does Moses call the men together and spell out the Mitzvah responsibilities. The women went first because of the tremendous influence they have on the Jewish family. A mother's approach is the most significant factor in creating a peaceful and stable home.
(3) God proclaims the goal of the Revelation:
"You shall be My treasured nation (like the special treasure room of the palace) if you obey My commandments." (Exodus 19:5)
(4) God then says:
"You shall be a kingdom of Priests and a holy nation." (Exodus 19:6)
No intermediaries are necessary; every Jew stands 3 times a day before the Creator and addresses Him in the second person.
(5) The people hear Moses conversing with God and believe in Moses forever.
Even later generations who did not personally witness the national revelation will believe it, because it is a claim that cannot be fabricated, and the Jewish people are (and will always be) the only ones to make the claim (Nachmanides, see Deut. 4:32).
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RESPONSE OF THE PEOPLE
(6) The Jews respond:
"Whatever God says we will fulfill." (Exodus 19:8)
This was the first time in Jewish history that the Jews unanimously agreed about anything!
Later, the Jews add "and we will hear" - meaning we will try to understand. But first we will do. (E.g., If you trust the doctor, you first take the prescription and then go to medical school.)
Did you ever hear the anti-Semitic ditty: "How odd of God to choose the Jews"?
The Sinai experience helps provides an answer: "It's not so odd. The Jews chose God!" (heard from Rabbi Yaakov Weinberg zt"l)
(7) First the Almighty went to all the nations of the world (or their guardian angels) and offered them the Torah.
"What does your Torah say?" they demanded to know. "We don't sign blank checks!"
To one nation, God said, "Do not murder."
"Such a Torah is not for us!" they cried.
To another nation, God said, "Do not commit adultery."
"Wrong address" they replied.
To another nation, God said, "Honor your parents."
"Come on! Isn't Mothers' Day good enough??"
Only the Jews accepted God's word unconditionally. ("How much does it cost? It's free! In that case, we'll take 10!") (Midrash - based on Deut. 33:2)
Question: Why did God tell these nations all the things they didn't want to hear? Did He purposely want them to refuse?
Answer: They already rejected the Torah as soon as they asked what it says. It is wrong to judge Divine values based on one's own narrow value system.
It's like if I say: "I am offering you absolute truth. Do you want it?"
"That depends."
"What do you mean, 'It depends'!? That's like if I offer you the results of your medical exam. It depends - can I still drink and smoke?" Therefore God made sure they refused (heard from Rabbi Motty Berger).
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TEN COMMANDMENTS EXPLAINED
(The first five pertain to Man and God.)
COMMANDMENT #1: "I am the Lord your God who took you out of the land of Egypt."
Question: What is the commandment here? It seems to be a statement! There cannot be a commandment to believe in God. If you don't believe, then who would be commanding you to believe? And if you already believe, what do you need a commandment for?? (Rabbi Yaakov Weinberg, based on Maimonides)
Answer: The first commandment is to know there is a God (Maimonides). After you "believe," you need to use your mind and "know." See the design in Creation, the genius of the Torah etc., until you are convinced intellectually as well as emotionally.
COMMANDMENT #2: "You shall have no other gods before me."
Do not make or worship idols. Idolatry means to bring God, the ultimate value, down to us - i.e. to humanize God instead of elevating man to spiritual heights.
Idolatry (in its broader sense) also includes making any physical act a goal, instead of a means. Food, money, sex, power and sports can all be idols if they become ends in themselves.
The first Mitzvah applies to our mind; the second Mitzvah applies to our actions.
COMMANDMENT #3: "Do not take God's Name in vain."
A false or unnecessary oath is taking the Almighty as a witness in vain. Even secular courts make a witness put his right hand on a Bible. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?" ("I didn't do it!" Do you believe him?)
The Talmud says that when the 3rd commandment was uttered, the entire world trembled and all of the nations heard it as well.
This commandement applies to speech.
COMMANDMENT #4: "Remember the Shabbat day to sanctify it."
In order to concretize our belief in one God, we must dedicate one day a week to Him.
In Deuteronomy Chap. 5, when the Ten Commandments are repeated, it says "Keep the Shabbat day holy."
God said both "remember Shabbat" and "keep Shabbat" simultaneously (Talmud, Shabbos).
The duel aspects of Shabbat are the positive aspect ("remember") and the negative aspect ("keep").
The negative is compared to Rockefeller Center in New York donated to the public but still owned by Mr. Rockefeller. It is closed to the public one day a year in order for him to retain his private ownership. Similarly, the world belongs to God and He allows humanity to manage the world. But to prevent anyone thinking erroneously that the world is ours to do as we please, one day a week we "give the world back to God" by not doing any act that demonstrates our mastery of the world.
Why are so many activities prohibited on Shabbat? "Years ago it took much work to rub two sticks together and make fire, but today we just scratch a match or push a button!" so goes the old rationale. It isn't physical labor that is forbidden, but creative activity. However if one would spend the entire Shabbat in bed he would not have broken the negative aspect.
The positive aspect is compared to someone lost in the woods. Which way should he turn? First open your map and get out your compass. Get your bearings and decide where to go. Similarly in life we need time to focus ourselves, unpressured by the demands of daily activities (teachers, boss, schedules) - to get a true picture of our accomplishments and goals.
COMMANDMENT #5: "Honor your father and mother."
Question: The first tablet contains laws between humanity and God. The second tablet is between one person and another. Thus it would seem that Commandment #5 - honoring parents - is on the wrong tablet!
Answer: The example par excellence of the relationship we have with God is the parent-child relationship. It is based purely on gratitude. With God, it is abstract; with parents it's concrete. Parents brought you into the world and changed your diapers! They bought you food, clothes, and toys and stayed up when you were ill. If we don't honor our parents, how will we be able to transfer this respect to our Creator?
The transmission of our tradition is only possible out of respect for the previous generation. They are one link closer to the source! All Jewish tradition is based on this.
The last five commandments pertain to human relations:
COMMANDMENT #6: "Do not murder."
Some confuse this with "do not kill." There are times when one must kill - e.g. self defense, or in wartime. We are not idealized pacifists! Only what the Torah declares to be murder is "wrong."
In a pagan world of gladiators and coliseums, of human sacrifice and infant and mercy killing, the value of human life was very cheap. The Torah considers the preservation of life to be an ultimate value. The punishment for murder (with witnesses and a proper warning) is the death penalty.
COMMANDMENT #7: "Do not commit adultery."
This Mitzvah addresses the sanctity of married life. Instead of seeing one's spouse as a jail keeper preventing him from enjoying other liaisons, the Torah sees a spouse as a provider exclusively for him, in order to prevent him from even thinking of others.
Solid family life and a stable home is the bedrock of society. To infringe on the husband-wife relationship is to endanger the microcosm of the home, and ultimately society at large. The positive marital relationship is embedded in this strong prohibition, whose punishment (with witnesses and warning) is the death penalty.
COMMANDMENT #8: "Do not steal."
This verse refers to "do not kidnap" (stealing money is mentioned elsewhere), which is a capital punishment if there are witnesses and warning (Talmud).
COMMANDMENT #9: "Do not bear false witness."
Human beings are enjoined to keep their speech pure. One of the worst injustices is to pervert a verdict.
COMMANDMENT #10: "Do not covet."
This commandment applies to the mind. It is a uniquely God-given law. No other law book mentions it. Just try prosecuting someone for "coveting!" Except for the all-knowing God, there's no way to know another person's thoughts - and whether he's coveting the other person's house, spouse, and money.
Question: Why do the laws between humanity and God have thoughts before words and actions, and the laws between people have actions first?
Answer: When it comes to humanity and God, the most important thing is your intention. First the mind, then actions and words. Let everyone know what you believe and then apply it to your life. Actions without beliefs are meaningless, like putting Tefillin on a monkey!
When it comes to the laws between people, the actions come first, and then speech and mind. "I don't care if you hate his guts, but don't murder!"
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How Can the Commentaries All Be Right?
By Yisroel Cotlar
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1077720/jewish/How-Can-the-Commentaries-All-Be-Right.htm
Question:
I bought a set of Torah and the Prophets with all the classic commentaries and I enjoy studying it very much. I am unsure, however, how to understand the vast differences of opinions concerning any particular story. Often, the opinions contradict one another.
How can I appreciate studying such commentaries when only one could be right?
Response:
This is a commonly asked question. It is predicated on the assumption that the purpose of the Torah is to tell us the history of our people, and history had to happen in a certain way.
But that isn't the purpose of the Torah. True, it is stories that fill much of the Torah. And true, these episodes literally happened in a specific manner. Nonetheless, when studying the Torah, we are meant to go past "what happened" and view the stories as a means for G‑d to convey us a message—a lesson for our lives right now.
Indeed, one needs look no further than the very translation of the word "Torah" to realize that the Torah is not a mere guide to Jewish history. Torah means "teaching"—not "history book." This is also apparent from the Torah's (seemingly strange) selective history, the occasional non-chronological order in which events are recorded, and the mysterious wording it sometimes uses to tell a story.
For, beyond the storyline, each story, verse, word, and letter in the Torah is a glimpse into a higher truth. It is the infinite wisdom of G‑d concentrated into stories the human mind can comprehend.
This truth can be observed from four primary dimensions, called pshat (simple), remez (hint), drush (seek) and sod (secret). And there are countless avenues of understanding within each of these perspectives.
Pshat is the simple interpretation of the Torah, following the smoothest, most elegant path of words and context. Remez uncovers the hints and allegoric meaning behind these words. Drush (or midrash) seeks the deeper meaning of the verse. And sod is the esoteric, mystical part of Torah, the meaning that can only be known to those who have been told. Read this article for more about these four, with examples of each of them.
When our holy commentators studied a story in the Torah, they each noticed another aspect of this truth. And so, we treasure them all.
And if you will ask, "So which one is true? Which one really happened?"—the answer, quite simply, is that all are true, all really happened.
Why is it difficult for us to swallow that? Because we believe that there is only one reality, and so only one history. The Torah, however, knows of many realities, all of them true, each of them containing a different lesson for us in this reality now. There are worlds where pshat is real—different worlds for different pshatim. Then there are worlds of remez, of drush and of sod.
For example, in our physical world, Moses may have been say, six feet tall. But in a certain world of drash, he was 10 amot—about 15 feet tall. Which one is more true? That depends: Are you looking for his height or for his stature? Are you measuring the Moses that fit into a physical body in a physical world, or are you measuring the real Moses, the soul and true character of the man–so that you will know how to relate to him and appreciate his character?
A stature of 10 amot implies that this person is complete in every way—since there are 10 aspects of the human character. That's who Moses really was—a whole and balanced person in the ultimate sense of those words. Our physical world cannot handle a human being of those proportions, and so we see the truth in a poise of compromise. But in a world that does not have our physical limitations, Moses is actually 10 amot tall.
It all has to do with what we are taking from the story, what we need to learn. And each different approach to Torah will provide another lesson, all equally valuable, all equally true.
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Now I Know - Yitro
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/831122/jewish/Now-I-Know-Yitro.htm
By Rabbi Ben A.
"...Now I know that G‑d is greater than all gods...."—Exodus 18:11
This week's portion describes the mass revelation at Mt. Sinai and the events leading up to it. While the nation was encamped at the foot of the mountain, Jethro, the former Midianite high priest, came to join them, proclaiming, "Now I know that G‑d is greater than all gods." The fact that Jethro says, "Now I know," indicates that there had been a time when he did not know. Indeed, tradition tells us that Jethro had studied every form of idol worship known in his day and had practiced them all. Jethro was one who came to his belief in G‑d only after a lifetime of trial and error.
It is interesting that tradition relates that Jethro's presence was so integral to the revelation at Sinai that G‑d would not have deemed the great event worthy of taking place had Jethro not been there. Why was the presence of Jethro, the former idol worshipper, so crucial to the revelation at Sinai?
The greatest wisdom is that which only comes about as a product of having rejected its oppositeThere is a verse (Ecclesiastes 2:13) which states, "I have seen the superiority of wisdom over foolishness." This doesn't seem like such a novel insight—that wisdom is superior to foolishness. But by taking a second look at the original Hebrew, it becomes clear that the verse may also be read, "I have seen the superiority of wisdom that comes from foolishness." The greatest wisdom is that which only comes about as a product of having rejected its opposite. When Jethro, the expert of unholy wisdom, declared his faith in G‑d, this was the ultimate "wisdom that comes from foolishness"—the refinement of unholy wisdom and its transformation into holiness. It was this unique contribution which provided the additional degree of sanctity necessary to bring about the revelation of G‑d at Sinai.
The alcoholic in recovery can easily understand that there is a special quality of wisdom that comes about only after all else has failed. Our present state of spiritual consciousness is not a last ditch effort to stay sober; it is actually the culmination of all our past foolish notions finally being seen for what they are by one who knows all too well why they don't work.
Honest self-appraisal may reveal that we had been intimately familiar with almost every false god known to man. We attributed G‑d-like powers to people, places and things and even to ourselves. Even those of us who claimed to believe in G‑d still couldn't shake the feeling that other powers also needed to be appeased. We lived in awe and dread of these false gods. We paid tribute to them with the greatest of sacrifices. But there came a time – after admitting our powerlessness and turning to G‑d to care for our lives – that we were finally able to smash these idols with the certainty and wisdom of one who has learned the truth by first learning all of the lies.
By Rabbi Ben A. More articles... |
Rabbi Ben A. is the most famous anonymous rabbi. Using his pen name, Ben A. draws from his personal experience in recovery to incorporate unique chassidic philosophy into the practice of the 12 Steps.
The idea of this article is based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe.
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http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/83525102.html
Getting to know the most fascinating person in the world – yourself.
by Dina Coopersmith
We all want to be great. Nobody sincerely thinks, “I want to be mediocre.” But every person is different, and the trick is to discover your own aspect of personal greatness.
Rabbi Chaim Vital, a great kabbalist who lived in Tzfat in the 15th century, writes that just as the world was created using four elements – earth, air, fire and water – so too, each person was created using those same elements. For each individual, one particular element is dominant and this, to a large degree, determines your essential strengths and weaknesses. Identifying your “element” will help reveal the area of spiritual development (“tikkun”) you need to do to achieve your own greatness.
Fire
Fire tends to rise, the flames reaching up and out to consume and conquer. The positive aspect of this element is the desire to strive and accomplish, to reach great heights, to lead and take responsibility. People who possess this dominant element are leaders and visionaries: They see the big picture and long-term ramifications. They are goal-oriented and ambitious.
On the other hand, there are common character flaws generating from the element of fire: arrogance, anger, criticism and condescension toward others, and the tendency to crave power and control.
Earth
Earth is low and heavy. It stays in one place, continuously stepped on and caught in gravity's domain. People who have more of this element tend toward laziness, sadness and despair. These are their main weaknesses. They have a heaviness about them, craving comfort and lack of effort. The main work in overcoming this flaw is pushing toward accomplishment and growth.
On the good side, however, these people don’t tend to get into power struggles. They are compliant, humble and willing to cooperate. They forgo and give in. They are good team players and are reliable and trustworthy, loyal and steadfast in their preferences and relationships.
Water
Water spreads and goes everywhere. It takes on the contours of whatever vessel contains it. It goes with the flow, literally, naturally unbound and unlimited, unrestricted. People with a “water” nature have an easy time giving, connecting with others, and spreading themselves to acquiesce to the needs of others. They tend to be friendly, flexible, outgoing and generous (even to a fault).
Their main weakness lies in a lack of self-restraint and pursuit of physical pleasures. They may at times veer toward immorality, thinking that normal restrictions in human behavior don’t apply to them.
Air
Air is the most complicated of the elements. It is fluff, ephemeral, seemingly non-existent. It blows one way and another, never fixed permanently anywhere, never taking a stand. It is invisible, and could be in one place when you think it is in another. Those with this dominant element tend to lack concern about the physical world. They may be more spiritual, idealistic, living in the world of ideas. They may have a yearning to transcend this world and connect with energies and non-tangible aspects of existence.
Their weakness involves the power of speech, which is also dependent upon air for its life-source. They tend toward meaningless chatter, gossip, flattery and deceit, able to manipulate the truth for their own gains. They may also have a hard time sticking to routine and order, as they subconsciously assume they can be everywhere at the same time.
Putting It All Together
If you can figure out which element plays a large part in your physical make-up, then you are ready to peer through a window to your spiritual, psychological strengths and weaknesses as well.
As an assignment to gain clarity on this subject, Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe, in his book Alei Shur suggests drawing out a “character trait circle.” It goes like this:
Draw a circle on a piece of paper. On the uppermost part of the circle, write down what you see as your most important quality, your biggest strength. At the bottom of the circle, put down your worst flaw or failing. Next to the trait at the top, to its left and right, fill in your positive character traits, your good qualities.
Gradually lower, toward the middle of the circle, place your traits which are neutral – not especially positive, but not entirely negative either. For example, traits like “talkative,” “visually oriented,” “emotional”, etc. could go either way.
As you near the bottom of your circle, fill in all your weaknesses, those traits that drag you down and keep you from reaching greatness.
Rabbi Shalom Noach Berzovsky, in his chassidic work, Nesivos Shalom, says we are each created with a special mission to accomplish in this world. To figure out what this mission is, look at the upper part of your circle for the things that come easily to you – the talents you have and the things you enjoy doing.
Another part of our purpose in this world is to fix something that is flawed, within us or in the world. This is called “tikkun.” To figure out this aspect of your purpose, look at the lower part of your circle and evaluate your weaknesses. What kinds of things cause you to fail, time and time again? What trips you up in relationships, at work, when you attempt any accomplishment? What is so difficult for you that it almost seems insurmountable?
It is these very character flaws which may be your raison d’etre – your life purpose, to overcome those flaws which are obstacles to your success, using your God-given talents, strengths, and the traits that come naturally to you.
Now look at your circle. You can see your strengths at the top of the circle, your flaws on the bottom. And ask yourself:
• How can I use my main talents and abilities to accomplish in life?
• Am I using my time effectively?
• Is much of my life spent doing things that are not so enjoyable to me?
• If I have leadership abilities, am I utilizing that talent, or am I basically a follower most of the time – in my career, at home, in my community?
Evaluate whether you can actually use your strengths to overcome your least favorite traits. As an example, consider the person who is a truth-seeker. He likes to investigate how the world and people operate. At the same time, he may be disorganized, a little flighty, and can’t stick to routine.
The solution might be the following: He or she could do some research about time management, the underlying causes of disorder and lack of routine, and the long-term ramifications of such behavior on people, on their relationships, on their life. Using your newfound knowledge, commit to working on improving in this area, or get a group together for a time-management course or workshop as the first step toward change.
Once you realize what you can do and what you need to change, the next crucial step is to articulate it clearly and succinctly. Write this out as your “personal mission statement,” tack it on the fridge… and go for it!
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Stuffed with Love
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1070062/jewish/Stuffed-with-Love.htm
By Deena Yellin
The herd of brightly-colored stuffed animals filled our front porch with all the panache of an overblown Muppets production. They arrived by the dozens in gargantuan bags and boxes – Elmo, Kermit, Big Bird, Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh, and enough Beanie Babies to strike envy in collectors everywhere. The cuddly creatures soon covered so much of our home that the cleaning lady surmised we were opening a toy store. In fact, we planned to give them out for free.
Meital had announced a stuffed animal drive for Israeli childrenIt all started when my then six-year-old daughter, Meital, asked me if there are kids in Israel who don't have toys. When I nodded, her eyes flew open. "Not even Barbies or stuffed animals?" she exclaimed. She immediately pulled out her purple knapsack and stuffed it with dolls. "I'm going to take this to them," she declared. Charmed by this outburst of altruism, I agreed to help her on our upcoming trip to Israel.
I forgot all about it until days later a neighbor offered to donate stuffed animals for "my daughter's project." Meital had announced a stuffed animal drive for Israeli children. Her teacher's enthusiastically joined the campaign by encouraging students to donate. My four-year-old son, not to be outdone, offered to collect stuffed animals at his nursery school. Soon, the animals were arriving at all hours and without notice. Some were from acquaintances and friends, but many were from strangers.
With each delivery, my daughter beamed, observing our community's keen concern for children in Israel. Some donations came with heartwarming notes. "What a wonderful idea. You should be so proud of your daughter," said one. "May you go from strength to strength," said another. "Thank you for doing this," said a third.
A young girl came to our door cradling a teddy bear in her arms. She was hesitant about giving up the beloved toy, but my daughter reassured her, "We're taking it to a child in Israel who needs it." The girl slowly handed over her bear. I was awed at the youngster's exquisite act of giving.
Initially, I anticipated we'd receive a handful of stuffed animals. Instead, we ended up with over 400.
When my husband saw our entire living room was covered in Jim Hensen décor, he inquired, "How are we getting all of this to Israel?" Good question, I thought, as I stuffed the toys into 12 oversized duffel bags. Clearly, professional expertise was needed, so I called Claire Ginsburg-Goldstein, head of "Bears for Bergenfield," an organization which has sent over 70,000 stuffed animals to sick and needy children in Israel. She obtained permission from the Israeli airline, ElAl, fto bring extra bags and then solicited volunteers to take the rest, helped us get a large van to the airport and offered a list of Israeli organizations where I could distribute the furry friends.
She declared us a security threat and insisted on checking each Elmo and Kermit for explosivesBut first, we needed to pass ElAl's airport security checkpoint. "Did anyone give you anything to take in your suitcase?" inquired the intimidating official glaring intently. I gulped, looked at the bag of toys and fessed up about our project. I expected a "kudos," or at least a smile from the official. Instead, she declared us a security threat and insisted on checking each Elmo and Kermit for explosives. Fortunately, every last cuddly cutie was given clearance to fly.
A few days later, we were distributing the toys at the children's ward of Shaarei Zedek Hospital in Jerusalem. We visited children who were lying motionless in hospital beds, some hooked up to tubes and machines. Sitting beside them were grim-faced parents who were puzzled when we walked in, certain we were in the wrong room. We explained that we brought stuffed animals donated by New Jersey Jews who wanted to wish them well. Their faces lit up. "That's beautiful," said one surprised mother after another.
My children took turns handing out the animals and their shouts of "Happy holiday!" and "Feel better soon!" reverberated through the halls. When we encountered a solemn faced child in a wheelchair, we held out various stuffed animals and grinned until he did too. A grandmother chased after us and grabbed my husband's arm. "You have no idea what you did for us today," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "You cheered everyone up. Thank you."
My daughter was pleased to see how the toys succeeded in generating happiness. A teenage patient requested a Winnie the Pooh, and each nurse wanted to take home a stuffed animal too (we obliged).
We delivered the rest of the stuffed animals to families living in Jerusalem's poorest neighborhoods. We entered decrepit homes where the paint peeled and the roof leaked. We met families with several children living in a one or two room dwelling. Some suffered from medical problems, like the seven-year-old girl who was left paralyzed by an illness, and the father with a severe heart condition. One mother was bedridden while her children were running around the house. None of the families owned a TV, car or electronic games. Nobody had backyards. My son immediately noticed that the children had few toys. When we gave the children stuffed animals, they acted as if we had brought them the world.
When our trip was all over, I asked my children how they felt. "We're lucky," mused my son, while his sister nodded.
My Uncle Motti, ever the pragmatist, says nachat (joy) from one's children comes rarely in a lifetime, so when it occurs, you must savor every bit of it. I figure I'm good for at least five years.
By Deena Yellin More articles... |
Deena Yellin is a New Jersey based newspaper reporter who has written for The New York Times, Newsday and The Jerusalem Post. She recently contributed to an anthology called Bread and Fire: Jewish Women Find G-d in the Everyday (Urim Publications).
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Weekly Sermonette
Not Yet
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/117/Zmsb1171371.jpg)
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/475281/jewish/Not-Yet.htm
Everyone knows that Rome wasn't built in a day. There isn't a building site on earth where the contractor hasn't explained away his delays by using that well-worn cliché. But did you know that Jerusalem wasn't built in a day either? Nor was the Holy Land.
In this week's Torah reading, the Almighty tells the Jewish people that they will not inherit the land of Canaan immediately. It will be to their benefit that the conquest of the Promised Land be gradual and deliberate. To settle the land successfully would take time and they were cautioned up front to be patient:
I shall not drive them away from you in a single year, lest the land become desolate and the wildlife of the field multiply against you. Little by little shall I drive them away from you, until you become fruitful and make the land your heritage. (Exodus 23:29-30)
Overnight sensations are often just that. They don't necessarily last. Slow and steady, step by step, the gradual approach usually enjoys longevity and enduring success.
Every Jew has a share in the Promised Land; not only geographically but spiritually. There is a piece of Jerusalem inside each of us. We all have the capacity for holiness, sanctity and spirituality. But sometimes we may be discouraged from beginning the journey to our own personal promised land. The road seems too long and arduous. Here G‑d is giving us wise words of encouragement. Don't expect overnight miracles. Don't say, "I have a whole country to conquer! How will I do it?" Rather say, "Where should I start today?" Don't look at the end of the road; look at the first few steps you need to take right now. Tomorrow you will take a few more steps and the next day a few more, and before long the whole land will be yours.
If you asked an optimistic entrepreneur, just starting on his first business venture, "Are you a millionaire?" he wouldn't say, "No." Most probably he'd say, "Not yet, I'm working on it!" It should be the same in our Jewish journeys.
Franz Rosenzweig (1886-1929) was a German-Jewish philosopher who as a young man actually considered opting out of Judaism completely. But his intellectual bent compelled him to at least do a proper examination of Judaism first. So he went to a synagogue and, as it happened, experienced a spiritual transformation. He went on to become a serious student of Judaism. It's told that when Rosenzweig was once asked, "Do you put on tefillin?" his answer was not yet. Not no, but "not yet" – and there is a critical difference between the two. No implies that I am not doing it now nor do I have any plans to do it any time soon. Not yet means that while presently I may not be there, I am still open to the suggestion. Hopefully, the time will soon come when I will be ready to make tefillin part of my daily observance.
The not yet approach is a good one. There is no one who does it all. We all have room for growth. We should all want to aspire higher. If we don't practice a particular good deed at the moment there is no reason why we cannot begin doing it in the near future. Let us never be discouraged by the length of the journey. Let us begin the first steps and keep moving. It may be slow but as long as there is steady growth we will get there.
So if someone asks, "do you put on tefillin," or "do you keep kosher," or "do you observe Shabbat," and you don't, please don't say no. Say not yet.
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What Did the Tablets Look Like?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1114513/jewish/What-Did-the-Tablets-Look-Like.htm
By Menachem Posner
Question:
I read in the Torah that Moses came down from the mountain with two tablets of stone,1 but did not see anything about their size, shape, or what kind of stone they were made of. Can you shed some light?
Response:
The Dimensions:
Tradition tells us that they were thick square blocks of stone, six handbreadths tall, six handbreadths wide, and three handbreadths deep. In modern measurements, that is just over 18”x18”x 9”. The sages of the Talmud demonstrate how tablets of this size--along with a few other relics--fit neatly into the Ark of the Covenenat that Moses made as described in Exodus.2
It is interesting to note that nowhere is there any mention of them having the rounded tops that are so common in the popular drawings of Moses and the tablets. This design appears to be the invention of non-Jewish artists.
The Material:
The tradition is that both sets of tablets were made of sapphire. After Moses broke the first set, G‑d revealed a large deposit of sapphire in Moses' tent. Moses used some of the stone to carve the second tablets and was permitted to keep the remains.3
The Writing:
The most common understanding is that the first five commandments were written on one tablet, and the other five commandments were on the second.4
The Torah describes the writing as "inscribed from both their sides; on one side and on the other side they were inscribed."5
This means that the inscription was engraved through and through. As such, the words were clearly legible on one side and written in mirror writing on the other. Now there are two Hebrew letters, the ם and the ס, that are closed from all sides. The centers of these letters, Rav Chisda concludes, must have been miraculously suspended in place.67
Others teach that the writing was miraculously legible on each side—in other words, although the letters were engraved all the way through, they could nevertheless be read from right to left on both sides. Rabenu Bachye explains that this is because the Torah can be understood on two levels, one revealed and one hidden.8
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Hi Rachel,
Interesting post, I had never considered the size of the tablets and the dimensions given for the Ark of the Covenant being simpatico.
P.C
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Man, I would love to hop in the time machine and see that! Or what they were trying to explain......... Either way it would be impressive.
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Carat Weight And Size
How are sapphires measured?
Gemstones vary in density, so a sapphire and a diamond of the same carat weight are visually different sizes. Because sapphires tend to be heavier, a one carat sapphire is generally slightly smaller in size than a one carat diamond For ease of selection and setting, size is a more useful measurement, which we list in millimeters. Our standard size for a round sapphire is 6 mm, which is approximately one carat.
Brilliant Earth carries a variety of shapes and sizes beyond our standard so if you are looking for something more unique, please contact us.
6 mm (.2362 inches)
equals approximately 1 carat
Sapphires are generally measured by size rather than carat weight.
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Having collected and cut gemstones as a hobby and being a little more than just interested in rocks and minerals, I can add that although most people associate sapphire with being a gemstone, that it is a matter of the quality and suitability of the crystal that determines that status. Corundum, is the base mineral of sapphires and ruby. The only difference between them is color. Rubies are red and sapphire is any color but red. Most commercial sapphires are blue but that's because that is what the market wants, blue sapphires. Corundum, which in its pure state is colorless, can grow into individual crystals or into large closely packed formations. Rubies, are of course rarer than sapphires and owe their color to trace amounts of chromium which is rarely associated with corundum. The smaller crystals that have few intrusions and that have been colored by trace minerals are the ones used for jewelry. Corundum has a hardness of 9 which gives it long wear life for jewelry but also makes it difficult to cut and polish. The large formations can be cut into blocks and use for a number of things, including tablets. :-D
P.C.
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Interesting posts on sapphire Thanks
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2954/jewish/Planet-of-the-Apes.htm
This week has been very busy and next week will be as well so posting might be light
Planet of the Apes
By Yaakov Brawer
"Dr. Teitelbaum! Excuse me Dr. Teitelbaum but you must help me! I'm supposed to graduate in November and I've just been notified that McGill won't credit me with Marketing Management II that I took last summer at U.B.C. and I won't have enough credits without it and ..." I looked at the teary-eyed, agitated undergraduate and said nothing. Long experience has taught me that there is no point in explaining that I am not Dr. Teitelbaum until they calm down.
Although Avraham Dovid Teitlebaum (a fellow chassid) and I resemble each other only slightly, McGill students seem incapable of seeing beyond the beard, yarmulke and tzitzit, and I am forever being mistaken for the former Associate Dean of the Faculty of Management. Presently, the student stopped for a breath and I pointed out her error. However, it didn't register. Rejuvenated by a lung full of fresh air, she pressed her suit with renewed vigor. I identified myself again. She ignored me and continued pleading. I interrupted her and once more indicated that she had the wrong person. She frowned impatiently, clearly annoyed that I wasn't giving her proper attention, and without breaking stride, continued her presentation. As she paused to marshal her thoughts for the final assault, I took advantage of the lull and insisted slowly, distinctly, and emphatically that I was not Dr. Teitlebaum. She scrutinized me for a few moments and suddenly her face lit up with the wonder of discovery. Her eyes grew wide and she exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! there are two of you!"
There are indeed two of me. What my flustered friend probably doesn't realize, however, is that there are also two of her. There is she1 who operates on the instinctive level and who equates appearance with reality, and there is she2 who is capable of recording, analyzing and weighing information and arriving at a reasoned conclusion, appearances notwithstanding. As far as she1 was concerned, I had to be Dr. Teitlebaum simply because it was counter-intuitive that there could be two people on a university faculty with the exotic appearance of Dr. Teitlebaum. She2, who emerged only after she1 had been repeatedly challenged, correctly interpreted the available evidence and surmised that there were, in truth, two faculty members at McGill who shared the same unconventional features.
The fact that there are two of everyone is unsettling. The idea that our consciousness is not the unitary expression of a single self but rather a composite of independent components seems absurd for the simple reason that no one feels like more than one person. Nonetheless, such is the case and it can be convincingly demonstrated using the diagram depicted below (taken from The Self and Its Brain by Karl Popper and John Eccles, 1977, Springer International. p.63)
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/964.gif)
The diagonal line in the center of the picture is divided into two segments A-B and B-C by the middle vertical line. If you had to determine which of these segments is longer, without measuring them, your inclination would be to select segment A-B because it looks longer than B-C. If you were then told that the three vertical lines are parallel and equidistant, you would have to conclude, on the basis of basic high school geometry, that segments A-B and B-C must be of equal length, regardless of appearance. You thus have 2 different answers produced by your two different "selves". The instinctive, unreflective, and uncritical self simply takes appearances at face value. The other self, who is intellective and analytical, assesses the data and arrives at conclusions based on abstract reasoning and logic.
How is it that most of us spend our lives blithely unaware that two such incompatible individuals room together in our heads? The answer is that usually only one self is active at any particular time, and it is most often the intuitive, non-intellective self. Intellectual processes, whether creative or analytical, require effort. It is much easier and far more natural to simply accept things the way they appear to be. Thus, the instinctive self represents the default mode, and we, therefore, sail through life, oblivious to the appalling fact that our navigator is, distressingly often, a shallow simpleton. Worse, since we regard ourselves as intelligent beings, and since the "ourselves" that most often runs our brains is the shallow simpleton, we celebrate its fallacious, foolish, insubstantial fancies as wisdom.
In Chassidic terminology, the two disparate cognitive dimensions described above are defined as hergesh (instinct) and sechel (intelligence). Whereas hergesh is a trait common to all mammals, sechel, embodying abstract creative or analytical intelligence, is uniquely human. Consequently the description of man, by anthropologists, as an "intelligent ape" is singularly appropriate (albeit for reasons very different from those that led to the creation of the expression). Although hergesh is an attribute that we do indeed share with apes, we are also endowed with sechel, which would elevate us above all other members of the animal kingdom were we to make use of it. Since, however, this sublime quality is only sporadically engaged, the ape is alive and well, and very much in charge.
It is hergesh, not sechel, that generates the materialistic/naturalistic assumptions underlying modern secular man's view of the world and of himself. A mere glance out the window is sufficient to create a powerful impression of a multifarious world made out of variety of independent and self-sufficient things, held together by a few simple laws of nature. A brief perusal of the morning paper is all that one needs to conclude that earthly life is governed by random, chaotic, impersonal forces; natural, social, and economic. It is intuitively obvious that all forms of life evolved from simpler antecedent forms because, in our experience, everything comes from a prior something, and all animals do share common biological features. A glimpse at a corpse is proof enough that nothing survives bodily death. G-d and G-dliness are nowhere to be seen, and since, as far as hergesh is concerned, seeing is believing, they do not exist.
The common feature of all of these intuitive inferences (hergeshim) is that they are drawn from the perception of "things". Hergesh is not a function of the mind, but rather of the senses and as such, it does not deal in ideas or abstractions. Since hergesh can identify only "things" as real, it comes as no surprise that the values and goals of a hergesh-based society are centered on acquisition and power. Success in life is measured by the number of things that one is able to amass and the number of people (living things) over whom one has control.
One may well ask how it is possible that such a highly educated society should entertain an ape's-eye view of existence, and pursue such crass, shallow aspirations? The answer is that much of what the educational institutions impart is not sechel but rather hergesh disguised as sechel. The University is, after all, an instrument of society, and society runs on hergesh. The language, conventions, and styles are those of sechel, but the ideological content of a university education is based on hergesh. The curricula are contaminated with the germs of amoral, relativistic, materialistic, and secular bias and it is the rare student who emerges from the educational experience un-infected.
There is no joy on the planet of the apes. There are no lofty goals. There is no transcendent purpose, no meaning, no ultimate truth. There is prozac. There is also a burgeoning entertainment industry that keeps us anesthetized and oblivious to the painful realization that a hergesh-based life leads nowhere. There is also a way out. We can choose to stop being apes. We can think. We can break our addiction to hergesh and actively engage sechel, and if we do so, we will discover that the world is a very different place then it appears at first glance.
Revolutionary observations in physics, beginning in the early twentieth century, indicate that the "things" that constitute our world are shockingly ethereal. The discovery that mass is not a unique definitive physical property but rather a variant form of energy, that the electron described in high school physics as a little negatively charged BB can also be accurately characterized as an immaterial wave, and that subatomic particles/processes understand and obey abstract rules indicate that "being" is not a static, inanimate state but rather a dynamic, active process. The upshot of this is that a palpable, inert, "thing" such as a rock is, at its core, an incorporeal spiritual entity, pulsating with life, purpose and intelligence. Indeed, on the subatomic level, the rock has more in common with thoughts than with things. Moreover, the appearance of physical autonomy is an illusion. The recent experimental verifications of Bell's Theorem demonstrate a non-locality or "connectedness" underlying physical processes. In other words, at the subatomic level, the "things" that constitute our universe "know" each other and behave as different manifestations of a single, unified reality.
On another front, recent developments in the relatively new field of Cosmology show the universe to be far more improbable than any one ever imagined. In fact, a universe such as ours, designed to sustain intelligent life, is so improbable as to be virtually impossible. There are simply too many meaningful coincidences for it to have happened by chance. Intelligence and purpose permeate the cosmos. Remarkably, the only explanation as to why the myriad of diverse and seemingly unrelated physical constants and other parameters should converge to produce the universe in which we live is our presence. If any of these values were other than what they are, we could not exist. This realization has given rise to the Anthropic Cosmological Principle, the strong formulation of which concludes that man is the cornerstone of the universe, i.e. it was designed and implemented specifically with us in mind.
Similar advances in molecular and cell biology have inspired a biological version of the Anthropic Principle. It has become increasingly evident that the biochemical and molecular processes essential to the life of cells are far too complex and interdependent to have developed in response to natural forces and chance events. The irreducible complexity in fundamental biological systems and the expanding evidence of intelligent, purposeful design have rendered evolutionary explanations for the origin of life untenable.
Near death experiences have recently become a major focus of scientific exploration. Because of the subjective nature of these phenomena, they are very difficult to interpret, much less to explain. Research in this area has, nevertheless, produced powerful objective (corroborateable) evidence that awareness can exist independent of the brain and that the essence of human consciousness is spiritual.
A critical, impartial examination of a large body of hard evidence, readily available to anyone, does not support the materialist/reductionist view of reality with which we are so innately comfortable. One of the most delicious ironies in the history of science is that the very technology that was supposed to deliver mankind from the "higher superstition" (religion), has led it straight to G-d's door. Thus, counter-intuitively, sechel is a portal to faith, not an exit.
How, then, do we deal with hergesh? Do we view it as a pathology, an unfortunate but inescapable aberrant dimension of consciousness that must be constantly suppressed, the ape within? Hergesh is, in fact, a priceless gift, which if properly utilized, complements and perfects sechel. Finely honed and properly directed, intuition elevates the intellect and takes the mind beyond the structured logic of sechel. It is a unique source of insight that is unrestrained by the rules of language and mathematics. What about the ape? The ape is not hergesh, but rather hergesh abused. Hergesh functions properly only in concert with sechel. When it is focused on the intellection, the ideas, engendered by sechel, it illuminates the conceptual crannies inaccessible to formal thought and it imparts color to the black and white cogitations of the rationale mind. However, when sechel is inactive, hergesh is left without a mind, and its subsequent undisciplined, undiscerning and uncritical activity, directed toward things rather than ideas, produces the shallow, distorted world view and empty values so common in contemporary society.
Our challenge, then, is to be whole, to use all of our G-d-given faculties in pursuit of truth. King David perceived the hand of G-d in everything and encountered Divinity everywhere. "Yours is the heaven, Yours also the earth. The world and all it contains, You have established them" (Psalm 89, verse 12). The same Divine Providence that has designed the universe to meet our every need, has also imbued us with the intellectual attributes , sechel and hergesh, necessary to recognize the power of the creator in creation. It only remains for us to utilize them toward this end.
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It's not for naught that we are called "The People of the Book."
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1113808/jewish/Cherubim-of-Gold.htm
At the inauguration of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem on July 24, 1918, Chaim Weizmann, who would become Israel's first president, made the following observation: "It seems at first sight paradoxical that in a land with so sparse a population, in a land where everything still remains to be done, in a land crying out for such simple things as ploughs, roads, and harbors, we should begin by creating a center of spiritual and intellectual development."1
This telling act, as profoundly articulated by Mr. Weizmann, is reminiscent of an earlier one by the ancestors of those who established this university.
The Bible relates that even before relocating his family from Canaan to Egypt, Jacob sent Judah to Egypt on a special mission.2
Before they had houses in which to live, they had a house in which to studyThe objective of this mission is the subject of dispute. Some say that he was sent to tend to emigrational technicalities and to scout out housing accommodations for Jacob's large family.3
The Midrash4 offers a different take: "Judah descended to Egypt before the rest of the family in order to establish a house of study."
Thus, before they had houses in which to live, they had a house in which to study.
But where does this obsession with education stem from?
In a rare and personal disclosure, G‑d says regarding Abraham: "I cherish him." Why? "For he shall instruct his children and household after him to keep the ways of G‑d, to do charity and justice."5
It wasn't his intellectual prowess or integrity, neither was it his legendary kindness or even his spirit of activism and sacrifice that earned Abraham G‑d's unique affection. It was his exemplary focus on education.
Further confirmation that education must be the subject of our individual and collective focus came at Sinai, before our first face-to-face meeting with G‑d.
Before G‑d agreed to that meeting, at which occasion He planned to gift us the Torah, He asked Moses to present trustworthy guarantors who would ensure the Torah's continued observance.
He didn't trust the adults. Even the elders and scholars were ruled out. But when the children were mentioned, He was satisfied and the deal was concluded.6
The Sages develop and expand Torah law and thought, but it's the children who preserve its practice and tradition.
The Cherubs
Of all the utensils in the Holy Temple, the Holy Ark was the holiest. It housed the Tablets, the bedrock of our faith. Indeed, the Tablets served as the marriage document binding G‑d to our people.
G‑d chose the Jewish children to watch over the TorahBut who could be trusted to guard this seminal manuscript that communicates G‑d's love and wisdom? In whose hands should lay the treasured "marriage contract"?
"From the lid [of the Ark] you shall make two cherubs at its ends. Their wings shall spread upwards, sheltering the lid with their wings"—Exodus7
"Each of the cherubs had the image of a child's face"—Talmud8
"One in the likeness of a boy and the other of a girl"—Zohar9
The cherubs weren't made in the image of Moses, but in the image of our children.
G‑d chose the Jewish children to watch over the Torah and constitute His national guard. It is their wings that will carry the Torah into the future.10
Pure Gold
From the verse, "You shall not make gods of silver with Me…"11 we learn that "it is forbidden to make the cherubs out of silver." Furthermore we are told, "If you deviate from My instruction and make them of silver, instead of gold, they are like false gods before Me."12
Why the all or nothing approach?
Also, this particular stipulation applies strictly to the cherubs. All the other vessels in the Temple may be made of silver (or other metals) if no gold can be found.13 Why the distinction?
Symbolically, however, the answer is quite clear: Regarding the rest of the vessels of the Temple, while ideally all G‑dly instruments should be made of gold – representing the very best – when in a pinch, silver can suffice.
But when it comes to the education of our children, as represented by the cherubs, there is no room for compromise. Only the purest and best schooling will do.
(This is not to say that schools should charge the price of gold, sadly one of the reasons why attendance at Jewish schools has fallen.14 Rather, that they offer their students the highest caliber of instruction.)
What is a good Jewish education? Culture, Yiddish, Talmud? When the subject material and the manner in which it is taught is downgraded to even "silver," instead of raising children who grow up walking in the ways of G‑d, one creates, G‑d forbid, "false gods!"—children who grow up worshipping themselves.
True Gold
But how is gold defined? What is a good Jewish education? Culture, Yiddish, Talmud?
Here too, the cherubs offer insight.
"You shall make two cherubs of gold; beaten shall you make them."15
Rashi explains: "Do not separately craft the cherubs and then afterwards attach them to the lid. Rather, take a big block of gold at the outset of the making of the lid, and strike it at its middle with a hammer and mallet so that the shapes of the cherubs are hammered out and protrude upward."
What would be wrong if they were made separately and then attached? Does the process itself have to be so difficult?
Perhaps it can be said that the Ark – and its lid – represents the Torah that it houses; while the cherubs represent the children.16
When it comes to "building" your child, so to speak – i.e., implanting within him or her a value system, mindset, worldview, etc. – this can be done in one of two ways: Separate from the lid, the Torah, or molded from the lid itself.
We must want our children to be one with Torah, fashioned out of Torah. To the point that separating from Torah, G‑d forbid, would be like separating from themselves. Their every bend and curve should be indistinguishable from the gold of which they are fashioned.
An example to illustrate:
One day, as I handed some coins to my wife, my just-turned-one-year-old daughter proudly belted out: "Mommy, tzedakah [charity]!"
To her, coins aren't money; they're charityMy wife explained: "We've developed a daily routine, where every morning, together, we place a few coins in the charity box. She has grown to love this practice, and now calls out 'tzedakah!' whenever she catches sight of any coins."
To her, coins aren't money; they're charity.
Permitted Worship
Lastly and amazingly, the only imagery allowed in the Temple, in seeming contradiction to G‑d's command, "You shall not make images with Me," was that of children.
Apparently, other than Himself, G‑d allows only one other form of worship: the worship of our children's education.
Then again, aren't they one and the same?
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Moses (1393-1273 BCE)
Today is the anniversary of his birth and passing
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/73398/jewish/Moses.htm
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/766.jpg)
Maimonides calls him "the most perfect human being", and the sages of the Talmud said that "the Divine Presence spoke from his throat." Yet the Torah also attests that the man who took the Children of Israel out of Egypt and received the Torah from G-d was "the most humble man on the face of the earth."
Moses was born in Egypt on the 7th of Adar of the year 2368 from creation (1393 BCE), at a time when the Israelites were slaves to the rulers of the land and subject to many harsh decrees. He was the third born of Jocheved and Amram's three children -- his brother Aaron was his senior by three years, and his sister Miriam by six.
When he was three months old, Moses was hidden in a basket set afloat in the Nile to escape Pharaoh's decree that all male Hebrew children be drowned; he was retrieved from the river by Pharaoh's daughter, Batyah, who raised him in the palace. At age 20, Moses fled Egypt after killing an Egyptian he saw beating a Jew and made his way to Midian, where he married Zipporah, the daughter of Jethro, and fathered two sons, Gershom and Eliezer.
When he was 80 years old, Moses was shepherding his father-in-law's sheep when G-d revealed himself to him in a burning bush at Mount Horeb (Sinai) and instructed him to liberate the Children of Israel. Moses took the Israelites out of Egypt, performed numerous miracles for them (the ten plagues in Egypt, the splitting of the sea, extracting water from a rock, bringing down the manna, and numerous others), received the Torah from G-d and taught it to the people, built the Mishkan (Divine dwelling) in the desert, and led the Children of Israel for 40 years as they journeyed through the wilderness; but G-d did not allow him to bring them into the Holy Land. Moses passed away on his 120th birthday on Mount Nebo, within sight of the land he yearned to enter.
Waters of Strife
the price of leadership
By Yanki Tauber
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/48334/jewish/Waters-of-Strife.htm
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/3606.jpg)
One of the most puzzling passages in the Torah is the story of the Waters of Strife, in the wake of which G-d decreed that Moses would die in the desert and would not enter the Land of Israel.
A hundred generations of Torah scholars, beginning with Moses himself and continuing with the sages of the Midrash, the biblical commentaries and the Chassidic masters, struggle with this enigmatic chapter. As we speak, someone is writing a "Parshah piece" that searches for some explanation of the event, or at least a lesson to be derived from it.
But first the facts (as related in Numbers 20:1-13):
After traveling for forty years in the wilderness, the people of Israel arrive in Kadesh in the Zin Desert, on the border of the Holy Land. There is no water, the people are thirsty, and as they are wont to do in such and similar circumstances, they complain to Moses. It is not a pretty sight. "If only we had died," they rage, "when our brethren died before G-d! Why have you brought the congregation of G-d to this desert, to die there, us and our cattle? Why have you taken us out of Egypt -- to bring us to this evil place...?"
Moses calls on G-d, who instructs him to "take the staff, and gather the people, you and Aaron your brother. And you shall speak to the rock before their eyes, and it will give its water." When all are assembled before "the rock," Moses addresses the people: "Listen, rebellious ones! Shall we bring forth water for you from this rock?" Moses raises his hand and strikes the rock twice with his staff. Water gushes forth, and the people and their cattle drink.
Whereupon G-d says to Moses and Aaron: "Because you did not believe in Me, to sanctify Me before the eyes of the Children of Israel; therefore, you will not bring this congregation into the land I have given them."
What did Moses do wrong? What was the sin that warranted such a devastating punishment?
The commentaries search the text for clues. Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, 1040-1105) points out that G-d instructed Moses to speak to the rock, whilst Moses struck it. Thus he failed to "sanctify Me before the eyes of the Children of Israel" (extracting water by speaking would have been a greater miracle).
Maimonides (Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, 1135-1204) has a different explanation: Moses' failing was that he got angry and spoke harshly to the people (his "Listen, you troublemakers!" speech).
(The Chassidic master Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Barditchev (1740-1810) has an interesting insight here: Rashi's and Maimonides' explanations, says the Barditchever, are two sides of the same coin. A tzaddik is not only a leader of his people but also the master of his environment. These two roles are intertwined, the latter deriving from the former. If a leader's relationship with his people is loving and harmonious, then the physical world, too, willingly yields its resources to the furtherance of their goals. But if his influence is achieved through harsh words of rebuke, then he will find it necessary to do battle with nature at every turn and forcefully impose his will on the physical world.)
Nachmanides (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, 1194-1270) finds difficulty with both explanations. If Moses wasn't supposed to strike the rock, he argues, why did G-d tell him to take along his staff? The Torah repeats this fact, further emphasizing that "Moses took along the staff from the presence of G-d, as He had commanded him." In light of G-d's instructions to Moses on a previous occasion to extract water from a rock by striking it (see Exodus 17:6), was it not reasonable for Moses to assume that the staff was to serve a similar function in this case? (Unless G-d was setting him up for this -- but more on that later.) As for Maimonides' explanation, there were other instances in which the Torah tells us (more explicitly than in this case) that Moses got angry, and for apparently less justification. If no punishment was decreed in those cases, why now?
Nachmanides offers his explanation: Moses erred in saying to the people, "Shall we then bring forth water for you from this rock?" -- words that can be seen to imply that extracting water from a rock is something that Moses does, rather than G-d. The moment a leader assumes an identity of his own and his accomplishments are attributed to him personally -- the moment he comes to embody anything other than his people's collective identity and their relationship with G-d -- he has failed in his role. (Nachmanides finds support for his explanation in G-d's opening words to Moses, "Because you did not believe in Me..." -- implying that this was a failure of faith rather than a lapse of obedience or a surrender to anger.)
But there is one common denominator in these and the numerous other explanations offered by the commentaries: the implication that whatever the problem was, it wasn't really the problem. Basically, G-d is getting Moses on a technicality. In his arguments with G-d Moses senses this, in effect saying to G-d: "You set me up!"
The text supports his complaint. Forty years earlier there occurred the incident of the Spies, in which the generation that came out of Egypt and received the Torah at Sinai revealed themselves to be unwilling and unable to progress to the next stage of G-d's plan -- to enter and take possession of the Holy Land. At that time, the Torah recounts, G-d decreed that the entire generation (all males above the age of 20) would die out in the desert. With the sole exception of two men. "Except for Caleb the son of Yefuneh and Joshua the son of Nun" (the two spies who resisted the plot of their ten colleagues -- Numbers 14:30).
Moses, who craved to enter the Holy Land with every fiber of his being, was not guilty of the sin of the Spies, so some other pretext had to be found. Since "with the righteous, G-d is exacting as a hairsbreadth," it wasn't impossible to find a pretext. But G-d had already determined 40 years earlier that the entire generation -- Moses and Aaron included -- would not enter the Land. "This is a plot that you contrived against me," the Midrash quotes Moses saying to the Almighty.
Indeed, why? If Moses was innocent of his generation's sin, why was it decreed that he share their fate? There is a poignant Midrash that offers the following parable:
A shepherd was given the king's flock to feed and care for, and the flock was lost. When the shepherd sought to enter the royal palace, the king refused him entry. "When the flock that was entrusted to you is recovered, you, too, will be admitted."
The original plan was that the 600,000 whom Moses took out of Egypt should enter the Land. But that generation remained in the desert. You are their leader, said G-d to Moses. Their fate is your fate.
This message is implicit in G-d's words to Moses immediately following his striking of the rock: "... therefore, you will not bring this congregation into the land I have given them." From this the Midrash derives: "This congregation" you will not bring in; that congregation you will. "This congregation" -- the generation whom Moses confronted at the rock -- was not Moses' generation. His generation were buried in the desert.
When they will enter the Land, G-d is saying to Moses -- and they will, when the Final Redemption will redeem all generations of history -- you will lead them in.
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I enjoyed that one.
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By Bracha Goetz
Question:
How can I explain to my young child that it makes sense to believe in an invisible G‑d?
Answer:
You can explain this concept to your child the same way you explain it to anybody (including yourself)… only children can probably grasp it quicker and better!
In one of my picture books for young children, The Invisible Book, this perplexing question, one of life's deepest puzzles, is explored in a very simple manner. The boy in the book looks around his world and realizes that there are many invisible forces in his life, like air, electricity, and gravity.
Continuing his exploration, he finds that thoughts and feelings are invisible, too, and so are sounds and smells. Even the strong force of magnetism is invisible. Through recognizing the invisible nature of so many indisputably real things we experience, we can believe that we have been blessed with invisible souls by an invisible G‑d.
The joy we experience in our souls from doing a mitzvah is invisible, and yet we are strongly aware of how intensely wonderful it can be. Amazingly, the joy becomes almost palpable when we engage in learning about the most basic, yet deepest, questions of life with our children. This holds true even when they are teens or already adults. In countless ways, if we are open to it, our children become our spiritual guides.
Why can children more readily understand, when first exposed to these deep concepts, what is much harder for us to grasp as adults? Children seem to "see" that they are, in essence, invisible souls made in the image of our invisible G‑d with a similar infinite spiritual energy. They are more "in touch" with their pure souls, which have not been covered over with years of confusing messages that deny our spiritual essence.
Children may come up with questions like: "Where is G‑d? Why can't we see G‑d? What is a soul? What does G‑d want us to do?" We can let our children know that these kinds of questions are actually coming from a place within them that is connected to G‑d. And the questions themselves are proof that they are much more than just bodies. We can't see spirituality, but like many other invisible things, we can feel its effects and awesome power.
We can ask our young children to blow on the palms of their hands and feel the gentle invisible wind. In Hebrew, the word for wind is ruach, and, interestingly, it's the same word for "spirit." With the invisible spirit within us, our souls, we can act in the world as the wind does, and bring about much wonderment and goodness.
We can let children know that G‑d wants us to increase goodness in the world. And we can explain to our children that the Torah explains exactly how to be good. We can also ask our children what answers they have for their questions because we honestly want to know what they are thinking about this important subject.
What we don't need is to be afraid of exploring these essential questions with our children, even if we feel we don't have all the answers. This is an exploration with no end. If we can humbly return to these questions again and again throughout our lives, we can find richer meaning. Then we can help each other with the unique insights garnered through one's personal trials.
As invisible time goes by, the spiritual searching and discovering that we share with our families – even, or especially, about G‑d – can create invisible bonds of love that last forever.
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Purim Saddam
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/purim/article_cdo/aid/644261/jewish/Purim-Saddam.htm
By Tzvi Jacobs
"Hi, Mom. Got my orders today," David Zuk said. "I'm going to Saudi. I have to leave first thing tomorrow morning.
"Oh, no," his mother said, her "no" echoing in her 20-year old son's head.
"I was assigned to the 101st," David said with a sinking voice, as he slumped against the glass wall of the phone booth. "I almost cried when they told me."
The 101st Airborne Division, nicknamed the "Screaming Eagles," fought on the front lines during all the wars: World War I, World War II, the Korean War, and Viet Nam. Only a fraction of the early ranks had ever returned alive.
David's mother tried to find encouraging words for her only son, but it was hard. She had never been able to get used to her son's unpredictable life choices. When he was 16, he had become involved with Orthodox Jews and made himself separate from the family by eating only kosher. Two years later when he joined the Army, she just about gave up. Now, upon hearing this ominous news, all she could think was, "I told you so."
The Gulf War had broken out a month earlier, on January 17, 1991. David knew he would be on the front lines, facing the open jaws of the ravenous war. "They said we'll be there at least a year," David said, not knowing when he would see her next. "Take care, Mom. I love you," he added faintly,
David closed the door of the phone booth and ambled back to his barrack. Gazing at the snow-covered hills surrounding Fort Knox Army Base in northwestern Kentucky, he was awe-struck by their quiet beauty, as if seeing them for the first time. He wondered if he would ever see them again. He thought of the preposterous story circulating around the army base that someone had predicted the war would end by Purim, the Jewish holiday instituted to thank and praise G-d for saving the Jewish people from a decree of annihilation some 2,300 years ago.
"Purim's only a month away. No way it will be over by then!" David said to himself.
Saddam Hussein, thought David, certainly fits the character of Haman, the villain of the story of Purim. The wicked Haman got the king of Persia to issue a royal decree to command the populace to massacre all the Jews in the Persian Empire. Similarly, for a whole year Saddam Hussein had been boasting that he would "burn half of Israel" with SCUD missiles laden with deadly chemical gas. Those missiles would surely maim and kill thousands of Israelis and prove to the Arab nations that Israel was vulnerable. Then the world would clearly see that G-d had forsaken the Jews as the "Chosen People," and that instead Saddam Hussein had been chosen to rule the world. The scenario sounded preposterous... until Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait.
Back at the barracks, David stood beside his cot and daavened (prayed) the evening prayer. How ironic that he was being shipped to war to defend Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. Before falling asleep, he vividly recalled news clips of the SCUD missiles fired at cities in Israel. These 40-foot Soviet-made missiles had been enhanced with a 600-pound, European-made payload of explosives. Designed to flatten buildings, the explosion of a SCUD warhead creates a frontal pressure wave that blasts away concrete and sends shattered glass flying up to 1,400 feet away in all directions, creating a torrent of lethal "knives."
As David lay in his bed, he continued to recall the news he had heard and read from Israel. The first night that SCUDS were fired at Israel, one of them made a direct hit on an apartment house in a crowded Tel Aviv neighborhood. As a result of this midnight strike, 400 apartments housing 1,200 people were either destroyed or damaged. Tel Aviv hospitals were prepared to handle mass casualties, as had been the experience in Teheran, Iran, when Iraq fired SCUDS into Teheran's neighborhoods in 1988 during the Iran-Iraq War.
The ambulances arrived at a Tel Aviv hospital. One young man had some scratches from broken glass; a woman had a sprain; the injuries were all minor. "The 'victims' could have doctored themselves," said one of the hospital staff. "Even the non-religious declared it a miracle."
During the first week of war, Iraq fired about two dozen SCUDS at Israel and damaged or destroyed thousands of apartments and other buildings. On the first Saturday of the attacks, one SCUD scored a direct hit on a bomb shelter, which was used as a makeshift synagogue on Saturday morning; two hundred worshippers were packed inside. The blast flung the people around like rag dolls. Only the shelter's eastern wall, upon which the ark housing the Torah scroll leaned against, remained standing. When Prime Minister Yitzchak Shamir visited the site he asked if there were any people in the bomb shelter. "Yes," replied Tel Aviv Mayor Shlomo Lahat, "Two hundred. They were saved by a miracle." No one was injured.
How long would their mazal (good fortune) last? To protect Israel, David was ready to risk his life. With that thought, David whispered the Shema Yisrael ("Hear O' Israel") prayer and fell asleep.
The next morning David and more than 300 other soldiers boarded a chartered 747 headed towards Saudi Arabia. They refueled in Rome at midnight and took off after two hours. Within minutes, David drifted into a deep sleep. In what seemed like minutes later but in reality turned out to be six hours, a blinding light flooded the cabin of the jet. David peered through the thick window next to his seat. "So this is Saudi," he mused. A harsh sun reflected off the whitest sand he had ever seen. Miles and miles of sand. For the next hour and a half, all David saw below was white sand, with an occasional darkened area which appeared to be some sort of man-made rock formation.
The 747 jet landed in the coastal city of Dhahran. David stepped down from the plane into the 115 degree heat. He felt like he had marched into a huge solar oven. The soldiers were transported across the burning sand to a stadium-size tent. They were directed to their cots and told to go to sleep.
At 5:30 the next morning, nerve-shattering alarms blasted the dawn. In a heartbeat, David reached for his gas mask, took the required quick breath, and strapped the mask to his face. The maximum time limit for this procedure was 15 seconds; David did it in 3 seconds flat. Thousands of gas mask rehearsals had finally paid off. Like a machine gun firing into the dark, David's heart pounded uncontrollably at an invisible enemy. Three minutes later, an officer came into the tent and announced, "The Iraqis fired a SCUD, and our Patriot missile intercepted it. No gas has been detected. Keep your masks on until the signal is given."
No gas was detected and no one was injured, but Saddam won a round on the psychological battlefield. Besides the constant fear of chemical weapons, Hussein had another silent ally: the desert. The first troops sent in August had all become sick with heat strokes. Even in the "winter," the midday temperature always rose above 110 degrees Fahrenheit. The desert proved to be a harsh, foreign environment. Water had to be rationed. Showers were allowed only once a month.
Every day, just before sunset, the hot, white sun would turn bright red, and at sunset, it would appear to melt into the sand -- an orangish red lava flowing off a huge ball of fire across the white sand. Then, within minutes, the temperature would drop 50 degrees. Everyone would have to wear thermal gloves and a warm jacket to keep from shivering. The temperature would be only 60 to 70 degrees, yet because of the rapid and drastic change in temperature, the soldiers would feel as if they were freezing.
Hussein was proving himself to be more cunning and his soldiers more entrenched than originally thought. Dave heard reports that Hussein could drag out the war for years.
Saddam Hussein kept firing SCUDS into Israel. Civilian targets were hit, buildings were destroyed, but the human injuries were surprisingly light. Back in the States, many Americans were concluding that the SCUDS were basically harmless, giant firecrackers.
Then, on the morning of February 25, David and 100 other soldiers received orders to fly that evening to Al-Khobar. They would be staying in the nearby Army barrack, which had originally been a large, steel-framed warehouse. Later that evening, during suppertime, a fragment of a SCUD blasted through the barrack's metal roof, followed by a gigantic explosion which was heard for miles around. Nothing was left of the barrack, except an eight-foot deep crater. Twenty-eight soldiers were killed in the ensuing explosion; 89 others, wounded.
"I'm supposed to be dead," David said to himself. At the last moment, the plane scheduled to transport David and 100 fellow soldiers to Al-Khobar the previous evening had malfunctioned. The "malfunction" saved their lives.
Before that attack, the American soldiers felt no anger towards the Iraqis, but now they were enraged. They wanted Saddam Hussein dead. Hussein became their Haman, the very embodiment of evil. They felt like the Jews who stamp their feet when the name of Haman is mentioned during the public reading of the Scroll of Esther on the Purim holiday: they wanted him stamped out, once and for all.
The Gulf War intensified and the Allied forces became more aggressive, sending countless air-raids into Iraq. The Army transferred David to the front lines, 50 miles from the village of Ur Kasdim, where the Jewish patriarch Abraham had refused to bow down to the idols of King Nimrod. The pagan king subsequently threw young Abraham into a fiery furnace, yet miraculously he was not burned.
On the quiet nights, when sorties were not taking off from the Army's makeshift runway, David often gazed at the stars. There were no lights for hundreds of miles and David could see thousands of stars in the Milky Way. Here G-d's blessing and promise to Abraham, "I will increase your seed as the stars of the heaven" (Genesis 22:17), had great meaning.
By now Saddam's army had fired more than 30 SCUDS which struck Israel. If only he could drag Israel into the war, then the other Arab nations would unite with him, and he would rule the oil-rich Middle East and the world would be at his mercy.
Suddenly, then the long-awaited land war was underway. The Allies marched into Kuwait and invaded Iraq. Then, on February 27, after a mere 100 hours of Allied fighting, the BBC announced that the Persian Gulf War was over. Not for a moment did any of the soldiers believe it. Two weeks later, on March 11, 1991, Newsweek published a cover story on the war and called the Persian Gulf War "a triumph of almost Biblical proportions." Only after returning to the United States, did David find out that the War had actually ended on Purim.
With David, every single soldier in the 101st Airborne Division returned home, alive! Like in the days following the miracle of Purim, joyous celebrations and prayers of thanksgiving were held in towns throughout America, and "the days of darkness were tranformed to light, joy and happiness."
Thirteen months after the Gulf War ended, while stationed at Fort Campbell, David spent Shabbat at the home of Rabbi Zalman Posner in Nashville, Tennessee. "Have you seen this booklet?" his host asked. David glanced at it, and saw it was entitled, "I Will Show You Wonders: Public Statements of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, Before and During the Gulf Crisis."
David had never before heard of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. On that Shabbat, he learned about the Rebbe's predictions regarding the Gulf War, how the Rebbe publicly proclaimed that the Land of Israel would be safe and that nobody in Israel would need gas masks, and that it was said in the Rebbe's name that the Gulf War would end by Purim.
Following the Gulf War, David completed a two-year stint in the Army and then joined the ranks of young men studying Torah in the Yeshiva Tiferet Bachurim at the Rabbinical College of America, in Morristown, New Jersey.
Sources: Private First-Class David Zuk; "Missiles and Miracles: The SCUD Story" David Rothschild (Nefesh Magazine, 1992); "Why Were SCUD Casualties So Low?" S. Fetter, G. Lewis & L. Gronlund (Nature, Jan. 1993
I remember this Purim. The President of the Congregation and the Rabbi dressed up together as a combination of Haman and Saddam. The front of their t-shirt said Ha -Man and the back said Saddam- Hussein so we blot out both of their names at once and the war ended during services.
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Purim begins at sunset on Saturday February 27, 2010
and continues through nightfall on Sunday February 28, 2010
http://www.jewfaq.org/holiday9.htm
In the twelfth month, which is the month of Adar, on its thirteenth day ... on the day that the enemies of the Jews were expected to prevail over them, it was turned about: the Jews prevailed over their adversaries. - Esther 9:1
And they gained relief on the fourteenth, making it a day of feasting and gladness. - Esther 9:17
[Mordecai instructed them] to observe them as days of feasting and gladness, and sending delicacies to one another, and gifts to the poor. - Esther 9:22
Purim is one of the most joyous and fun holidays on the Jewish calendar. It commemorates a time when the Jewish people living in Persia were saved from extermination.
The story of Purim is told in the Biblical book of Esther. The heroes of the story are Esther, a beautiful young Jewish woman living in Persia, and her cousin Mordecai, who raised her as if she were his daughter. Esther was taken to the house of Ahasuerus, King of Persia, to become part of his harem. King Ahasuerus loved Esther more than his other women and made Esther queen, but the king did not know that Esther was a Jew, because Mordecai told her not to reveal her identity.
The villain of the story is Haman, an arrogant, egotistical advisor to the king. Haman hated Mordecai because Mordecai refused to bow down to Haman, so Haman plotted to destroy the Jewish people. In a speech that is all too familiar to Jews, Haman told the king, "There is a certain people scattered abroad and dispersed among the peoples in all the provinces of your realm. Their laws are different from those of every other people's, and they do not observe the king's laws; therefore it is not befitting the king to tolerate them." Esther 3:8. The king gave the fate of the Jewish people to Haman, to do as he pleased to them. Haman planned to exterminate all of the Jews.
Mordecai persuaded Esther to speak to the king on behalf of the Jewish people. This was a dangerous thing for Esther to do, because anyone who came into the king's presence without being summoned could be put to death, and she had not been summoned. Esther fasted for three days to prepare herself, then went into the king. He welcomed her. Later, she told him of Haman's plot against her people. The Jewish people were saved, and Haman was hanged on the gallows that had been prepared for Mordecai.
The book of Esther is unusual in that it is the only book of the Bible that does not contain the name of G-d. In fact, it includes virtually no reference to G-d. Mordecai makes a vague reference to the fact that the Jews will be saved by someone else, if not by Esther, but that is the closest the book comes to mentioning G-d. Thus, one important message that can be gained from the story is that G-d often works in ways that are not apparent, in ways that appear to be chance, coincidence or ordinary good luck.
Purim is celebrated on the 14th day of Adar, which is usually in March. The 13th of Adar is the day that Haman chose for the extermination of the Jews, and the day that the Jews battled their enemies for their lives. On the day afterwards, the 14th, they celebrated their survival. In cities that were walled in the time of Joshua, Purim is celebrated on the 15th of the month, because the book of Esther says that in Shushan (a walled city), deliverance from the massacre was not complete until the next day. The 15th is referred to as Shushan Purim.
In leap years, when there are two months of Adar, Purim is celebrated in the second month of Adar, so it is always one month before Passover. The 14th day of the first Adar in a leap year is celebrated as a minor holiday called Purim Katan, which means "little Purim." There are no specific observances for Purim Katan; however, a person should celebrate the holiday and should not mourn or fast. Some communities also observe a "Purim Katan" on the anniversary of any day when their community was saved from a catastrophe, destruction, evil or oppression.
The word "Purim" means "lots" and refers to the lottery that Haman used to choose the date for the massacre.
The Purim holiday is preceded by a minor fast, the Fast of Esther, which commemorates Esther's three days of fasting in preparation for her meeting with the king.
The primary commandment related to Purim is to hear the reading of the book of Esther. The book of Esther is commonly known as the Megillah, which means scroll. Although there are five books of Jewish scripture that are properly referred to as megillahs (Esther, Ruth, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, and Lamentations), this is the one people usually mean when they speak of The Megillah. It is customary to boo, hiss, stamp feet and rattle gragers (noisemakers; see illustration) whenever the name of Haman is mentioned in the service. The purpose of this custom is to "blot out the name of Haman."
We are also commanded to eat, drink and be merry. According to the Talmud, a person is required to drink until he cannot tell the difference between "cursed be Haman" and "blessed be Mordecai," though opinions differ as to exactly how drunk that is. A person certainly should not become so drunk that he might violate other commandments or get seriously ill. In addition, recovering alcoholics or others who might suffer serious harm from alcohol are exempt from this obligation.
In addition, we are commanded to send out gifts of food or drink, and to make gifts to charity. The sending of gifts of food and drink is referred to as shalach manos (lit. sending out portions). Among Ashkenazic Jews, a common treat at this time of year is hamentaschen (lit. Haman's pockets). These triangular fruit-filled cookies are supposed to represent Haman's three-cornered hat. My recipe is included below.
It is customary to hold carnival-like celebrations on Purim, to perform plays and parodies, and to hold beauty contests. I have heard that the usual prohibitions against cross-dressing are lifted during this holiday, but I am not certain about that. Americans sometimes refer to Purim as the Jewish Mardi Gras.
Purim is not subject to the sabbath-like restrictions on work that some other holidays are; however, some sources indicate that we should not go about our ordinary business on Purim out of respect for the holiday.
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The Kabbalah of the Absurd
By Tzvi Freeman
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/189/ieQL1890141.jpg)
The major impediment to a proper understanding of Purim is a confusion between madness and the absurd. The distinction is not trivial. Madness is cheap. Absurdity is ingenious.
A joker feigns madness; idiots see themselves and laugh nervously. A comedian commits the absurd, with superb, brilliant genius.
That is the core distinction: Madness has no brains. Absurdity is intelligence in a context of madness.
All of us know madness well. We spend a third of our lives insane. At day, we walk about making rational decisions and at least attempting to make sense. But then at night, a strange thing happens. We lie in stillness and madness sets in. The world survives, but only because we wisely quarantine the madness to the privacy of our own beds. It is madness nonetheless.
The world is filled with madness, infinitely more than it is with sanity. Nature itself is a wondrous weave of the two, of symmetry within chaos, meaning within randomness, signal emanating from within the background noise. The scientist sets his focii upon the patterns, the predictable, that which can be defined and known within reason. His world is a chimera, reality escapes his grasp. For reality is mostly mad.
Religions rely on dogma before reason. Mathematics on axioms before corollaries. Philosophy looks to break the chains of dogma and axioms--and it fails, miserably. For without madness there is no world.
Now let me tell you the Kaballah of reason, madness and absurdity: In our world, madness lies below reason. In the higher world, the positions are reversed.
Reason is G‑d contracting His infinite light within the puny boxes of a consistent world, beating out the notes in rigid conformity to the tick-tock of the metronome, following the color-code in deathly paint-by-numbers order. The result may be magnificent, fascinating, fodder for countless doctorates and journals- -but it is nothing less than a suffocating straitjacket for a living, infinite G‑d.
The unencumbered context of the Infinite Light is totally mad. Anything could be, all at once--or nothing at all. There is no reality since all things could be, therefore none of them really are. Whatever is, is without reason, without meaning, as a toddler will tell you, simply "because."
The Kabbalists call this realm the world of Tohu. It precedes the world of Tikun. The chassidic masters called it the transcendent light that precedes the constricted, orderly realm of the immanent light. From it extends all the chaos, axioms, dogma and madness of our mad world. From tikun and immanent light extend order and reason. And that is why madness has the power to win over reason.
And yet, tikun is the destiny of tohu and it's healing. Transcendence finds fulfillment in immanence. And this is where the absurd comes to play.
Purim is absurd because Judaism is absurd because the very existence of Jews is absurd. Ultimately, G‑d is the proto-absurd.
Simply put: Judaism is absurd because it demands an absurd G‑d. A G‑d who wakes in the middle of the slumber of transcendent madness and says, "They are my people, the people of this dream, and I must save them." That isness should care. That that which is should have meaning. Reason in a context that defies all reason.
Jews are absurd because they continue to exist. There is no reason for this. But furthermore--and these two must be related--because we insist on telling G‑d what to do. Not some silly god that sits on a stool and frets over nature. The ultimate Reality of Being. We enter a throne room to which we could never be called, since there we do not exist nor can we exist, and there we say, "Let us tell You how to run Your kingdom."
Purim is absurd because Haman knew the secret of G‑d's madness and rose beyond reason to that place with a lottery, obviating his own reason and appealing to Chaos. Raising his feud with Mordechai to a gallows 50 cubits high, the 50th gate that cannot be understood and there he expected his chance to win, in a place where nothing matters, because it is beyond all that.
And from there was His downfall. For he did not know that G‑d is not just reasonable or mad. G‑d is absurd.
All of reality is absurd, as absurd as the king who decrees that those who he decreed to be eliminated by his decree should stand and protect themselves from those that he decreed should eliminate them--and he prays that they should win.
As light wins over darkness, tikun over tohu, the Jew over his exile. May we soon be redeemed.
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Life's Passages
Unbreakable Devotion
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1092214/jewish/Unbreakable-Devotion.htm
By Chana Weisberg
One of the most dramatic scenes in our nation's history unfolded as Moses descended Mt. Sinai holding the tablets containing the Ten Commandments. As he witnesses his people worshipping the Golden Calf, he throws down the tablets, shattering to pieces the priceless covenantal agreement between the Jewish people and their G‑d.
The commentaries offer various reasons as to why Moses broke the tablets. One of the explanations given is that Moses was attempting to spare the nation of G‑d's wrath, by destroying the binding contract that contained the holy pact that His nation flagrantly breached.
Rashi (on Exodus 34:1) explains:
This can be compared to a king who went abroad and left his betrothed with the maidservants. Because of the immoral behavior of the maidservants, she acquired a bad reputation. Her "bridesman" [the person appointed to defend the bride should any problems arise] arose and tore up her marriage contract. He said, "If the king decides to kill her, I will say to him, 'She is not yet your wife.'"
But in breaking the tablets, Moses was also perhaps trying to engrave on his people's psyche an essential message that would remain with them for all eternity.
Moses was telling them that due to their grave sin their "contractual agreement" with G‑d had been violated and hence shattered. G‑d was now effectively freed from any commitment to them.
Yet Moses wanted them to see and understand that though the tablets had been shattered, G‑d will not desert them. Even without any "contract," they will remain His chosen people. G‑d's connection to the Jewish people is beyond contractual agreements, beyond circumstances and bad choices, and even beyond logic itself.
It is an essential unbreakable bond of love, for all times and places.
And perhaps in doing so, Moses was beseeching the Jewish people to reciprocate in kind, by rededicating themselves to G‑d for all times as His chosen people—even when it becomes increasingly difficult to do so. Even in circumstances when it is not rationally beneficial...
Even if it seems that He isn't keeping His promises to us… Even if it entails a more exacting code of moral behavior… Even if it the nations of the world hate us for it… And even if it means reaching deep within our souls to access a tiny ember of a flickering flame of faith.
Our people understood the lesson of Moses' dramatic act. It became etched into the very fabric of our being. It is a message that has helped us to respond to G‑d in kind, even during the most trying times.
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A House In Three Versions
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/638675/jewish/A-House-In-Three-Versions.htm
By Yanki Tauber
Two significant events followed the Giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai: a) the sin of the Golden Calf b) the making of the Miskan ("Tabernacle"), the portable sanctuary the Israelites built in the desert.
In the Torah, the accounts of these two events are intertwined, with the narrative alternating between them. How did they actually occur in time? Which one came first--the calf or the Tabernacle?
Amongst the commentaries, there are no less than three different answers to this question.
1) According to the Zohar, first came G‑d's command to build the Mishkan, followed by the people's donation of their gold and other materials for its construction. After that came the sin of the Golden Calf. Indeed, the implication is that it was only because they had consecrated the materials for the Mishkan before they were tainted by their sin that the people were able to later build the divine abode in their midst.
2) According to Rashi, the sin of the Golden Calf came first. Everything about the Mishkan -- the divine command, the donation and the construction -- occurred after the people had repented from their sin. The implication is that had they not sinned by worshipping a calf of gold, there would not have been a Mishkan at all!
3) According to Nachmanides, first came the divine command to build the Mishkan; then came the people's sin and repentance; and after that, the people's donation of the materials for the Mishkan.
What is the deeper meaning behind these three versions?
The Mishkan represents the idea of "making G‑d a home in the physical world": taking the materials of our physical existence and, by dedicating them towards a G‑dly purpose, transforming them into something that expresses and reveals the goodness and perfection of their Creator.
The question is: who best equipped to build this "home for G‑d"?
One approach is that only the pure and righteous tzaddik, only someone who is untainted by the materiality of the world, can sanctify it. For if a person is himself part of this lowly existence, how could he elevate it?
A second approach says: If the tzaddik is completely untouched by anything lowly and negative, how could he sanctify it? Only the baal teshuvah, one who has succumbed to the temptations of the material world and triumphed over them, can now raise it up to holiness.
But what about the sinner? One who has neither remained above, nor fallen and climbed out, but is still stuck in the morass of the material? According to the third view, the command to build the Mishkan came before the sin of the Golden Calf, but the implementation of this command began only after it. This means that these divine instructions remained in force even as the people were worshipping their idol of gold. In other words, a positive act, and act of holiness, is positive and holy regardless of where you are. Every individual, regardless of his current spiritual station, is empowered to make his life a home for G‑d.
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By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
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Thank you for continuing my education Rachel.
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Marc,
You are welcome. I'm glad you liked the article
The Inside-Out House
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/367777/jewish/The-Inside-Out-House.htm
By Lazer Gurkow
Shortly after the Chassidic master Rabbi Mendel of Horodok (1730?-1788) arrived in the Holy Land, it happened that a man climbed the Mount of Olives and sounded a shofar (ram's horn). A rumor quickly spread that the shofar's call heralded the arrival of Moshiach. When word of this reached Rabbi Mendel, he threw the windows wide open and sniffed the air. He then sadly closed the windows and remarked, "I don't smell Moshiach."1
In retelling this story, Chassidim have often asked: why did Rabbi Mendel need to open the window to sniff the air outside to know if Moshiach had arrived? Why couldn't he smell the air in his own room? Rabbi Mendel--they would explain--was sniffing the air to determine if the hallmark of the messianic era, the revealed manifestation of the Divine, was present. He therefore sniffed the outside air, for within his room the Divine was already present!
Order Reversed
This story sheds light on an exchange, recorded in the Talmud, between Moses and Betzalel, Moses' chief architect for the building of the Tabernacle. Moses summoned Betzalel and relayed G-d's instructions for building the Tabernacle (the portable sanctuary built by the Children of Israel in the Sinai Desert). First he laid out the measurements of the sacred vessels that would inhabit the Tabernacle, and then the dimensions of the Tabernacle itself.
Betzalel, the prototype architect, objected to the order. "As a rule," he argued, "a person first builds a residence and then makes its furniture." Moses conceded the point and exclaimed, "Indeed, you stood in G-d's shadow and understood his intention." (The name Betzalel is etymologically composed of two Hebrew words, b'tzel E-l, which mean "in the shadow of G-d.")2
G-d and People
What is the underlying principle of the different perspectives on the Tabernacle expressed by Moses and Betzalel?
The purpose of the tabernacle, and the temple that followed it, was to establish a domain for G-d within the physical space of our world.3
When G-d descended upon Mount Sinai, his presence was overwhelming and the people could not withstand the sheer intensity of the experience. They were physically thrown back from the mountain and G-d dispatched angels to lead them back. Their souls expired from the spiritual intensity and G-d nursed them back to life.4
After the Sinai experience, it was clear that the people could not be exposed to a direct revelation of G-d's presence. G-d instructed them to build a special chamber instead, where his unrestricted presence would be manifest. Only the worthy, such as the high priest, would access this sacred chamber; but its aura would affect those outside.
Gradual Transformation
The environment outside the chamber was yet incapable of supporting a direct revelation of divinity. However, with effort and commitment, revelation could, over time, be made possible. According to our prophets, this will be accomplished in the messianic era when there will be a direct revelation of G-dliness throughout the world.5
The work that makes this possible is diligent study of Torah and the practice of its commandments. Every time Torah is studied, a mini revelation, similar to that of mount Sinai, is effected. Every object utilized in the performance of a mitzvah is enveloped by a surge of divinity, similar to that of the Tabernacle.6
This regular diet of divinity gradually purifies our worldly environment and lifts the universal veil. We are closing in on the utopia of direct revelation that will be manifest in the messianic era.
When G-d first instructed that the tabernacle be constructed, he envisioned this utopia. He anticipated a day when the divinity within the sacred chamber would expand to envelop the entire nation and when the human eye would see G-d and not be overwhelmed by the experience.7
Vision and Reality
Moses, a G-dly man, envisioned this utopia as well. Gazing out upon the world, he ignored its imperfections and saw only its divine potential. His mandate was to expose the "outside" world gradually to the divine presence on the "inside," and he wished to accelerate the process. By building the Holy Ark before the walls that would enclose it, he hoped to offer to the "outside" a glimpse of its own capacity and thereby activate its potential.
Betzalel, the architect, was a realist with the patience of a man accustomed to long-term goals. The environment on the outside was not prepared to host the Divine presence just yet. He recognized that it was not appropriate to expose the Holy Ark to a yet unconditioned "outside." It would require centuries of gentle coaxing, committed coaching and tireless training.
Moses was the visionary; Betzalel the realist. Moses' vision inspired confidence in the project; Betzalel's realism made it possible. We pray for the day that Moses' vision becomes Betzalel's reality.8
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http://www.aish.com/ci/s/85183572.html
People are starving for so many things.
Simon Green* looked like he hadn't seen himself in a very long time. Downright frightening in appearance, his overall condition was appalling.
"Guess how old I am!" he would chortle, waving his cane in the air, "Ninety-seven! Brain's sharp as a pin, but it's not easy getting old." He would rest his cane on the tiled floor and I would nod politely, waiting impatiently for him to enter the elevator and reach the ground floor of our apartment building. His whole demeanor made me uncomfortable. Even 15 seconds was too long to share an enclosed space.
On the rare occasions when he left his house and his door would be ajar for three seconds, the entire building held their breath. But he was so proud; the idea of accepting help from a social service program infuriated him.
"I'm a retired soldier!" he would state indignantly when I gently enquired if he needed any help. "I fought in Korea, Vietnam! Social Services, my foot! All they'll do is send me some chatty busybody who'll blast my ears with her nonsense. Why, when I was in the army…" and I would listen kindly, adding in the requisite 'yes?' and 'wow!', while mentally wishing to end the conversation and proceed with my day.
One freezing day when the first snowflakes began to fall, a neighbor knocked on my door. "Come here," she said, pointing to Simon's door. "Do you hear something?"
We pressed our ears to the dark wood. There was definitely a sound; a low raspy groan that stopped and started at a few second intervals. We called an ambulance that arrived three hours later, complaining of icy roads and inundated emergency services.
They smashed his door with ease but the news was not good. Simon was alive, but unconscious. It was eerie to watch him being led out on a stretcher from his home of 55 years.
"He's Jewish," we told the ambulance men. "Please pass it on to the hospital staff."
"Okay," they replied nonchalantly as they transferred his comatose form into the elevator. "We'll make sure to call the chaplain." There was no one else to call. While foraging for his passport and legal documents, the ambulance team had tried to contact names they found in an old telephone book. There was no one left. Simon died a few hours later, alone, a nurse casually disconnecting the medical apparatus attached to a man that had breathed alone for 97 years.
Back home, my husband entered the spooky property to find the Jewish paperwork needed to show the community burial society. There was not a single working light bulb. Amidst a great heap of a woman's frilly dresses, unwashed linens and what-nots, my husband unearthed a ketubah marriage document dated 1952. His wife’s death certificate, some 20 years later, lay on the same pile of memorabilia; echoes of people's lives that would be incinerated by rowdy builders after the government laid their hands on this ownerless property.
After a two-hour hunt my husband emerged with a bottle of milk. I eyed him in alarm as he casually opened the fridge and neatly deposited it into the milk slot.
"Can you take that out of here?" I finally sputtered.
"Why?" he asked innocently. "It was kept in the fridge. And besides, it's ours. Look." He pointed to where a messy scrawl in black marker clearly showed our address. I gasped. It couldn't be! But it was.
The local Jewish milk company kindly agreed to deliver milk daily to the 100 families who live in our immediate vicinity, a distance from the main Jewish enclave. For weeks, the milk delivery system had gone awry, with missing cartons every day. All the neighbors complained to the milk company to report the error – they apparently weren’t delivering the right quantity. The milk company agreed to label each bottle with its intended address to prove they were sending the right amount. While the labeling hadn’t helped the problem, it now solved the mystery.
"There were three of our bottles in his fridge," my husband remarked.
"Please put it back!" I told my husband. "It makes me feel sick." Simon had taken our milk because he was hungry and didn’t have anything else to eat! I couldn’t bear to look at the only nourishment a sick Jewish man had consumed in weeks. And I, his neighbor, had gaily continued my daily tasks, indifferent to the plight of this elderly recluse.
Of course I had tried, my conscience hastened to reassure me. I had offered to help him more than once. It insulted him; what was I to do? I should have done something. Surely there was a way to help him. But it was just more convenient to accept his independence and look the other way.
When I was growing up, I had a weekly errand to deliver fresh potato kugel and cake to an elderly, childless neighbor each Friday before Shabbat. My mother took on this responsibility so faithfully that whenever she went away she would make sure another member of the family would fill in this duty. My mother had plenty of space left in her heart, mind and schedule to care for those who were dependent on others. I was ashamed to tell my mother that I had allowed my neighbor to die hungry. I am ashamed that my heart, mind and schedule could not expand enough to lavish care on a helpless Jewish man.
Last week my husband brought home a sickly man who suffers from several mental and physical disorders. His house was bitterly cold, he complained, and no one cared. His central heating system was broken and he couldn't deal with the bureaucracy on his own. He had been warming himself by sleeping with six threadbare cardigans.
That night, my husband brought him some electric heaters and started the process of dealing with the gas company. And I turned off our heaters. I knew I didn't deserve heat until this sick man was warmed by our concern.
The closer I look, the more I see that all around me, people are hungry. For food, for love, for a sympathetic ear. People are starving for so many things.
And that’s when I think of Simon Green.
*The name has been changed.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ci/s/85183572.html
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There are no things. There are only words. The Divine Words of Creation.
The words become fragmented, their letters scattered.
Only then are they called things; for scattered, they have no meaning.
Words in exile.
If so, their redemption lies in the story we tell with them. How we reorganize fragments into meaning, things into words, redefining what is real and what is not, and living life accordingly.
Life is in the interpretation of the words G-d gives us.
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Small Commitments; Huge Battles
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1153786/jewish/Small-Commitments-Huge-Battles.htm
Guest Columnists
Small Commitments; Huge Battles
By Levi Avtzon
After closely observing myself and the world around me, I have come to realize that it is much easier to make large lifestyle changes than small ones.
People regularly plunge head-first into huge commitments such as marriage, bringing a child into the world, or volunteering time to the local charity chapter. Some even fly to a third-world country and dedicate their lives to help unfortunate souls.
When it comes to the small sacrifices however, like spending a mere five minutes with that same child or spouse that we so wholeheartedly chose to care and nurture for the rest of our lives, a world war takes place.
The same phenomenon can be found in our relationship with G‑d. Many of us, especially those who have grown up in Torah-observant homes, readily commit to eating only kosher food our entire lives, to abstain from work one day a week, and pray three times every day… forever!
Why does the holy "give-my-life-away" individual find it so difficult to win the tiny battles?But small battles, such as praying with a bit more concentration, infusing our Shabbats not only with don'ts, but more importantly with do's, such as studying extra Torah and beating to a higher tune, seem as unbeatable as Mount Suribachi!
Why? Why does the holy "give-my-life-away" individual find it so difficult to win the tiny battles?
Sacrifices are the theme of this week's Torah reading, Vayikra. The chassidic masters have taught that the in our post-Temple era, we don't sacrifice four-legged animals; rather we sacrifice animals of temptation and natural instincts—the animal within us.
Not to demean the big stuff which are the bedrock of who we are and what we do, but may I venture to say that the real battle, the real sacrifices that are sacrificed daily on our altar, are the small stuff—those that when won don't make us feel like a "prince in shining armor," and unfortunately don't cause too much guilt when avoided or lost.
Like the time we refrain from giving that knee-jerk reaction to our spouse/child/boss/local-nudnik.
The time we pray to G‑d not only with our mouth, but with our heart and mind as well.
The two minutes we spend doing homework with our child.
These are not ego-building victories, but they are the victories that G‑d seeks from us. The battles that make every day a D-Day.
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Life in Words
Print this Page
By Tzvi Freeman
Not with toil and not with struggle, but by the word of His mouth did the One Above create His world.
Not with toil and not with struggle, but with words of wisdom and kindness does He require we sustain it.
If so, what is the effort He demands from us?
That we invest our very essence in those words, as He invested His very essence within this world He made.
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By Tzvi Freeman
Yesterday, you were inspired.
Today, that is all gone.
And so, you are depressed.
But this is the way the system works: Everything begins with inspiration.
Then the inspiration steps aside
—to make room for you to do something with it.
For fire to become deeds.
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The Shrinking of Man
Is it a good thing that we've become so small?
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/73196/jewish/The-Shrinking-of-Man.htm
By Yanki Tauber
Once upon a time, man was very big. The stars were tiny lights suspended in the "sky," which was a blue, rooflike covering a few hundred miles above his head. The earth on which he stood was about a quarter the size it is today. At the very most, he was aware of the existence of several hundred thousand other human beings (the word "million" wasn't even in his vocabulary). He was obviously the most important thing around--stones were just stones and animals were just animals. It was equally obvious that he stood at the pinnacle of creation and all these other things existed solely to serve his needs.
Over the centuries man shrank. His world grew larger; suddenly, there were all these other people, and all these other species, dwarfing his significance. At the same time, it became tinier and tinier, until it was an infinitesimal speck in a universe of mind-numbing vastness.
Did man become humbler? Did we become less infatuated with self? Interestingly enough, the shrinking of man had the very opposite effect. Ideals such as devotion and sacrifice became "human weaknesses." Pride, once a sin, became a mark of psychological health. People started asking whether greed was indeed inferior to virtue, until greed became a virtue, ending the argument. Why is it that the more we came to appreciate our insignificance, the more selfish we became?
Upon closer examination, this is no paradox. The person who sees himself as the kingpin of creation, as something of paramount importance to the grand divine plan, is driven to fill that role and serve that plan; the person who believes that everything exists to serve his existence is certain that his existence serves a purpose beyond mere existence.
On the other hand, if man is insignificant, then he serves no higher purpose. "I am nothing" can be just another way of saying, "There's nothing but me."
This is not to say that the person who sees himself as the center of creation is not susceptible to egoism and self-aggrandizement. Nor is it to say that feelings of inconsequentiality will never be accompanied by altruistic behavior. The point is that feelings of insignificance do not make a person selfless--indeed, the most virulent forms of egomania derive from a lack of self worth. Conversely, a sense of self worth can be the source of either arrogance or humility--depending on how a person regards his worth.
The difference, says Chassidic master Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, is the difference between two alephs. In the opening verse of the book of Chronicles, the name "Adam" is written in the Torah with an oversize aleph; in the opening verse of Leviticus, the word vayikra, which refers to G-d's calling to Moses, is spelled with a miniature aleph.
Adam and Moses were both great men, and both were cognizant of their greatness. Adam was the "handiwork of G-d" fashioned after "the divine image." His sense of himself as the crown of G-d's creation is led to his downfall, when he understood this to mean that nothing is beyond his ken.
Moses was well aware of the fact that, of all G-d's creations, he was the only one to whom G-d spoke "face to face"; he knew that it was to and through him that G-d communicated His wisdom and will to His world. But rather than the inflated aleph of Adam, this knowledge evoked in him the self-effacing aleph of Vayikra. Moses felt diminished by his gifts, humbled by the awesome responsibility of proving equal to them. As the Torah attests, "Moses was the most humble man on the face of the earth"--not despite but because of his greatness.
Ancient man was both blessed and cursed by the prevailing evidence of his greatness. Modern man is both blessed and cursed by the increasing evidence of his smallness. Our challenge is to avail ourselves of both blessings: to couple our knowledge of how small we truly are with our sense of how great we can truly be. To become humbly great, which is the greatest kind of humility there is
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http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/373056/jewish/The-Lady-and-the-Nose.htm
The Lady and the Nose
By Lazer Gurkow
A young man went on a date. After the first meeting he told his friends that he was impressed with the young lady's character, but not with the shape of her nose. After several further dates the young man fell in love. When his friends asked about the nose, he replied, "When I look at her I see a lovely face, not an unattractive nose."
For the first few months the young husband didn't notice the shape of his wife's nose, but soon he began to notice it again. Only this time he surprised himself when he actually came to adore it.
First his love blinded him to the faults in her appearance and he subconsciously learned to ignore them. Then he came to love her so much that he was infatuated with her every attribute. The unappealing became appealing. The unattractive nose was transformed into a source of even greater attraction.
Transformed
The love between husband and wife is a metaphor for the love between ourselves and G-d.
G-d instructed our ancestors to build an altar in the Tabernacle and maintain a continuous fire upon it. As the Torah puts it, "The flame may not be extinguished" (Leviticus 6:6). The mystics rendered this instruction in a slightly different manner. The altar represents our hearts, and the fire--our love for G-d. We must keep our love for G-d aflame, palpable in our hearts at all times; and when we do, "The 'not' will be extinguished."1
The not is our desire to refuse G-d's wishes periodically. This not is stimulated by our attraction to worldly pleasures. Nurturing a continuous love for G-d reduces our attraction to worldly pleasures, thus also extinguishing our not, our desire to say no to G-d.
The first step is to extinguish the not. The second step is to turn the not into a shall by harnessing our desire for worldly pleasures to the service of G-d. When our passion for worldly pleasures becomes a passion for G-d, when the desire to avoid G-d becomes a desire to embrace Him, then we, like the young husband in the story, have turned a formerly unappealing attribute into a conduit for greater love.
A Great Miracle
Our sges relate how on the last Shabbat before our ancestors left Egypt they designated lambs for the upcoming Passover Sacrifice. They explained to their Egyptian neighbors that they were instructed by G-d to offer up a sacrifice because the night of their redemption was at hand. On that night, they told their neighbors, all first-born Egyptian males would die.
Upon hearing this, the Egyptian first-born men pleaded with Pharaoh to liberate the Jews, but Pharaoh refused and an armed clash erupted between the first-born Egyptians and the royal forces. Many died in this battle, but Pharaoh's forces ultimately prevailed. This revolt was titled a "great miracle" and it is commemorated every year on the Shabbat before Passover.2
The astute reader will ask, "Where is the miracle?" The revolt was a completely natural occurrence, and furthermore, it failed. What is there to celebrate?
Opposition Transformed
The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains that the miracle lay not in the outcome of the battle, but in the very fact that it was waged. For many years Egypt enslaved our ancestors and expended its resources on persecuting them. The first-born were the most revered in all Egypt. They were also the principle taskmasters and antagonizers of our people.
For nine long plagues the Egyptians held out. They scoffed at G-d and opposed his demand to liberate our people.
Like the young husband who silenced his ambivalence in order to love his bride, so did G-d silence the voices of Egyptian opposition in order to liberate his people. The tenth and final plague miraculously accomplished this goal. It terminated Egypt's opposition to G-d and to His demand to liberate our people.
The civil war, however, went beyond this step. It not only stopped the opposition, but also turned the oppressors into supporters. For the first time, Egyptians rallied in support of the Jewish cause. This was the first time that the forces arrayed against G-d crossed the line in support of G-d.
This was a miracle. Not a simple miracle, but a "great miracle." Most miracles overrule the natural order. Rarely does a miracle force the natural order to work against its own nature in acceptance of G-d's will. This one did. 3
It was the Egyptians' nature to deny the existence of G-d.4 The civil war erupted because many Egyptians turned against their own nature. They suddenly accepted G-d and his demand to liberate the Jews. This transformation was not superimposed from above. It came from within themselves. The first-born men wanted to live and they came to believe that for them to survive they would need to liberate the Jews. Like the young man who ultimately turned his ambivalence into a conduit for greater love, so did G-d transform his opponents into believers, who advocated obedience and faith.
This explains why we refer to the Shabbat that commemorates this great miracle as Shabbat HaGadol, "The Great Shabbat." Shabbat is about escaping the tangled web of worldly affairs. G-d created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. Similarly we are required to rest from our worldly affairs on the seventh day and concentrate on G-d. In a sense, we silence the voices of the distracting world so that we can devote ourselves to G-d. But on this Shabbat we go one step further. Instead of silencing the world, we celebrate it. Rather than escaping the world on this Shabbat, we highlight its divine origin. As the Egyptian first-born did, we recognize that the weekday world was also created by G-d and rather than view it as a possible distraction, we invite it to worship in Shabbat-style devotion. Among Shabbats of the year, this one is "great" because it integrates the world with G-d, enabling all other Shabbats to influence the weekday world that is ushered in behind them.5
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http://www.aish.com/v/88409052.html
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The Feast
By Tuvia Bolton
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/passover/pesach_cdo/aid/372720/jewish/The-Feast.htm
Editor's note: This is an old Jewish story/joke/metaphor. Versions abound. My favorite is Tuvia Bolton's rendition:
There were once two beggars who used to go around begging together. One was Jewish and the other a gentile. As the night of Passover approached, the Jewish beggar offered to help his non-Jewish friend get invited to a seder (the festive Passover meal accompanied by many commandments and rituals) and get a good meal. "Just put on some Jewish clothes and come with me to the synagogue. Everyone brings home poor guests for the seder. It's easy, you'll see."
The non-Jewish beggar happily agreed. On the first night of Passover they went to the synagogue, and sure enough, both got invited to different homes for the festive ceremony.
Hours later they met in a predetermined place in the local park. But to the amazement of the Jewish beggar, his friend was blazing mad.
"What did you do to me?" He shouted. "You call that a meal? It was torture!! It was hell! I'll pay you back for this--you'll see..."
"What do you mean? What happened?" the Jew asked.
"What happened? As if you didn't know! You Jews are crazy--that's what happened! First we drank a glass of wine. I like wine, but on an empty stomach... My head started spinning a bit but I figured that any second we would begin the meal. The smell of the food from the kitchen was great. Then we ate a bit of parsley. Then they started talking, and talking, and talking. In Hebrew. All the time I'm smiling and nodding my head as if I understand what they're saying--like you told me to--but my head is really swimming and hurting from the wine and I'm dying of hunger.
"The smell of the food from the kitchen is making me insane, but they don't bring it out. For two hours they don't bring anything out! Just talking, and more talking. Then, just what I needed.... another cup of wine! Then we get up, wash hands, sit back down and eat this big wafer called matzah that tastes like newspaper, leaning to the left (don't ask me why...). I started choking, almost threw up. And then finally they give me this lettuce, I took a big bite and wham! My mouth was on fire. My throat! There was horseradish inside! Nothing to eat but horseradish! You guys are crazy....
"Well, I just got up and left. Enough is enough!"
"Ah, I should have told you." replied the Jew. "What a shame! After the bitter herbs is a glorious meal. You suffered so long; you should have just held out for a few more minutes...!"
The editor again: Jewish history is a seder. We've had our appetite teased with small moments of triumph. But mostly we've had "bread of faith" that our palates can't really appreciate. And generous helpings of bitter herbs.
The lesson? Two thoughts come to mind. You need patience to be a Jew. And since we've swallowed the maror already, we might as well hold out one minute longer and get the feast...
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Chassidic Masters
Consumed
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2869/jewish/Consumed.htm
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
A central event in the Parshah of Shemini is the death of Aaron's two elder sons, Nadav and Avihu, who "offered a strange fire before G-d, which He had not commanded" the result being that "A fire went out from G-d and consumed them, and they died before G-d."
There is much in the Torah's account, and in the words of our Sages, that implies that Nadav and Avihu's act of was not a "sin" per se. The Torah records Moses' words to Aaron immediately following the tragedy: "This is what G-d spoke, saying: 'I shall be sanctified by those who are close to Me.'" Rashi, citing the Talmud and Midrash, explains his meaning:
Moses said to Aaron, "When G-d said 'I shall be sanctified by those close to Me,' I thought it referred to me or you; now I see that they are greater then both of us."
Rabbi Chaim ibn Attar writes in his Ohr Hachaim commentary on Torah:
[Theirs was] a death by Divine 'kiss' like that experienced by the perfectly righteous--it is only that the righteous die when the Divine 'kiss' approaches them, while they died by their approaching it.... Although they sensed their own demise, this did not prevent them from drawing near [to G-d] in attachment, delight, delectability, fellowship, love, kiss and sweetness, to the point that their souls ceased from them."
The Chassidic masters explain that life--the retention of a spiritual soul within a physical body--entails a tenuous balance between two powerful forces in the soul: ratzo (striving, running away) and shuv (return, settling). Ratzo is the soul's striving for transcendence, its yearning to tear free of the entanglements of material life and achieve a self-nullifying reunion with its Creator and Source. At the same time, however, every human soul is also possesses shuv--a will for actualization, a commitment to live a physical life and make an imprint upon a physical world.
Thus the verse (Proverbs 20:27) calls the soul of man "a lamp of G-d." The lamp's flame surges upwards, as if to tear free from the wick and lose itself in the great expanses of energy that gird the heavens. But even as it strains heavenward, the flame is also pulling back, tightening its grip on the wick and drinking thirstily of the oil in the lamp that sustains its continued existence as an individual flame. And it is this tension of conflicting energies, this vacillation from being to dissolution and back again, that produces light.
So, too, with the soul of man. The striving to escape physical life is checked by the will to be and achieve, which is in turn checked by the striving for spirituality and transcendence. When a person's involvements with the world threaten to overwhelm him and make him their prisoner, the soul's ratzo resists this by awakening his inherent desire to connect with his source in G-d; and when a person's spirituality threatens to carry him off to the sublime yonder, the soul's shuv kicks in, arousing a desire for physical life and worldly achievement. Together, the conflict and collision of these two drives produce a flame that illuminates its surroundings with a G-dly light: a life that escapes the pull of earth even as it interacts with it and develops it in harmony with the soul's spiritual vision.
So the "Divine fire" that consumed the souls of Nadav and Avihu is the very fire that is intrinsic to every soul: the soul's burning desire to tear free of the physical trappings that distance it from its Source. Nadav and Avihu "came close to G-d" by indulging and fuelling their soul's ratzo the point that it overpowered its shuv, and they broke free of the "cycle" of life. Thus their souls literally severed their connection with their bodies and were utterly consumed in ecstatic reunion with G-d.
This, however, was a "strange fire," a fire that "G-d had not commanded." Man was not created to consume his material being in a fire of spiritual ecstasy. Although He imbued our souls with the drive for self-transcendence, G-d wants us to anchor our fervor to reality. He wants us to "settle" this yearning within our physical self, to absorb it and make it part of our everyday life and experience.
Following the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, G-d specifically commanded that their example should not be repeated:
And G-d spoke to Moses after the death of Aaron's two sons, who came close to G-d and died: "... Speak to Aaron your brother, that he come not at all times into the Holy... So that he die not..." (Leviticus 16:1-2).
The Lubavitcher Rebbe adds: The purpose of this Divine command was not to limit the degree of self-transcendence and closeness to G-d attainable by man. On the contrary: the commandment empowered us to accommodate, as a physically alive human beings, the very fire that consumed the souls of Nadav and Avihu. Hence the "strange fire" of Aaron's two sons was also "strange" in a positive sense: an unprecedented act that introduced opened a new vista in man's service of G-d.
This, says the Rebbe, is the meaning of a remark attributed to the founder of the Chassidic movement, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov: "It is only out of a great kindness on the part of the Almighty that one remains alive after prayer."
Prayer is the endeavor to transcend the enmeshments of material life and come close to one's essence and source in G-d. When a person truly achieves this closeness--when he truly prays--he can experience an attachment to G-d of the magnitude that "released" the souls of Nadav and Avihu. But G-d has enabled us (in the very act of commanding us to do so) to incorporate such sublime experiences into our daily, humanly defined lives.
So life's constant to-and-fro movement is more than a cycle that runs from existence to oblivion and back. It is, rather, an upward spiral: man escapes his finite self, but is driven back to make his transcendent achievements an integral part of his individual being; brought back to earth, his "escapist" nature now reasserts itself, compelling him to reach beyond the horizon of his new, expanded self as well; transcending his new self, his shuv once again draws him back to reality.
Back and forth, upward and on, the flame of man dances, his two most basic drives conspiring to propel him to bridge ever-wider gulfs between transcendence and immanence, between the ideal and the real.
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http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1153496/jewish/The-Wilderness-Inside.htm
The Wilderness Inside
A Passover Lesson
By Sara Debbie Gutfreund
I was always an admirer of the people who left everything behind and set off into the wild in order to live 'authentic' lives. I remember when I first encountered the raw passion of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass and the idealistic yearning of Henry David Thoreau's Walden Pond. I remember when I first read these words of Thoreau: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."
How will I learn to live deliberately? After reading these words long ago, I walked down the brick paths of my university campus and stared at the first green leaves dotting the bare branches around me. And I asked myself: How will I learn to live deliberately? How will I figure out how to live at all?
Recently I read a fascinating book by Jon Krakauer called Into the Wild. It is a true story about a college graduate named Chris McCandless who hitchhiked to Alaska in 1992 and walked alone into the wilderness. He had donated all of his savings to charity, left behind all of his possessions and burnt all the cash in his wallet. In the end, this young man dies of starvation. Some dismiss his journey as foolish and irresponsible. But others believe that Chris was sincere in his beliefs and at least had the courage to try to live according to them.
He writes to one of his friends during his journey: "So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. Don't settle down and sit in one place. Move around, be nomadic, make each day a new horizon," (Krakauer, Into the Wild, p. 58) After I finished the book, I began to think about courage and the wilderness a little more.
Since my earliest years, I have been enthralled with nature. Everything fascinated me from the tiniest flower to the grandest ocean. I guess most children are like that, constantly longing to be outside and part of the hugeness of the universe. But that yearning only became stronger as I grew. I felt like I belonged when I was diving between the ocean's waves. I found peace along rocky, mountain trails drinking in the brilliant blue sky and the vibrant green forest. Skiing down pure white slopes, I glimpsed a spark of potential in every icicle. Scuba diving hundreds of feet beneath the water's surface, I stared at colors and shapes that whispered of unknown worlds, waiting to be discovered.
There are two ways to use the beauty of this worldBut when I think a bit more deeply about my pull to the wild, I realize that there are two ways to use the beauty of this world. One way is to walk into the wild in order to escape one's inner turmoil. Get away from it all. Find some peace and quiet. Block out the pressures of life by distracting oneself with nature's beauty. There is nothing wrong with this approach, but there is another approach that takes far more courage. And that is to walk into the wild in order to go towards one's self.
I have only recently learned how to do this. How to hike into the mountains in order to bring the peace of the earth and the sky into my own home. How to dive beneath the water in order to instill that sense of wonder and adventure in myself and in others.
And during this time of year, I begin thinking about the wilderness of the desert that we crossed through as a Nation. I think about the glaring sun and the vast, unknown spaces. I think about the silent, star lit skies and the miles of endless sand. And I start to understand why it was so hard for the Jews to leave Egypt.
Not only did they have to leave behind the comfort of the familiar, but they were not going to the desert in order to escape. They were escaping the Egyptians, but leaving meant facing an even more complex enemy: the weaknesses inside of them. Even though they were slaves in Egypt, four fifths of the Jewish nation chose to stay! They preferred to stay in a place where they knew what was physically expected of them, and they were free of spiritual obligations. The minority of Jews who crossed the sea and ventured into the desert were not journeying towards a place of freedom from obligations.
We were on our way to Mt. Sinai to find out what our responsibilities would be towards each other and towards the world around us. We were journeying towards the truth inside of ourselves which sometimes can only be found in wide, unfamiliar spaces. And most importantly, we were not alone. Our Creator was guiding us and helping us temporarily shed the limits of our physical selves.
We were journeying towards the truth inside of ourselvesWe lived in homes that could be taken down and re-built in days. We ate food that dripped down from the sky. We didn't need the leaven-saturated existence of stable, material structures. We lived by the simplicity of what matzah is. No time to stand around and let the dough rise. No time to stay in one place when there are so many miles to cover before it's too late. We lived by the clouds, by the pillar of fire, by the Divine words filling the desert silence.
And every year at this time, we all enter the wilderness of the desert once again. We ask ourselves if we can temporarily leave behind the familiar expectations and constructs in our lives. Can we make room in our homes and inside of ourselves for a new journey to begin? And can we use the beauty and excitement of our journey to learn who we are and what our responsibilities are?
We all leave Egypt every year at this time. We are each given the opportunity to let go of our limited perspectives of life and venture into the wilderness inside of us. But the question is: What do we do when we emerge from the desert? How do we use the gift of our journey through the desert? Do we bring the miraculous into our everyday consciousness or do we relegate it to the pages of the Passover Hagaddah? And that is where real courage is found. Not in escaping into the wilderness, but in using the wilderness to reach the truth within ourselves.
By Sara Debbie Gutfreund More articles... |
Sara Debbie Gutfreund lives in Telzstone, Israel with her husband and children. She holds a BA in English from the University of Pennsylvania and a Masters in Family Therapy from the University of North Texas. She is a freelance writer and is currently working on her first novel.
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Split Your Sea
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/passover/pesach_cdo/aid/488371/jewish/Split-Your-Sea.htm
By Yosef Y. Jacobson
"To match couples together is as difficult as the splitting of the sea," states the Talmud.1
What is the meaning behind these words? True, the process of finding and maintaining a life partner may be challenging and difficult, nothing short of a miracle. But why, of all miracles described in the Bible, does the Talmud choose specifically the miracle of the splitting of the sea to capture the process of marriage?
A Map of the Subconscious
What is the difference between the land and the sea? Both are vibrant and action-filled enviroments populated by a myriad of creatures and a great variety of minerals and vegetation. Yet the universe of dry land is exposed and out in the open for all to see and appreciate, while the world of the sea is hidden beneath a blanket of water.
In Jewish mysticism (Kabbalah and Chassidic spirituality), these two physical planes reflect the conscious and unconscious dimensions of the human psyche.2 Both parts of the self are extremely vibrant and dynamic. The difference between them is that while our conscious self is displayed and exhibited for ourselves and others to feel and experience, our subconscious self remains hidden, not only from other people but even from ourselves. Most of us know very little of what is going on in the sub-cellars of our psyche.
If you were given a glimpse into your own "sea" and discovered the universe of personality hidden beneath your conscious brain, what do you think you would find? Shame, fear, guilt, pain, insecurity, an urge to destroy, to survive, to dominate, a cry for love? Would you discover Freud's Libido, Jung's collective unconscious, Adler's search for power and control, Frankl's quest for meaning?
Where Freud diagnosed the libido as a craving for a parent, and Jung saw it as a longing etched in our collective unconscious, the Kabbalah understood it as a quest for union with G-d In Kabbalah, at the core of the human condition is a yearning for oneness. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), founder of the Chabad school of Kabbalah, was one of the greatest soul-experts in the history of Judaism, has written on the subject more then any other Jewish sage. In 1796, a hundred years before Freud, he published a book, the Tanya, in which he presented his "map of the subconscious," based on the Talmudic and Kabbalistic tradition. Rabbi Schnuer Zalman offers a facinating parable for the inner life of the soul: quoteing the biblical verse, "The soul of man is a divine flame" (Proverbs 20:27), he explains that just as the flame is always swaying, dancing, licking the air, seeking to tear free of the wick and rise heavenward, so too the soul in man is always aspiring to leave its shell and experience oneness with the divine.
The Secret of Intimacy
This quest for a relationship with the divine is manifested in our search for relationships with our twin flame here below. Where Freud diagnosed the libido as a craving for union with a parent, and Jung saw it as a longing for the opposite gender etched in our collective unconscious, the Kabbalah understood it as a quest for union with G-d. Our desire for intimacy is one of the profoundest expressions of our existential craving for Truth, for Oneness, for G-d.
As the Book of Genesis states, "G-d created Man in His image, in the image of G-d He created him; male and female He created them." Clearly, it was in the union and oneness of the genders that the first Adam, the first human being, reflected the image of G-d.
This view of relationships and intimacy is expressed in the very Hebrew names for man and woman given by Adam in Genesis. The Hebrew words for man and woman -- Ish and Isah -- both contain the Hebrew word for fire, Eish. They also each contain one more letter--a yud and a hei respectively--which when combined makes up G-d's name. The significance of this is profound. Man without woman, and woman without man, lack the fullness of G-d's name. When they unite, the two-half images of the divine within them also unite. The fire and passion drawing them to each other is their yearning to recreate the full name of G-d between them.
At a Jewish wedding ceremony, this blessing is recited: Blessed are You, G-d, King of the Universe, Who created the human being in His image... Why is this blessing said at a wedding ceremony? Wouldn't it be more appropriate to say such a blessing when a child is born? The answer is that it is through the uniting of man and woman that the image of G-d is most closely reflected.
Our desire for intimacy is one of the profoundest expressions of our existential craving for TruthThe ramifications of this idea are important. It means that marriage is not a suspension of one's natural individual self for the sake of uniting with a stranger. Rather, through marriage man and woman return to their true natural state, a single being reflecting G-d, each in his and her own unique way. Marriage allows wife and husband to discover their full and complete self, a self made up of masculine and feminine energy.
Know Thyself
We may travel through life unaware of this dimension of self, seeking oneness with the divine. Throughout our years on this planet we may behave as though this element of self does not exist. Though its symptoms reverberate through our consciousness -- most often in the feelings of emptiness and lack of contentment when our spiritual self is un-satiated -- we are prone to dismiss it or deny it. After all, at least in the short term, it is far easier to accept that we are nothing more than intelligent beasts craving self-gratification than spiritual souls craving for G-d.
When we view the surface self, selfishness is easier than selflessness; isolation more natural than relationship; solitariness more innate than love and commitment. Only when we "split our sea," when we discover the depth of our souls, the subtle vibrations of our subconscious, do we discover that oneness satisfies our deepest core; that love is the most natural expression of our most profound selves.
"To match couples together is as difficult as the splitting of the sea," the Talmud states. The challenge in creating and maintaining a meaningful and powerful relationship is the need to split our own seas each day, to learn how in the depth of our spirits we yearn to love and share our lives with another human being and with our creator.3
FOOTNOTES
1. Talmud, Sotah 2a. The Talmud is discussing second marriages, however, in many Jewish works, this quote is applied to all marriage (see for example Akeidas Yitzchak Parshas Vayeishev).
2. This notion of viewing the macrocosm as a metaphor for the microcosm is central to all Jewish writings. "Man is a miniature universe," our sages have declared (Midrash Tanchumah Pekudei 3), a microcosm of the entire created existence. The human being thus includes the elements of the land as well as the elements of the sea -- man has both a terrestrial and an aquatic aspect to his life. In Kabbalah terminology, the sea is defined as alma d'eiskasya, the "hidden world," while land is described as alma d'eitgalya, the "revealed world" (Torah Or Parshas Beshalach).
3. This essay is based on a discourse by the second Chabad-Lubavitch Rebbe, Rabbi DovBer (1773-1827), known as the Miteler Rebbe. (Published in Maamarei Admur Haemtzaei, Kuntrasim, Derushei Chasunah.)
By Yosef Y. Jacobson More articles... |
Rabbi Yosef Y Jacobson is editor of Algemeiner.com, a website of Jewish news and commentary in English and Yiddish. Rabbi Jacobson is also a popular and widely-sought speaker on Chassidic teaching and the author of the tape series "A Tale of Two Souls."
Originally posted on Algemeiner.com
Image: Detail from a painting by Sarah Kranz. Ms. Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children's books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London
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Angels in the Dark
by Rabbi Shmuel Burstein
The amazing story of survival in the sewers of Lvov.
It was the end of May, 1943 and Jewish Lvov was burning. Once home to Poland's third largest Jewish community, Lvov's 100,000 Jews numbered less than 8,000. "They are killing the Jewish police! This is the end!" came a cry from the ghetto.
Huge buildings, entire blocks were on fire. Jews ran in all directions. Hundreds made a dash for the sewers, hoping to avoid detection by vicious German dogs and their inhuman masters. Jewish children were rounded up and tossed into awaiting trucks like sacks of raw potatoes. Watching helplessly at the fate of their children, some women threw themselves down from several stories high. Little Krystyna Chiger beheld all of this in fear and terror.
For months, a small group of Jews were preparing for this moment. Yaakov Berestycki understood the fate of Lvov's already martyred Jews would soon be his own. Daily, he and a few others clawed away at a concrete floor with spoons and forks and small tools from the apartment of a Jew named Weiss to gain entry into the sewers.
Ignacy Chiger was their leader. Weeks before the ghetto's destruction they broke through and lowered themselves into the sewers of Lvov. As they searched for a place that might be their 'home,' they were discovered by three Polish sewer workers.
The three Poles could have easily handed them over to the Nazis for a reward of badly needed food.
The three Poles could have easily handed them over to the Nazis for a reward of badly needed food. With no options before them, Weiss and Chiger explained what they had done. A cherubic-looking Pole named Leopold Socha was amused. He followed the diggers and raised himself up through the floor of the ghetto apartment. He beheld a defiant Jewish mother, Paulina Chiger, clutching two children closely to her chest. Deeply moved by the frightened youngsters, he broke out in a magnificent smile.
Leopold Socha was not merely any sewer worker; he was Chief Supervisor of all of Lvov's sewers. He knew the best places to hide and how to lead prowling German inspectors in a direction away from clandestine Jews.
For Krystyna, her brother Pavel and the rest, the escape into the sewers was a nightmare. Accompanied by screams and shrieking in a stone and lime chamber that trapped all sound, the Jews entered a world of cold darkness. The deafening sound of the river waters terrified Krystyna. Her subterranean world was inhabited by rats that made no secret of their presence, and she could not see where she was going.
Lvov's labyrinth underground system was actually a complicated work of art, designed by early 20th century Italian engineers. As it wove its way beneath the city's major landmarks and streets, the 20-foot wide Peltew River roared, charging mightily. It snatched all those who got too close, including Krystyna's beloved Uncle Kuba.
Another Jew who descended that terrible day in May 1943 was a resourceful, spirited Jew named Mundek Margolies. His name was on several deportation lists. Each time he somehow managed to escape. While in the ghetto he grew fond of Klara Keller. Mundek convinced her to take a chance with life by coming with him into the sewers, leaving her sister, Mania, behind.
Socha promised Chiger that he would protect 20 Jews -- for a price.
Socha promised Chiger that he would protect 20 Jews -- for a price. The Chigers provided the lion's share of the money, having stashed some cash and valuables away before the war. Socha brought whatever food he could each day, as well as news from a place called Earth. He gave them pages of newspapers and took their clothes home to clean each week. On Passover he provided potatoes.
Over time the 20 hidden Jews shrank to ten. Some died. After living under inhuman conditions for several months, some left out of sheer madness. A newborn baby was smothered by its mother to save the lives of the others who trembled at the sound of his pitiful cries.
This small group of Jews struggled to maintain some semblance of Jewish life in their underground hiding place. Yaakov Berestycki, a chassid, found a relatively clean place to put on tefillin each morning.
Paulina Chiger asked Socha if he could bring her some candles. She wished to bring light of Shabbat into the sewers. Socha loved those who loved God as much as he did and he was excited by the challenge. Every Friday, Socha was paid by Ignacy and Paulina later lit her candles.
Socha spoke to the children. He played with them and tried to raise the spirits of all 'his' Jews. He took Krystyna to a place where she could see light drifting into the sewers as she sat upon his shoulders.
Mundek Margolies made daring forays into the destroyed ghetto to bring anything left behind that would make the lives of his friends more bearable. He had resolved to marry Klara after the war. They eventually learned that Klara's sister, Mania, was sent to Janowska concentration camp. Klara blamed herself for abandoning her.
In the hellish world of concentration camps Janowska was particularly horrific. People were left overnight to see how quickly they could freeze to death in icing vats of water. Each morning nooses were prepared in the large square. Jews were "invited" to "volunteer" to be hanged. Tragically, there was no shortage of daily volunteers. Despite all this, Mundek determined to sneak himself into Janowska to rescue Mania and other Jews he could convince to follow him into the sewers.
It was insane. It was impossible. But angels can fly.
It was insane. It was impossible. But angels can fly. Mundek changed identities with a Jewish slave he spied out from a work detail on one of his courageous flights outside the sewer. He smuggled himself into Janowska with the work detail at evening.
A little over a day later he located Mania behind a fence. Mania told him she simply could not live in a sewer and wrote a note to Klara, begging that she not blame herself. She blessed Klara with life.
Mundek met other Jews, urging them to leave. They thanked him and blessed him. But they were weak and terrified. The angel returned to the sewers, alone.
After several months the Chigers' money ran out. They met with Socha and he told them such an enormous risk required compensation; that Wrobleski and Kowalow, his two Polish friends, could not be expected to assist him otherwise. They wished each other goodbye and good luck.
The following day a familiar shuffling of footsteps was heard. It was Socha! He became so committed to preserving their lives he saw no alternative but to use his own money. But he was concerned that his buddies, upon learning that the money was his, would back out of the rescue. So he asked Chiger to pretend he had found extra money and that is was really Jewish money being paid to Wrobleski and Kowalow.
One day Socha revealed to the Jews his motive for rescue. He had been a convicted felon, spent considerable time in jail before the war. This mission was his way to show that he was a changed man and return to God.
Protective wings sheltered the hidden Jews. They survived discovery by a Pole who opened up a manhole cover and shouted: "It's true! There are Jews in the sewers!" (Socha moved them to a safer location.) They survived the planting of mines only days before the Germans fled Lvov, as the Russian army neared. Socha and Kowalow shouted with all the authority men in overalls could muster before well-dressed German soldiers. They warned that gas pipes lay directly below the ground they were digging for the mines. The Germans would blow up the whole street, themselves included.
It was a lie. And it saved the subterranean Jews.
They survived the melting snows and heavy spring rains in the winter of 1944. The water filled their small basin and rose above their necks. Krystyna screamed to Yaakov, the chassid, "Pray, Yaakov! Pray to God to save us!" Yaakov prayed and the water receded. Sixty years later she said, "It was a miracle."
After 14 months underground, Socha lifted the manhole cover, telling the Jews they were free.
The long awaited day of liberation came. In July 1944, after 14 months underground, Socha lifted the manhole cover, telling the Jews they were free! Like creatures from another planet, hunched over from a hideout with low ceilings, ten ragged, thin and filthy survivors found themselves surrounded by Poles who gaped in wonder: "Jews really did live in the sewers!" After months of darkness, their eyes were blinded by the sunshine. Everything seemed red, "bathed in the color of blood." Socha brought them indoors, to dark rooms where their eyes could adjust to light.
Months after liberation, Socha and his daughter were riding their bicycles in the street. A truck came careening in the direction of Socha's little girl. He steered quickly to knock her out of the way. Once again he saved a life -- his daughter's -- but Socha was killed, his blood dripping into the sewer. 'His' Jews, dispersed around Poland and Europe, returned to pay their last respects.
Krystyna still cannot cry. In the sewer she learned to suffer quietly. Her body swallows her tears. She dreads the sound of rushing water and moments of darkness. But she is a healer -- a medical professional with an office in New York and has raised a Jewish family. Her brother Pavel served in the IDF and also raised a new generation. Ignacy and Paulina lived out their lives in Israel where Paulina continued bringing the light of Shabbat into her home.
Yaakov moved to Paris where he, too, raised a Jewish family and lived a full life. All those in the sewer, but for Krystyna, have since passed to a world with angels on high.
Mundek and Klara married shortly after the war. After moving to London from Poland, they established together a flourishing kosher catering business, still run by the family. He danced in the very center at every celebration he catered, grabbing his clients by the hand and beaming a broad smile, for his Jewish world was revived. Every Jewish simcha was his simcha. The world of darkness he once knew was now filled with light.
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Parshah Recovery
Hidden Treasures
By Rabbi Ben A.
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/877308/jewish/Hidden-Treasures.htm
"When you come into the land of Canaan which I give you for a possession and I will put a case of tzaraat affliction in a house..."—Leviticus 14:34.
In the Book of Leviticus, the Torah speaks of tzaraat, a malady that occurred in Biblical times. The affliction not only appeared on people but also on inanimate objects including the walls of one's house. In the event that one's house became infected, the entire affected area had to be removed, entailing great expense to the homeowner.
This strange disease was not a physical malady but rather a physical manifestation of a spiritual illness. When a person was spiritually sick, G‑d would alert him to his condition by afflicting first his possessions and then his body so that he would be roused to proper penitence and mend his ways.
Many times, however, a person who had done nothing wrong would also find the walls of his home afflicted. Why did innocent people suffer as well?
What seemed to have been a stroke of bad luck was actually a great blessingThe answer is that many Israelites lived in houses built by the Canaanites who had previously occupied the land. Many of the Canaanites hid their wealth inside the walls of their homes, thus, when an Israelite's house would become afflicted, he would be forced to remove the wall and find the hidden treasure. So, what seemed to have been a stroke of bad luck or an unwarranted punishment from Above was actually a great blessing.
When we look back at all of the trouble we have had in our lives, it is not that hard to come to terms with the problems we had before coming to recovery. We realize that G‑d sent us visible signs to force us to realize how sick we really were. But what about when life slaps us in the face even in sobriety, even when we're doing the right things? When this happens, we cry foul. "What have I done now to deserve such problems?"
What we come to realize is that the hidden treasures of life are sometimes only discovered through hardship and loss. Those difficulties that we are so quick to judge as "G‑d giving us a hard time" may actually be His way of sending us gifts beyond our dreams. We may curse our troubles, never even knowing of the treasure intended for us that will more than offset the immediate loss. Of course, if we only knew what was behind the wall, then we would be happy to knock it down. But we don't know. That's what faith is for—to feel peaceful, secure, grateful and happy even when we don't know what's happening. When we fear hardship and change, we not only show a lack of faith but unknowingly forgo great blessings that lie waiting for us just on the other side of our troubles.
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Do It Now
by Greg Yaris
Sometimes there are no second chances.
It was June. I had been working very hard for a number of months, and had just successfully concluded a very large transaction. Physically and emotionally, I needed a break.
An email was pushed to me -- a trip to Israel, with speakers I had never heard, and to places I had never been. It was perfect, and my wife graciously agreed. It was fairly last minute and the only flight I could get was Los Angeles -- New York -- London -- Israel. Grueling, but worth it.
The Sunday before my trip, I was barbequing in the backyard and called my father on the cell phone. My parents, who live in Dallas, were going to be in Connecticut for a bar mitzvah the same weekend that I was flying through JFK, so I thought it would be nice to try and meet.
I was telling my father about the trip, and he was interested in every detail. "Wow, that just sounds wonderful. I wish I could go to Israel again."
And in one of those rare moments of clarity, I blurted out, before I could really think of all the reasons why what I was about to say was wrong, "Why don't you come with me?"
He was stunned (I was stunned).
"You are going to be in New York anyway. Just bring two extra shirts and a passport."
My father played his hole card. "The money -- it's just too expensive."
It must have been because I was sitting out in the sun, or maybe it was the half a beer I had drunk, but the next thing out of my mouth was, "It's on me. I have a single room and you can stay with me."
Taken aback, my father said, "Let me speak with your mother. I'll get back to you." Five minutes later, the phone rang. "I'm in."
I gulped. What had been a respite from work had suddenly become a father/son trip. I got online, and ten minutes and one large credit card bill later, he had a seat next to me on the plane and a spot on my trip.
Before I knew it, I was on the way to New York to meet my father. I had mixed emotions -- excitement over the trip, but also trepidation about my traveling companion.
My father and I were close, but we hadn't lived in the same town for 30 years. Eight days together, without any other family... I couldn't remember ever spending that much time alone with my father.
TRYING TO KEEP UP
I was waiting by the gate, reading the newspaper, and I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, saw his smiling face, and all trepidation disappeared. With many decisions we make, we can see pros and cons -- with this decision, there were only pros, no cons.
Two flights and a long cab ride later, we were in Jerusalem. I needed to make phone calls home and to the office. My father (and I'm supposed to be the religious one in the family), wanted to go to the Kotel to take pictures. I needed to take a nap; he needed to see the town. Who's the elder one in this relationship?
And it was like that all week. He couldn't get enough. It was like he wanted to take big handfuls of Israel home with him. He couldn't get enough of who we were meeting and what we were seeing. He'd spend each dinner with another table of people from our group. He was the most popular person there.
It's hard to explain how special our time was together. Seeing my father passionate about something so central to who I am and doing it together, was one of the highlights of my life.
Friday night, we got dressed up and went to the Kotel. And for the first time in my life, I danced to Lecha Dodi with my father and a hundred yeshiva boys. And I thought, God willing, maybe my children will take me here someday.
In what really felt like the blink of an eye, we were on a plane back home. Israel -- London -- New York. At JFK, we parted, him to Dallas, me back to Los Angeles. But when we hugged, we knew that we had done something special together. Something unplanned, unprepared for, and in the end, spectacular.
My father mentioned the trip many times to me over the summer. He sent me copies of his pictures. There we were, in Tel Aviv, overlooking the Mediterranean, smiling together. Memories that will last a lifetime.
In September, my father contracted a staph infection. The doctors didn't know why, and it took weeks of penicillin to cure. He came home older, but determined to recover.
Two weeks after he got home, he was given permission to start exercising. His first morning back on the treadmill, he died, probably of a heart attack.
I miss him badly. I miss him three times a day when I say Kaddish. I miss him in the odd minutes, when I should be working, or concentrating on my driving. I'm comforted that he lived a long, fulfilled life, and that although he had much left that he wanted to accomplish, he had accomplished much.
I think back to what might not have been if I hadn't blurted out, "Why not come with me?" If I had stopped to think how much this trip was going to cost. If I had spent even a moment thinking, "Do I really want to burden myself with my father?" One of the greatest opportunities of my life would have been lost.
Sometimes it's better not to think. Sometimes you just have to say, "Do it now." Because if you don't, you may never get the chance.
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Weekly Sermonette
Life is a Picture Postcard...
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/512161/jewish/Life-is-a-Picture-Postcard.htm
By Yossy Goldman
I was planning to procrastinate, but I never got around to it.
Whether you consider the above quotation wise, witty or silly, it can actually be quite a sobering thought. How many of us can truly say we don't put off important things we know we should have done yesterday? Don't you just go green with envy when you meet those super-efficient amazons who are so punctual, organized and always put together? Don't they infuriate you…with yourself?
From my own experience I now know that if something is important I better attend to it immediately, otherwise I simply don't trust myself to "get around to it." I know I could benefit from a Time Management course. In fact, I once signed up for one but I never made it there. No time. There are still so many new ideas, projects and plans I'd like to get around to. I know that with better personal discipline they might actually materialize.
You might be surprised to learn that effective time management is not only a professional value but also a religious imperative. This week's Parshah details the Jewish Festivals, in the context of which we read about the Counting of the Omer during the 49 days between Passover and Shavuot. Just as the Israelites counted the days after the Exodus in eager anticipation to receive the Torah, so do we count these 49 days annually.
But why count time? Time marches on inexorably, whether we take note of it or not. What value is there in counting the days? The answer is that we count these 49 days to make us conscious of the preciousness of every single day. To make us more sensitive to the value of a day, an hour, a moment. As Rabbi Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch once said, "A summer's day and a winter's night is a year."
I heard a classic analogy on this theme in the name of the saintly Chofetz Chaim, Rabbi Israel Meir Kagan (1838-1933). Life is like a picture postcard, he said. Ever had the experience of being on vacation and sending a picture postcard home or to a friend? We start writing with a large scrawl and then think of new things to say and before we know it we're at the end of the card and there's no more room. So what do we do? We start writing smaller and then when we're out of space we start winding our words around the edges of the card to get it all in. Before we know it, we're turning the card upside down to squeeze in the last few vital words in our message.
Sound familiar? Isn't life like that? We start off young and reckless without a worry in the world and as we get older we realize that life is short. So we start cramming and trying to squeeze in all those important things we never got around to. Sometimes our attempts are quite desperate, even pathetic, as we seek to put some meaning into our lives before it's too late. (Maybe that's what a mid-life crisis is all about.)
So the Torah tells us to count our days – because they are, in fact, numbered. We each have an allotted number of days and years in which to fulfill the purpose for which we were created. Hopefully, by counting time we will appreciate it better. So, whatever it is that is important for each of us to get done, please G‑d, we will all get around to it.
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Hey, Who’s Counting?
By Baruch Epstein
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1183831/jewish/Hey-Whos-Counting.htm
We leave Egypt and are immediately placed on the 49-day plan: we have seven weeks to rid ourselves of the filth of Egypt and arrive at the heights of Sinai—literally and spiritually.
Chassidic philosophy explains that these seven weeks are a metaphor for the personal journey we each make as we build our own relationship with G‑d. G‑d does not leave us to find our own way. He provides a systematic process – the process of counting the Omer – and we are off and running, shedding 200 years of Egyptian decadence on the way to Sinai purity.
Are you a Republican or a Democrat? Paper or plastic?There seems to be a contradiction, though. There is nothing more personal than an individual's relationship with G‑d; that is the message of Divine Providence: G‑d customizes your world for you. On the other hand, there is nothing more absolute than numbers; two is two—no "kinda, sorta, two-ish" about it.
So how can inflexible digits chart the person-to-G‑d relationship? And how can any method be standardized for all people?
Let's say, for example, that today is the 9th day of the Omer. One week and two days. Today we all are nine days along on the road to spiritual refinement. All of us?! What if the first week's focus (chesed, loving-kindness) was easier for me and I'm at step 14, while others' strength won't be reached until week five? Can't they be allotted more time now and do some makeup work in a month?
And then there is this: all this counting begins on Passover, named for the time when G‑d "skipped over," when G‑d shows us that we are not restricted by natural processes, and we move by leaps and bounds, going out of order. So how does this work: G‑d shows us that we are not restricted by process, that we can "skip to the head of the line"—and then He compels us to follow a firm "color by number" pattern?
Here's what I've come up with. This is the whole point of creation: merging apparent opposites and illustrating the singularity of G‑d in the apparent diversity of all the stuff He made. When we can bring the spiritual and undefined – personal growth – into the mundane – numbers – we have demonstrated the true infinity of G‑d. He is not limited to the heavens nor bogged down by Earth, and neither are we.
Society bombards us with its mutually exclusive choices: do you send your child to a school that encourages dog-eat-dog competition for academic success or one that focuses on win-win character development? Are you a Republican or a Democrat? Paper or plastic? Choosing any option means another is rejected.
We have been transformed from stiff slaves of routine into graceful spiritual long jumpersBut having experienced Passover, the skipping out of Egypt – ready or not, deserving or not – we have been transformed from stiff slaves of routine into graceful spiritual long jumpers, and we can channel that boundless energy right into the rigors of the ordinary. We all can do it – we all must do it – and as Torah tells us, despite some bumps and bruises – we all did it. We got to Sinai, and we accepted the Torah, demonstrating that the seemingly irreconcilable forces of boundless spirituality and bounded nature both emanate from the same Single G‑d.
We don't have to compromise, forego quality for quantity. The counting of the Omer compels us from the perch of spiritual indulgence into the grind of the measurable, while uplifting the despair of "the same old same old" into inspiring sanctity – all at G‑d's pace.
Like the child on the swing set we need a push to get started (we're given that on Passover) and then it's up to us to keep pumping to lift us beyond the drab, without leaving the everyday behind.
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By Tzvi Freeman
Just as we learn to walk by falling down, so we learn to be awake by groping in the dark.
When there is no support, no brightness to keep us on our toes, when we are all on our own, that is when we learn to be awake.
Truly awake—not because it is day, but because we are awake.
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Take Me To Your Leader
- Laibl Wolf, Dean, Spiritgrow - The Josef Kryss Wholistic Centre, Australia
The whining mantra of current leadership literature is: ‘Where are our leaders?’ Yet, in a world democratized by the social networks of blogs, facebook, and twitter, leadership is up for grabs. The President of USA grabbed the opportunity during his election campaign and came out trumps. (Not sure if that is a good advertisement for the efficacy of these new networks or not!).
There are people in positions of power. They operate in the corridors of the Kremlin, White House, Downing St, or China’s Great Hall of the People. But power and leadership are not synonymous. One is brute force and the other is wisdom. There are also people in pivotal positions. They bear titles like President, Prime Minister, CEO, and Coach. But position and leadership can also be poles apart. One is a rung on a ladder and the other ensures that the ladder is leaning against the correct wall!
Consider those whom we would all agree to have been great leaders: Moses, Gandhi, Einstein. The common denominators? Humility and belief. Moses believed in G-d. Ghandi believed in active pacifism. Einstein believed in cosmic design. But each was humble. Moses is described in the Bible as being the “most humble of all people”. Gandhi is aid to have drunk urine regularly to practice humility. Einstein was wont to say: “I feel like a child playing with sand on the edge of a vast sea.”
Yet each was a strong, charismatic, and assertive personality. In other words, leadership and humility are not only compatible, but one is a prerequisite to the other.
What is the difference between assertiveness and domination? The dominating individual deals (inadequately) with his/her insecurity by controlling others. The assertive individual bequeaths his/her gifts on the other, despite the other. In both instances the voice may be strong, the posture assured, the power of personality overt. But there is a world of difference between the two: selfishness and selflessness.
There is many a wannabe leader at social club level, at national level and beyond. But their influence extends only as far as their voice carries. The true leader’s influence extends into history and inspires future generations. Will Obama, Putin, Sarkozy, and Rudd inspire your children?
My sense is that the current shortage of true leadership is your fault – yes you! You possess leadership qualities but deny us, all of us, your giftedness. I am guessing that the reason is because you don’t realize your capacity or are simply irresponsible or a coward. Our teaching is that no one soul is reincarnated into this world without it possessing a unique quality unlike that of any other human. So I know you are special. I know you have the potential to contribute uniquely to society and creation. I know you are a gift to the world – but only if you take yourself interested enough to share the gift with others.
The world, the newspaper headlines, the state of the economy and society, are all reflections of you and me. Each one of us radiates waves of our psyche, character, and commitment to the edges of world consciousness. But if you hold back, deny us, hide, profess incapacity, then the world will continue to be rudderless (no pun intended) and leaderless.
In other words, we deserve the ‘leaders’ we get. So create change by exercising your personal leadership both within (inner wisdom) and without (social wisdom).
Begin with your own family.
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By Tzvi Freeman
Not only is there is no conflict between your work and your time for study, meditation and prayer—on the contrary, they compliment one another:
When you start your day by connecting it to Torah, the day shines and all its parts work in synchronicity. And when you work honestly, carrying the morning’s inspiration in your heart, your work itself rolls out the Torah before your open eyes.
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What Is the Torah?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/520332/jewish/What-Is-the-Torah.htm
By Hayim Donin
Courtesy Farbrengen Magazine
The Jewish faith does not stop with "And G-d created the heavens and the earth." It starts there. It continues to acknowledge that "I am the L-rd your G-d who took you out of the land of Egypt." He is a living G-d, who continues to play a role in the universe He created. He is a sovereign G-d, who is concerned about the behavior of the people He created, and to that end has found ways to make His will known to mankind.
Central to the belief in a living G-d is the Jewish belief that He communicated His will and His commandments to the creature whom He endowed with free will, but whom He called to be His obedient servant. The very essence of Judaism rests upon the acceptance of a spiritual-historical event in which our ancestors participated as a group, as well as upon acceptance of subsequent spiritual revelations to the Prophets of Israel. The extraordinary historical event I refer to is the promulgation of the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. G-d's will was also made manifest in the Written Torah, written down by Moses under Divine prophecy during the forty-year period after the exodus.
Side by side with the Five Books of Moses (Pentateuch), we believe that G-d's will was also made manifest in the Oral Tradition or Oral Torah which also had its source at Sinai, revealed to Moses and then orally taught by him to the religious heads of Israel. The Written Torah itself alludes to these oral instructions. This Oral Torah - which clarifies and provides the details for many of the commandments contained in the Written Torah - was transmitted from generation to generation until finally recorded in the second century to become the cornerstone upon which the Talmud was built.
Torah is a record of G-d reaching out to man, and not vice versa. No interpretation of Judaism is Jewishly valid if it does not posit G-d as the source of Torah.
What is "the Torah"?
Technically it refers to the Five Books of Moses. This is the Written Torah (Torah SheBiktav). The scroll upon which it is written and which is kept in the Holy Ark of the synagogue is called a Scroll of the Torah (Sefer Torah). In a sense, this is the constitution of the Jewish people. By Torah is also meant the Oral Torah (Torah She-B'al Peh) "which Moses received at Sinai, and transmitted to Joshua, and Joshua to the Elders, and the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets to the Men of the Great Assembly..." (Ethics of the Fathers 1:1).
The Oral Torah included the finer points of the commandments, the details of the general principles contained in the Scriptures and the ways by which the commandments were to be applied. For example, the Torah forbids "work" on the Sabbath. What constitutes "work"? How shall "work" be defined for purposes of the Sabbath? Except for several references to such tasks as gathering wood, kindling fire, cooking and baking, the Written Torah does not say. The Oral Torah does.
The Written Torah commands that animals needed for food be killed "as I have commanded you" (Deuteronomy 12:21). How shall this slaughtering take place? What regulations govern such slaughtering? The Written Torah does not say. The Oral Torah does.
The Written Torah commands us to "bind them as a sign upon your hands and as frontlets between your eyes." This reference to tefillin leaves us in the dark as to how they were to be made up, what they were to consist of, how they were to be donned. The Written Torah does not say. The Oral Torah does.
The Written Torah prescribes capital punishment for various crimes. What legal rules and procedures had to be followed before such a verdict could be handed down? What were the limitations? The Written Torah does not say. The Oral Torah does.
Ultimately, this Oral Torah was reduced to writing. During the second century C.E., it was incorporated into the Mishnah, which in turn became the cornerstone for the Gemara which consists of the monumental records and minutes of the case discussions and legal debates conducted by the Sages. Mishnah and Gemara together make up the Talmud.
The Torah, whether Written or Oral, is the teaching that directs man how to live. Although it speaks primarily to Israel, it also has directives for all of mankind. It is concerned with every aspect of human life. Ritual laws, generally thought of as "religious observances," are only part of the total complex of commandments. The commandments of the Torah, its statutes and regulations, cover the entire range of human and social behavior. It asserts its jurisdiction in areas of behavior which in other religions are generally thought of as belonging to the ethical or moral domains or to the jurisdiction of secular civil and criminal codes of law. Even its non-legal and non-statutory sections stress spiritual truths and convey insight into the still finer extra-legal ethical and moral norms of behavior.
The rest of the books of the Hebrew Bible, written over a period of many centuries, consists of the Prophets (Neviim) and the Sacred Writings (Ketuvim). These books convey the teachings of the Prophets in the context of Israel's history over a period of about seven hundred years. They tell of the Prophets' visions of G-d and of their ongoing struggles to promote greater allegiance among the people to the teachings of the Torah; of their struggles against the many false prophets and priests who so often misled the people and turned them away from G-d and the Torah. Among these books is the inspirational Psalms that reflects man's deepest religious sentiments.
The Torah, with the Neviim and the Ketuvim are together referred to as TaNaKh. (This is what the Christian world and non-Jews calls the "Old Testament" but which to the Jew has always been the only testament.) In the broadest sense, however, the study of Torah refers not only to the Scriptures and the Oral Torah, but also to the entire body of rabbinic legislation and interpretation based upon the Torah that developed over the centuries. For the Torah was always a living law, constantly applied by a living people to real conditions that were often changing. Though these are obviously the result of human efforts, they are an integral part of the entire body of religious jurisprudence to which the Torah itself grants authoritative status: "And you shall observe and do according to all that they shall teach you. According to the law which they shall teach you and according to the judgment which they shall tell you, you shall do" (Deuteronomy 17:10-11).
Torah is the embodiment of the Jewish faith. It contains the terms of his Covenant with G-d. It is what makes a Jew Jewish.
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The Mathematics of Marriage
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2090/jewish/The-Mathematics-of-Marriage.htm
When a person knows and grasps in his mind a Torah law... he thereby grasps and holds and encompasses with his mind the divine wisdom and will... while his mind is simultaneously enveloped within them. This makes for a wonderful union, like which there is none other and which has no parallel anywhere in the terresterial world, whereby complete oneness and unity, from every side and angle, is attained. (Tanya, chapter 5)
Marriage comes in three varieties: the singular marriage, the twosome marriage, and the three-dimensional marriage.
In a singular marriage, one partner is completely consumed by the dominant other, as he or she cedes his or her will and identity to serve the other's will and identity. Two have joined to become one, yet theirs is not so much a union as an annihilation: either one abnegates one's own understanding, feelings and very self to the others, or one's ego swallows up the other's mind, heart and very being.
In the twosome marriage, each partner preserves his or her distinction as an individual. They share thoughts, feelings and resources, and deeply affect and are affected by each other; but each does so on his own terms, assimilating the marital bond as part of his own experience and identity. So what we have here is not a union, only a relationship between individuals.
Then there is marriage in its true and ultimate sense: a marriage in which two individuals collaborate in the creation of a third reality which encompasses and suffuses them both, while preserving their differences as the very dynamics of their union. A true marriage houses not a single, all-negating being, nor two distinct beings, but a threesome that is the essence of unity: the individual selves of the marriage partners, and the marriage itself--the third element within whose context their two beings unite into a harmonious whole.
Channels
As human beings, we inhabit a finite and corporeal reality, which, by nature and definition, precludes all contact with anything truly infinite, transcendent and absolute. Nevertheless, the Creator has established channels of awareness and experience which extend beyond the boundaries of our existence and allow us to relate to His all-transcendent truth.
These outlets to a higher reality assume many forms, but may be divided into three general categories, akin to the three types of marriages described above.
On the unilateral level of relationship, there are occasions when the Almighty chooses to overwhelm us with a supra-natural, supra-rational dose of His reality. For example, we may witness a miracle which shatters the very foundations of how we understand ourselves and our world--an experience which we cannot assimilate in any humanly sensible way except to be overcome with awe and humility. Another example of the unilateral relationship is when a person, confronted with a challenge to his deepest convictions, will choose to sacrifice his very existence for the sake of a higher truth.
In both these cases, the wall which encloses our self-bound existence has been breached. Yet the result is not so much a union of the human with the divine, but the negation of the human, the exposure of its insubstantiality in face of the divine.
Then there are the twosome type relationships between Heaven and earth--natural, humanly digestible points of contact between our world and the divine reality. Every sunrise, every beat of the human heart and every flutter of an insect's wings, is G-d acting upon our reality. While these divine deeds are no less miraculous than the splitting of the Red Sea, nature is G-d's way of affecting our world through a veil of constraint, routine and predictability--a veil which filters His input into our lives in a way that is readily absorbable by our finite senses and minds. On our part, the whole of human science is man's attempt to gain insight into what lies behind and beyond the mere facts of his existence.
Through these natural channels of connection we relate to the divine truth on our own terms, without annihilating the norms of human existence and experience. On the other hand, however, they cannot be said to truly unite the earthly and the divine--only to establish a connection between them as two distinct and irreconcilable realms.
Meeting of Minds
But on the 6th day of Sivan in the year 2448 from creation (1313 bce), G-d descended on Mount Sinai and "gave a threefold Torah to a threefold people through a third-born on a third day in the third month."1 Torah is the third element of our relationship with G-d -- the element which makes our relationship a true marriage.
In the words of the Midrash, at Sinai "The higher realms descended to the lower realms" with G-d's descent upon Mount Sinai, while "The lower realms ascended to the higher realms" with Moses ascent to the top of the mountain.2 Had there only been a descent from Above to below, the divine reality would have totally overwhelmed the earthly reality, resulting in a one-sided marriage -- a relationship that is wholly defined by the nature and character of only one of its partners. If there had been only an ascent from below to Above, our encounter with the divine would have been characterized by the finiteness and tactility of our physical existence, resulting in a "twosome" marriage in which each side relates to the other from behind the defining walls of self. But at Sinai there occurred both a descent from above by G-d as well as a rising upwards of man. In other words, this was an encounter in which each partner not only relates to and connects with the other but also participates in defining the nature of the relationship between them, so that the relationship affirms his individual identity even as it expands it to include the very different identity of the other partner.3
For at Sinai was introduced the third element of Torah, where the finiteness of man unites with the infinity of G-d in a union that is both finite and infinite, both human and divine.
Torah is the wisdom and will of G-d. But G-d did not communicate His wisdom and will as a detailed manifesto and a codified list of instructions. Instead, He gave us a relatively short (79,976 word) Written Torah (the Five Books of Moses), together with the Oral Torah--a set of guidelines by which the Written Torah is to be interpreted and extrapolated, and applied to the myriads of possibilities conjured up by the human experience. So while the Written Torah encapsulates the immense sea of legal, homiletic, philosophical and mystical teaching we know as Torah,4 it is the human mind and life which G-d designated as the tools with which to unlock the many layers of meaning and instruction implicit in its every word.
This is most powerfully demonstrated by the Talmud's account of a halachic dispute between Rabbi Eliezer and his colleagues:
Rabbi Eliezer brought them all sorts of proofs, but they were rejected... Finally, he said to them: If the law is as I say, may it be proven from heaven! There then issued a heavenly voice which proclaimed: What do you want of Rabbi Eliezer--the law is as he says...
Rabbi Joshua stood on his feet and said: The Torah is not in heaven!5 ... We take no notice of heavenly voices, since You, G-d, have already, at Sinai, written in the Torah to follow the majority.6
Rabbi Nathan subsequently met Elijah the Prophet and asked him: What did G-d do at that moment? [Elijah] replied: He smiled and said: My children have triumphed over Me, My children have triumphed over Me.7
Torah is where the human and the divine fuse to one. Where a kernel of divine wisdom germinates in the human mind, gaining depth, breadth and definition, and is then tangibilized in the physicality of human life.
In this marriage, our humanity is not obliterated within the infinite expanse of the divine; but neither does it remain distinct of it. In this marriage, our human finiteness and subjectivity themselves become instruments of the divine truth, joining with it to create the ultimate expression of divine immanence in our world: the Torah.
FOOTNOTES
1. Talmud, Shabbat 88a.
2. Midrash Tanchuma, Vaeira 15; Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 12:4.
3.
Thus there were, in fact, three stages to the union of heaven and earth: 1) the descent of the higher realms to the lower; 2) the ascent of the lower realms to the higher; 3) the collision or merger of these two movements in a single marriage and union.
On the historical level, the first millennium of history, which was characterized by an abundant flow of life and nurture from Above, was a time in which the relationship between heaven and earth was defined exclusively by the higher realms. The second millennium, which saw the refinement and self-elevation of earth, was a time of upward striving on the part of the lower realms. And the third millennium, which commenced the age of Torah, saw the union of the supernal and the earthly in the convergence of the two.
In the immediate events leading to the revelation at Sinai, these three stages were actualized in: 1) the Exodus, which was a unilateral, divinely initiated revelation and redemption from Above; 2) the seven-week period of preparation and self-refinement between the Exodus and the revelation at Sinai (re-enacted each year with our Counting of the Omer); and 3) the Giving of the Torah, in which G-d came down on Mount Sinai and Moses ascended the mountain.
On another level, the revelation at Sinai, though it included elements of the lower realms ascending, was primarily a revelation from Above. This is followed by many centuries of self-refinement and self-perfection on our part, to be followed by the Era of Moshiach and its ultimate union of heaven and earth (see next essay, Yes and No).
4. In the words of the Talmud, Scripture, Mishnah, Talmud and Aggadah, and even everything that a qualified student is destined to deduce before his teacherall was already said to Moses at Sinai (Jerusalem Talmud, Peah 2:4).
5. Deuteronomy 30:12.
6. Exodus 23:2.
7. Talmud, Bava Metzia 59b.
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Guest Columnists
On Humility
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/392275/jewish/On-Humility.htm
By Jonathan Sacks
How virtues change! Moses, the greatest hero of Jewish tradition, is described by the Bible as "a very humble man, more humble than anyone else on the face of the earth." By today's standards he was clearly wrongly advised. He should have hired an agent, sharpened up his image, let slip some calculated indiscretions about his conversations with the Almighty and sold his story to the press for a six-figure sum. With any luck, he might have landed up with his own television chat show, dispensing wisdom to those willing to bare their soul to the watching millions. He would have had his fifteen minutes of fame. Instead he had to settle for the lesser consolation of three thousand years of moral influence.
Humility is the orphaned virtue of our age. Charles Dickens dealt it a mortal blow in his portrayal of the unctuous Uriah Heep, the man who kept saying, "I am the 'umblest person going." Its demise, though, came a century later with the threatening anonymity of mass culture alongside the loss of neighbourhoods and congregations. A community is a place of friends. Urban society is a landscape of strangers. Yet there is an irrepressible human urge for recognition. So a culture emerged out of the various ways of "making a statement" to people we do not know, but who, we hope, will somehow notice. Beliefs ceased to be things confessed in prayer and became slogans emblazoned on t-shirts. A comprehensive repertoire developed of signalling individuality, from personalized number-plates, to in-your-face dressing, to designer labels worn on the outside, not within. You can trace an entire cultural transformation in the shift from renown to fame to celebrity to being famous for being famous. The creed of our age is, "If you've got it, flaunt it." Humility, being humble, did not stand a chance.
This is a shame. Humility -- true humility -- is one of the most expansive and life-enhancing of all virtues. It does not mean undervaluing yourself. It means valuing other people. It signals a certain openness to life's grandeur and the willingness to be surprised, uplifted, by goodness wherever one finds it. I learned the meaning of humility from my late father. He had come over to this country at the age of five, fleeing persecution in Poland. His family was poor and he had to leave school at the age of fourteen to support them. What education he had was largely self-taught. Yet he loved excellence, in whatever field or form it came. He had a passion for classical music and painting, and his taste in literature was impeccable, far better than mine. He was an enthusiast. He had -- and this was what I so cherished in him -- the capacity to admire. That, I think, is what the greater part of humility is, the capacity to be open to something greater than oneself. False humility is the pretence that one is small. True humility is the consciousness of standing in the presence of greatness, which is why it is the virtue of prophets, those who feel most vividly the nearness of G-d.
As a young man, full of questions about faith, I travelled to the United States where, I had heard, there were outstanding rabbis. I met many, but I also had the privilege of meeting the greatest Jewish leader of my generation, the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson. Heir to the dynastic leadership of a relatively small group of Jewish mystics, he had escaped from Europe to New York during the Second World War and had turned the tattered remnants of his flock into a worldwide movement. Wherever I travelled, I heard tales of his extraordinary leadership, many verging on the miraculous. He was, I was told, one of the outstanding charismatic leaders of our time. I resolved to meet him if I could.
I did, and was utterly surprised. He was certainly not charismatic in any conventional sense. Quiet, self-effacing, understated, one might hardly have noticed him had it not been for the reverence in which he was held by his disciples. That meeting, though, changed my life. He was a world-famous figure. I was an anonymous student from three thousand miles away. Yet in his presence I seemed to be the most important person in the world. He asked me about myself; he listened carefully; he challenged me to become a leader, something I had never contemplated before. Quickly it became clear to me that he believed in me more than I believed in myself. As I left the room, it occurred to me that it had been full of my presence and his absence. Perhaps that is what listening is, considered as a religious act. I then knew that greatness is measured by what we efface ourselves towards. There was no grandeur in his manner; neither was there any false modesty. He was serene, dignified, majestic; a man of transcending humility who gathered you into his embrace and taught you to look up.
True virtue never needs to advertise itself. That is why I find the aggressive packaging of personality so sad. It speaks of loneliness, the profound, endemic loneliness of a world without relationships of fidelity and trust. It testifies ultimately to a loss of faith -- a loss of that knowledge, so precious to previous generations, that beyond the visible surfaces of this world is a Presence who knows us, loves us, and takes notice of our deeds. What else, secure in that knowledge, could we need? Time and again, when conducting a funeral or visiting mourners, I discover that the deceased had led a life of generosity and kindness unknown to even close relatives. I came to the conclusion -- one I never dreamed of before I was given this window into private worlds - that the vast majority of saintly or generous acts are done quietly with no desire for public recognition. That is humility, and what a glorious revelation it is of the human spirit.
Humility, then, is more than just a virtue: it is a form of perception, a language in which the "I" is silent so that I can hear the "Thou", the unspoken call beneath human speech, the Divine whisper within all that moves, the voice of otherness that calls me to redeem its loneliness with the touch of love. Humility is what opens us to the world.
And does it matter that it no longer fits the confines of our age? The truth is that moral beauty, like music, always moves those who can hear beneath the noise. Virtues may be out of fashion, but they are never out of date. The things that call attention to themselves are never interesting for long, which is why our attention span grows shorter by the year. Humility -- the polar opposite of "advertisements for myself" -- never fails to leave its afterglow. We know when we have been in the presence of someone in whom the Divine presence breathes. We feel affirmed, enlarged, and with good reason. For we have met someone who, not taking himself or herself seriously at all, has shown us what it is to take with utmost seriousness that which is not I.
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Heads Up!
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/393652/jewish/Heads-Up.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Perspective: what a difference it can make. How we look, where we look and the way we look at things always colors our impressions.
In this week's Parshah, the word ur'eetem--"and you shall see"--occurs twice. The first is at the beginning of the Parshah, in the story of the spies sent by Moses to investigate the Promised Land; and the second time is at the very end, in the chapter on the mitzvah of tzitzit. In the first verse, Moses instructs the spies "And you shall see the land, what is it... are the people strong or weak... is the land fertile or lean... are the cities open or fortified?" In the second verse, we are commanded to place tzitzit--fringes--on the corners of our garments and told: "And you shall look upon it and remember all the commandments of G-d, and fulfill them."
The same word, ur'eetem, is used both times; yet look at the stark contrast between these two chapters. The first time, with the spies, it turned tragic. Their negative report of the land caused the people to reject the Divine promise; their cries of fear and despair caused G-d to decree that that day would become a time of "weeping for generations." Indeed, it was Tisha B'Av, and the resulting 40-year delay in entering Israel was to be the first of many national calamities to befall our people on that same day. On the other hand, the second instance of the word ur'eetem in our Parshah is a positive one: looking at the fringes is a way to remember all G-d's commandments and to observe a G-dly life.
It all depends on how we look at things. It all comes down to where we go looking. To see the land as the Spies saw it is to see earthiness, a materialistic perspective. To see the tzitzit is to gaze at a mitzvah of G-d, a heavenly perspective.
Ever watch an army of ants at work? Isn't it fascinating how they march in a straight line? Such disciplined workers, it is quite amazing. Ants, you see, have one-dimensional vision. That's why they follow their noses and the guy right in front of them. They have no peripheral vision and therefore no distractions from their single-minded, though limited, perspective.
I remember a farbrengen (Chassidic gathering) in yeshiva in Montreal when I was a student. Reb Velvel Greenglass, the mashpia and mentor (may he be well) was waxing lyrical on the difference between a human being and an animal. The animal was created in a horizontal line. The cow, naturally, looks downward, at the grass. Munching grass is its full-time occupation. All a cow thinks about all day is its food. Ever see a cow looking up at the sky and pondering the meaning of life? Human beings, however, were created in a vertical orientation. It is much easier for humans to look upward, to contemplate that which is higher and more meaningful. (I guess that's why the chimps and baboons that stand vertically think they are gantze mentschen.)
To be people of vision we must look upward. There is a higher purpose to life. There is a deeper meaning to what meets the eye. The whole of Kabbalah and mysticism is based on the principle of the metaphysical. This fundamental principle is that there is not only the self-evident body but also the invisible soul; not only the universe but also a cosmic plan and a profound reason for every experience in life, whether it be obvious to us or not.
If we only look at the land, at that which is earthly and material, the world is crass and careless, helter-skelter and hollow. But when we raise our sights and lift our heads heavenward, we see so much more. When we utilize our unique human mind power and spiritual potential, we can better discern the wood from the trees, the lofty from the low. The Sages of the Talmud noted that by looking at the tzitzit, we not only see the commandments of G-d but we discover G-d Himself.1
I guess, where you look always determines what you find.
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Love the Stranger
Lessons Learned from a Special Child
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1183875/jewish/Love-the-Stranger.htm
By Simon Jacobson
A number of years ago, at one of my weekly classes I was discussing the fact that each one of us was sent to this Earth with an indispensable mission. And this mission imbues each human being with unique qualities, all the necessary faculties we need to fulfill our respective mission. Even if someone is weak or deficient in one area, even one born with a "handicap," this same person is blessed with other strengths that compensate for and allow this individual to realize his or her calling. Some of these strengths may often be less obvious than others, and then it is our sacred responsibility to help uncover these deeper resources. Nothing is holier and more dignified than helping a person discover hidden potential, allowing him to actualize his unique life calling.
Resourceful as he was, with a pinch of desperation, he eked out a jobTo illustrate the point, I shared the classic joke about the immigrant who got off the boat in NY. With no language and no contacts, he went looking for a menial job at the local Lower East Side synagogue. He applied to be the shamash (sexton) of the synagogue. Following a positive interview, he was given a contract to sign. Instead of signing his name he placed an X on the dotted line. "No, that will not do," said the employer, "we need you to sign the contract with your full name." "I can't," the greenhorn immigrant blurted out, "I don't how to write." "Well, in that case, I am sorry but we cannot hire you. The job requires someone who can write in English."
Dejected, he left and went off searching for opportunities. Resourceful as he was, with a pinch of desperation, he eked out a livelihood. Over the years, with diligence, ingenuity and persistence he climbed the ladder and ultimately became a very prosperous man. He became known in town for his enormous wealth, and was greatly respected by his peers and above all, by the banks that readily issued him the loans he requested.
One day, a new bank manager was going over this fellow's latest loan application, and notices that instead of a signature there is an X at the bottom. The manager calls him up and says, "My dear sir, you forgot to sign the application." "I did sign it, with an X," he replied. She was bewildered. "Why do you sign with an X and not with your name, if I may ask?" "Well," he sheepishly replied, "I never learned how to sign my name." The bank manager smiled and remarked: "Now listen here. You made so much money without knowing the language. Just imagine how much more successful you would have become had you received an education and learned to sign your name."
"Madam," the gentleman calmly said, "if I knew how to sign my name I would have become the shamash in the local synagogue…"
After my class, a striking young man approached me. As he got closer I saw that he suffered from some motor complications. He asked to speak with me privately. After everyone left we sat down, and he began to tell me his story. His words came out slowly, due to a speech impediment, and he shared with me that he was born with a rare disease that affected his nervous system, which also impaired his mental capacity and growth. He later discovered that his parents gave him away as a newborn, after hearing that he was diagnosed with severe mental handicaps. Over the years, it turned out that the diagnosis was not completely accurate, though he still suffered from many problems. At that point, his parents were not willing or unable to handle him and they chose to have no contact with him.
With a special charm, clearly the result of years of struggle, he had emerged with a very rare type of warmthHis parents were clearly wealthy – and quite prominent, as he would later discover – and they provided that he be cared for in a quality institution for children with special needs. But they never came to visit him, and for all practical purposes he was brought up as an orphan. A "privileged orphan," he was told. All his physical needs met, except for the most important one: Unconditional love from nurturing parents.
As much as I tried, I could not completely control my feelings pouring out for his soul. However, more powerful than all his pain was the refined light shining out of this young but old man. He was simply an exquisite human being. With a special charm, clearly the result of years of struggle, he had emerged with a very rare type of warmth, which basked everything around him in a soft glow.
"And tonight," he tells me, "you said that each one of us has a unique mission despite appearances. I, too, like the fellow in your story, lack certain abilities. But, unlike the wealthy man in your story, I do not know what strengths I have in return. Can you help me discover my special qualities?"
I was taken. He wasn't aware of his own level of refinement. This tortured man could give more love and kindness than most people I know, yet he was crying for help.
What can I say, my heart went out to him in the deepest possible way, and we began to communicate regularly. He would attend many of my classes and I would converse with him about many things, and he would always elicit in me kindness I did not know I had. From time to time, he would address his own feelings of rejection and his desire to confront his parents. He had tracked them down, but was terrified of contacting them.
Mischievous thoughts began to creep into my brain about contacting them myself. But what would I say? Who am I to call them? I tried not to be judgmental; who knows what they have endured; what caused them to give up and desert their own child? But is it being judgmental to ask whether any parent has such a right – no matter what the excuse? And is it my role to be the one that confronts these parents?
These were the thoughts running through my mind. Yet despite my discomfort, I was slowly building the courage to pick up the phone. I also had to figure how to get my friend to give me his parents name without tipping him off that I may call. Or maybe I should share with him my intentions.
I finally got his number, began dialing a few times and hung up before finishingProcrastination settled in, as it does in all awkward situations, and more time passed. Finally, I said to myself, okay, I'll wait for a day when I am in a particularly perturbed mood – due to some of the inhumanities of life, or just the plain sadness of existential loneliness – and need to release it somewhere, that's when I'll call his father.
Great plan. But as great plans go, they don't always work as you would like them to. I finally got his number, began dialing a few times and hung up before finishing. "This is not going to work," I said to myself. "I really need a kick in the pants, one of those that make you feel that nothing on Earth matters, including your own petty pride or shame, when you can gather the chutzpah to do anything."
And then, tragedy struck in the form of the death of my father, when everything simply melts away, and then I finally made the call.
"Hello, good afternoon, this is Simon Jacobson. I am a friend of your son's and would like to speak to you about him." Deathly silence on the other end of the line. What do I say now? "Hello, hi, may we speak for a few moments?"
"What can I do for you?" was the brisk and cold response.
"I know your son. He is an extraordinary man and I thought that would make you proud."
Click. The father hung up the phone.
What do I do now? Call back? I decided to wait. A few days later I tried again. This time his secretary did not let the call through, so I left a message saying that "this matter is very personal and can have profound long-term consequences for good or for bad."
I tried again the next day and what do you know, he took my call. Now what? I simply said: "Please understand. I am not in the business of meddling. I am not being critical or judgmental. I simply feel from the depths of my heart that it would be life-transforming for you and your wife to meet your son."
"We don't want to talk about it, we don't want to go there, we did what we felt was best for everyone."
"I am sure you did. Still, today, now, your son has grown to be a tremendous soul. He needs to see you and you need to see him. Please consider that."
"I'll get back to you."
We scheduled the fateful meeting that everybody dreadedHe didn't. But now I was on the warpath. So I called again. He did apologize for not getting back – almost making me respect his cordiality, until I remembered why were here in the first place – and said that his wife would not be able to do it. Too uncomfortable. He mumbled something about having "long ago buried this." But I persisted. "So then I'll arrange for you to meet your son without your wife."
"No, not yet." I could tell from the change in his father's tone that he had done some research on me (google or whatever).
At this point, I decided to share with their son my maneuvers, and I could see, though he protested, that he was deeply moved by my efforts.
It would require too much paper (or kb in e-mail measurements) for me to describe the entire back-and-forth process spanning over several months. Let me suffice by saying that he finally relented, and together with his wife we scheduled the fateful meeting that everybody dreaded. At their insistence, which surprised me, they wanted me to be present at the meeting, I figured, to serve as a bit of a buffer.
The big day came. We met at their lavish home in the living room, tea and biscuits on the table, all choreographed to the tee, except for the emotions that would be released.
Oh man, this was one of the most heart wrenching experiences I would ever endure, and I wondered what havoc did I wreak. But too late. Here we were. Initially, everybody was cordial, even detached, like strangers meeting about buying a house. "What do you do?" "Where have you traveled?" "Are you a Yankees fan?" "How's the weather?" – you get the idea. After sitting silent, trying to be invisible and letting things take their natural, biological course (or so I hoped), I finally piped in and said the first serious statement of the evening. "Your son told me his story. He must have a lot of anger inside of him, but he hasn't shown it to me, or maybe not even to himself. You must have many feelings yourselves. I really don't belong here, but since I am here, allow me to say that your son is one of the most beautiful people I know. I have discovered through him new horizons of human dignity and the capacity of the soul to shine in this harsh world. I think it would be truly life-changing for you to get to know each other."
I made my way out the door, leaving them alone…Before I stood up to leave, our hero turned to his parents and uttered a few words that could melt any heart. With a stutter and a bit slowly – his speech was impeded, as you may recall – he began: "Mumma, Puppa" – I could tell that he worked long and hard to get those words out (he never referred to his parents that way when he spoke with me).
"Mumma, Puppa… I, I am not perfect. You, too, you also not perfect. I have forgiven you. Can you forgive me?…"
We all burst into tears. I made my way out the door, leaving them alone…
We are all "strangers" in this world. We are all "special children." All in need and deserving of unconditional love. Some people's specialness is more obvious than others. Some exceptional souls are concealed beneath a veneer of "normalcy" and established "comfort zones." Others, less fortunate on one end, but more so on another, do not have the mask of "regularity" which hides their special souls. When the mask of the "ordinary" is torn off or exposed due to trauma or loss, suddenly extraordinary dimensions emerge, ones that we were not aware of.
But all our souls are strangers on this material planet. The only difference between people is that some know this fact and some don't.
Some think that they have "made their home" and are comfortable in the corporeal reality and its institutions. To the extent that they feel there is nothing else but what I see and hear, nothing more than the here and now that I experience with my senses. Material beings on a material journey, with perhaps some bouts of spiritual, transcendent experiences. Isn't that what we call "maturity" and "success" – to have finally made it, leaving behind the naiveté and inexperience of youth, mastering and controls of power and influence in this world?
And others – far fewer – know that they are souls on a spiritual journey through a material universe, on a bodily stage with physical props, and are thus always "strangers," even when they build their homes and learn the ropes to maneuver through the conventions of "establishment." As accustomed and as friendly as they become to the tangible world, as immersed as they may be, they never become "part" of this world, always remain "above and beyond," strangers enchanted and even apprehensive of the material reality around them.
Love the stranger, for you too were – and always are – a stranger in your own limitations and constraints.
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Woof,
Since God spoke the world into creation, "Let there be light." I thought this would spark conversation here. :-)
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science_and_environment/10385675.stm
P.C.
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If you see what needs to be repaired and how to repair it,
then you have found a piece of the world that G-d has left for you to complete.
But if you only see what is wrong and how ugly it is,
then it is you yourself that needs repair.
A Daily Dose of Wisdom from the Rebbe
-words and condensation by Tzvi Freeman
Tammuz 15, 5770 * June 27, 2010
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Weekly Sermonette
Destiny Beckons
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/400422/jewish/Destiny-Beckons.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Pinchas, the hero of this week’s Parshah, was previously unheard of. Though as a grandson of Aaron he belonged to the “royal family,” he was an unseeded young man, who, with a single act of bravery was catapulted to stardom.
The Talmud (Sanhedrin 82a) tells the behind the scenes story. Zimri, a prince of the tribe of Shimon, publicly flaunts his intimate relationship with a heathen Midianite princess. Moses is momentarily stymied. Pinchas respectfully reminds Moses that he himself taught the principle that one who behaves as Zimri did may be executed by the zealous. Moses responds that since Pinchas remembered this, he, Pinchas, should be the one to actually carry it out. Pinchas duly does just that and the terrible plague that had taken the lives of thousands is stilled. G-d blesses Pinchas with His Covenant of Peace and Pinchas goes down in history as the hero who saved the day.
Rare and precious are those crossroads of life when the chance to unleash our inner calling presents itself But why did Moses forget what he himself had taught? Apparently, Divine Providence saw fit that the great prophet should suffer a temporary memory lapse in order that young Pinchas assume his destined status.
Now Pinchas could have made a simple calculation. Here stand Moses and Aaron, other prominent elders and leaders and they are all silent. In the face of such brazen moral travesty all these great men stand back. Who, then, am I to step forward? How can I, little old me, a new kid on the block, stand up and say what I believe in their august presence? Surely I must keep quiet and hold my peace.
But Pinchas did not say that. And thank G-d he didn’t. Had he kept his silence, the plague might not have been averted and Pinchas would have remained a non-entity.
This, says the Lubavitcher Rebbe, serves a powerful lesson to all of us. If you witnesses a situation where you feel that you can make a difference, then you must. And the fact that greater people than you seem paralyzed should not necessarily mean that you too should remain idle. Perhaps this is your unique chance to do something historic. Perhaps you are earmarked for greatness and G-d is opening your window of opportunity. Deny yourself this moment and you deny destiny.
Sometimes the moment is yours. Sometimes greater people may vacillate and the responsibility and opportunity rest with you and you alone. Each of us has so much unlocked potential. Rare and precious are those crossroads of life when the chance to unleash that inner calling presents itself. This is your baby, your moment of glory, your own personal calling and you dare not desist from it.
Such was the case with Pinchas and such may be the scenario that every one of us may find ourselves playing out one day.
In the story of Purim, the Megillah records how Queen Esther is asked by Mordechai to intercede with King Ahasuerus on behalf of her people. She explains that she fears this may be absolutely suicidal for her. Mordechai responds with rather strong words, Relief and deliverance will come for the Jews from an other place, and you and your father’s house will perish. What Mordechai was telling Esther was that the chance to single handedly save one’s entire nation doesn’t present itself every day. It is a unique moment and ought to be seized. If you won’t do it, someone else will; but this once in a lifetime opportunity may be lost to you forever.
Pinchas reminds us that when opportunity knocks we should open the door quickly. Do not hesitate. Destiny may be beckoning.
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Split Your Sea
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/passover/pesach_cdo/aid/488371/jewish/Split-Your-Sea.htm
By Yosef Y. Jacobson
"To match couples together is as difficult as the splitting of the sea,"
states the Talmud.1
What is the meaning behind these words? True, the process of finding and
maintaining a life partner may be challenging and difficult, nothing short
of a miracle. But why, of all miracles described in the Bible, does the
Talmud choose specifically the miracle of the splitting of the sea to
capture the process of marriage?
A Map of the Subconscious
What is the difference between the land and the sea? Both are vibrant and
action-filled enviroments populated by a myriad of creatures and a great
variety of minerals and vegetation. Yet the universe of dry land is exposed
and out in the open for all to see and appreciate, while the world of the
sea is hidden beneath a blanket of water.
In Jewish mysticism (Kabbalah and Chassidic spirituality), these two
physical planes reflect the conscious and unconscious dimensions of the
human psyche.2 Both parts of the self are extremely vibrant and dynamic. The
difference between them is that while our conscious self is displayed and
exhibited for ourselves and others to feel and experience, our subconscious
self remains hidden, not only from other people but even from ourselves.
Most of us know very little of what is going on in the sub-cellars of our
psyche.
If you were given a glimpse into your own "sea" and discovered the universe
of personality hidden beneath your conscious brain, what do you think you
would find? Shame, fear, guilt, pain, insecurity, an urge to destroy, to
survive, to dominate, a cry for love? Would you discover Freud's Libido,
Jung's collective unconscious, Adler's search for power and control,
Frankl's quest for meaning?
Where Freud diagnosed the libido as a craving for a parent, and Jung saw it
as a longing etched in our collective unconscious, the Kabbalah understood
it as a quest for union with G-d In Kabbalah, at the core of the human
condition is a yearning for oneness. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi
(1745-1812), founder of the Chabad school of Kabbalah, was one of the
greatest soul-experts in the history of Judaism, has written on the subject
more then any other Jewish sage. In 1796, a hundred years before Freud, he
published a book, the Tanya, in which he presented his "map of the
subconscious," based on the Talmudic and Kabbalistic tradition. Rabbi
Schnuer Zalman offers a facinating parable for the inner life of the soul:
quoteing the biblical verse, "The soul of man is a divine flame" (Proverbs
20:27), he explains that just as the flame is always swaying, dancing,
licking the air, seeking to tear free of the wick and rise heavenward, so
too the soul in man is always aspiring to leave its shell and experience
oneness with the divine.
The Secret of Intimacy
This quest for a relationship with the divine is manifested in our search
for relationships with our twin flame here below. Where Freud diagnosed the
libido as a craving for union with a parent, and Jung saw it as a longing
for the opposite gender etched in our collective unconscious, the Kabbalah
understood it as a quest for union with G-d. Our desire for intimacy is one
of the profoundest expressions of our existential craving for Truth, for
Oneness, for G-d.
As the Book of Genesis states, "G-d created Man in His image, in the image
of G-d He created him; male and female He created them." Clearly, it was in
the union and oneness of the genders that the first Adam, the first human
being, reflected the image of G-d.
This view of relationships and intimacy is expressed in the very Hebrew
names for man and woman given by Adam in Genesis. The Hebrew words for man
and woman -- Ish and Isah -- both contain the Hebrew word for fire, Eish.
They also each contain one more letter--a yud and a hei respectively--which
when combined makes up G-d's name. The significance of this is profound. Man
without woman, and woman without man, lack the fullness of G-d's name. When
they unite, the two-half images of the divine within them also unite. The
fire and passion drawing them to each other is their yearning to recreate
the full name of G-d between them.
At a Jewish wedding ceremony, this blessing is recited: Blessed are You,
G-d, King of the Universe, Who created the human being in His image... Why
is this blessing said at a wedding ceremony? Wouldn't it be more appropriate
to say such a blessing when a child is born? The answer is that it is
through the uniting of man and woman that the image of G-d is most closely
reflected.
Our desire for intimacy is one of the profoundest expressions of our
existential craving for TruthThe ramifications of this idea are important.
It means that marriage is not a suspension of one's natural individual self
for the sake of uniting with a stranger. Rather, through marriage man and
woman return to their true natural state, a single being reflecting G-d,
each in his and her own unique way. Marriage allows wife and husband to
discover their full and complete self, a self made up of masculine and
feminine energy.
Know Thyself
We may travel through life unaware of this dimension of self, seeking
oneness with the divine. Throughout our years on this planet we may behave
as though this element of self does not exist. Though its symptoms
reverberate through our consciousness -- most often in the feelings of
emptiness and lack of contentment when our spiritual self is un-satiated --
we are prone to dismiss it or deny it. After all, at least in the short
term, it is far easier to accept that we are nothing more than intelligent
beasts craving self-gratification than spiritual souls craving for G-d.
When we view the surface self, selfishness is easier than selflessness;
isolation more natural than relationship; solitariness more innate than love
and commitment. Only when we "split our sea," when we discover the depth of
our souls, the subtle vibrations of our subconscious, do we discover that
oneness satisfies our deepest core; that love is the most natural expression
of our most profound selves.
"To match couples together is as difficult as the splitting of the sea," the
Talmud states. The challenge in creating and maintaining a meaningful and
powerful relationship is the need to split our own seas each day, to learn
how in the depth of our spirits we yearn to love and share our lives with
another human being and with our creator.3
FOOTNOTES
1. Talmud, Sotah 2a. The Talmud is discussing second marriages, however,
in many Jewish works, this quote is applied to all marriage (see for example
Akeidas Yitzchak Parshas Vayeishev).
2. This notion of viewing the macrocosm as a metaphor for the microcosm is
central to all Jewish writings. "Man is a miniature universe," our sages
have declared (Midrash Tanchumah Pekudei 3), a microcosm of the entire
created existence. The human being thus includes the elements of the land as
well as the elements of the sea -- man has both a terrestrial and an aquatic
aspect to his life. In Kabbalah terminology, the sea is defined as alma
d'eiskasya, the "hidden world," while land is described as alma d'eitgalya,
the "revealed world" (Torah Or Parshas Beshalach).
3. This essay is based on a discourse by the second Chabad-Lubavitch
Rebbe, Rabbi DovBer (1773-1827), known as the Miteler Rebbe. (Published in
Maamarei Admur Haemtzaei, Kuntrasim, Derushei Chasunah.)
By Yosef Y. Jacobson More articles... |
Rabbi Yosef Y Jacobson is editor of Algemeiner.com, a website of Jewish news
and commentary in English and Yiddish. Rabbi Jacobson is also a popular and
widely-sought speaker on Chassidic teaching and the author of the tape
series "A Tale of Two Souls."
Originally posted on Algemeiner.com
Image: Detail from a painting by Sarah Kranz. Ms. Kranz has been
illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children's books)
since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her
clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of
London
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Living through the Parshah
Brother of Peace
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1230785/jewish/Brother-of-Peace.htm
By Rochel Holzkenner
Dysfunctional family dynamics tend to repeat themselves generation after generation—until someone kicks the cycle. The Torah repeats the story of sibling rivalry time and again. It begins with an older brother who's jealous of a younger brother's advantage; drama ensues and things turn ugly. Cain was rabidly envious of Abel. Ishmael boasted and taunted Isaac. Jacob and Esau, Joseph and his brothers—nice families torn apart by jealousy.
Aaron kicks the pandemic of sibling rivalry.1 His younger brother Moses is extraordinary from birth. Then G‑d chose him to be the redeemer of the Jewish people. The Torah describes Moses' return to Egypt from Midian after G‑d empowered him with the mission of redeeming the Jewish people. Aaron went out to meet him and he kissed him. Without the slightest tinge of envy, Aaron embraces his role as Moses' assistant and mouthpiece.
More than a thousand years later, Aaron was still viewed as the paradigm of love and peaceIf you want to learn about love and peace, watch Aaron. Love was his modus operandi. Later, after Aaron passed away, the Torah tells us that the "entire nation of Israel mourned for thirty days"—both the men and the women, explains Rashi. Contrast this to the Torah's description of Moses' passing: "And the children of Israel wept for him"—the men only. Rashi quotes the Midrash and explains: "Because Aaron had pursued peace; he promoted love between disputing parties and between man and his wife." Aaron's death left everyone feeling lonely.
More than a thousand years later, Aaron was still viewed as the paradigm of love and peace. Hillel, the great sage of Israel, puts out the following advice in the Mishnah, "Be of the disciples of Aaron! Loving peace and pursuing peace, loving the created beings and bringing them close to the Torah."2
There were three key miracles that ensured the survival of the Jews in the desert: the manna, the traveling well of water and the "clouds of glory" that shielded them from assault. When Aaron died, the clouds of glory disappeared (temporarily). It became apparent that Aaron's merit had been fueling them. The clouds represented everything that Aaron stood for—millions of people can be shielded by the same cloud, unlike food or water that can't be shared by even two people simultaneously. Like the clouds, Aaron protected and cherished everyone equally. He adored the most simple person in the same way as the most sophisticated. "Love the created being," says Hillel—even if their only virtue was the fact that they were G‑d's creations, Aaron loved them.
It is interesting to note that Aaron's yahrtzeit (anniversary of passing) is the only one mentioned in the entire Torah, "And he died there…on the first day of the fifth month."3 Although Aaron's passing is recorded earlier in the Book of Numbers,4 the date is mentioned later, in the Torah reading of Massei, which is always read within the week of his yahrtzeit on the first day of Av.
To understand Aaron's yahrtzeit it to understand Aaron's unconditional love for others.
Aaron saw through personal distinction and social placement to the place where we are all one"The first day of the fifth month." Five is the number of transcendence. It took four rungs of evolutionary descent for G‑d's infinite light to become a world of limitations and distinct differences. First G‑d contracted his light to create the World of Emanation. Still much too refined to contain physical matter, G‑d's light contracted once again to create the World of Creation, then the World of Formation and finally the world as we know it—the World of Action (for more on the topic of the "Four Worlds," click here). Climb back up those four rungs and reach the fifth rung, and you're back in the space where there is no division—you're back to the One light. From the perspective of five there is not yet a hierarchy of creation; everything is equally close to G‑d.
Day one of the fifth month. One embodies simple, harmonious unity. There are no separate factions from the vantage point of one, it floats above any division.
So Aaron's passing exposed his life's work. (On the day of a person's yahrtzeit, his cumulative actions and learning shines on Earth.) When he looked at you, he saw through personal distinction and social placement to the place where we are all one, working together as one unit and equally precious.5
Perhaps that's why he wasn't envious of his younger brother for stealing the limelight. To Aaron they were one unit, working together towards a greater end. When we're on the same team, your triumph is my victory.
When we buy into the apparent differences that exist between us, it's hard to treat everyone with the same respect. And it's difficult not to be envious!
In 1991, in the wake of the Crown Heights riots, Mayor of NYC David Dinkins visited the Rebbe on Sunday afternoon to receive a dollar and a blessing. The Rebbe said that he hoped the Mayor would be able to bring peace to the city.
"Both sides," Mr. Dinkins said.
"We are not two sides," the Rebbe replied. "We are one side. We are one people, living in one city, under one administration and under one G‑d."
FOOTNOTES
1.
In fact it was Joseph's sons Ephriam and Menashe who first changed the trend. When Isaac blessed the younger grandson Ephraim with his right hand, Menasha was happy for his younger brother. Ever since we customarily bless children to be like Ephraim and Menashe, and to rejoice in the success of others, even if it puts them at an advantage over you.
2.
Ethics 1:12.
3.
Numbers 33:38.
4.
20:22-29.
5.
Based on the Rebbe's talk delivered on Shabbat Parshat Matot-Massai 5751 (1991).
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Hearing G-d's Word - Devarim
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/710767/jewish/Hearing-G-ds-Word-Devarim.htm
By Rabbi Ben A.
"These are the words that Moses spoke to the entire people of Israel..."—Deuteronomy 1:1.
The book of Deuteronomy relates the monologue spoken by Moses just before the people entered the Promised Land. As it is stated, "These are the words that Moses spoke to the entire people of Israel." Unlike the other four books, which are "the word of G‑d," Deuteronomy is the "word of Moses"—that is, it is his final address to the people.
That does not mean that this book is of mortal invention, but rather that Moses delivered these words through divine inspiration. In the first four books of the Torah, Moses merely took dictation from G‑d, precisely relaying each word without regard to his own understanding. The words of Deuteronomy, however, were first integrated into Moses' own consciousness; and only then were they spoken by him. This does not mean that the content of this book is somehow diluted or compromised by having passed through mortal understanding. Rather, what it means is that Moses attained a level at which G‑d's word could be faithfully transmitted—not just through his mouth, but also through his brain. In his final days, Moses did not just transmit G‑d's message; he first conceived it in his own mind.
Moses did not just transmit G‑d's message; he first conceived it in his own mindThere is a reason why this fusion of mortal and G‑dly intelligence occurred when it did, in the days just prior to entering the Holy Land.
After forty years of wandering in the desert, protected by miracles, the people were poised to meet their destiny and to face the "real world." They would need to be able to take the rarefied spiritual concepts that they had learned during their forty years in the desert and apply them to ordinary life. They needed to put theory into practice and in order to do so they needed to hear G‑d's word integrated and conveyed through the intellect of another human being.
"G‑d speaks through people," is a common saying in recovery. Lofty spiritual concepts are worth little to us in dealing with everyday life if we never hear them spoken in simple, human terms, filtered through the mortal, finite mind of another alcoholic or addict.
Some of us may wonder how it can be that the very same thought that we had come across in our religious studies couldn't help us overcome our alcoholism, but when heard spoken – in slightly different words – by another alcoholic, had a profound and transformative effect. If G‑d's own word hadn't worked on us, how could the word of a mere mortal?
The answer is, of course, that that is G‑d's word—as understood and communicated by another human being who shares our disease.
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Greater than Angels: Interview with Pearl Benisch
by Daisy Benchimol
A tribute to 10 brave Jewish women who stood up to the Nazis.
There is an old Polish legend about a dragon named Smok who was in the habit of roaming the streets of Krakow in search of young maidens to eat, while spreading terror and destroying everything in its path. In her stirring Holocaust memoir, To Vanquish the Dragon, Pearl Benisch describes the encounter of the Jewish community of Poland with the Nazi dragon of the 20th Century; and the victory of the maidens who dared to fight the beast.
Mrs. Benisch, who was born and raised in Krakow, describes the extraordinary faith and self-sacrifice shown by her family and other members of her Jewish community during the Holocaust. Her memoir is a rare tribute to the heroism of some of the victims themselves, including the unimaginable courage and strength shown by a group of ten female friends, nicknamed the Zehnerschaft, who supported each other through the tortures of the ghettos, deportations and death camps.
The Zehnerschaft was made up of young women between the ages of 16 and 26, including Mrs. Benisch herself, who were all colleagues and teachers from Beth Yaakov schools for girls in Krakow and surrounding areas. Mrs. Benisch gives detailed accounts of the inspiring way these brave women repeatedly risked their lives to help others and uphold their commitment to Torah and Jewish observance. Armed with the Jewish values and ideals that had been transmitted to them, they managed to become models of courage and altruism even in the bowels of hell.
In Man’s Search for Meaning Viktor Frankl observed that “…most men in a concentration camp believed the real opportunities of life had passed. Yet, in reality, there was an opportunity and a challenge. One could make a victory of those experiences turning life into an inner triumph…” The women of the Zehnerschaft became living proof that the type of spiritual victory Frankl was describing is possible in the nightmare of the death camps.
During a recent interview at her home in Brooklyn, Mrs. Benisch spoke about her friends in the Zehnerschaft and some of the lessons she learned from her experiences in the Holocaust.
Can you give an example of the courage shown by the women of the Zehnershaft?
At Plashow one of our jobs was to clean the kitchen. So sometimes we managed to get hold of a little bit of flour. We would mix it with water and bake matza biscuits on top of the stove. We were not permitted to go into the men’s camp but we had to deliver the biscuits to the men who were working in what was called the “library.” There were many important rabbis in the camp and some of them had been assigned to sorting books and manuscripts; believe it or not the Germans wanted to have the Hebrew books. So late at night we would sneak down to bring them those biscuits and sometimes a few turnips, a piece of bread, or whatever we could get our hands on. It was a dangerous trip because we had to sneak past the trigger-happy soldiers in the watchtower. Every day another girl would risk her life to bring them this food so they wouldn’t starve to death.
One night we were spotted by Willie who was the most dreaded SS man in the camp, known for his habit of gouging out his victim’s eyes. We ran in terror. We were past caring about being shot – we just didn’t want him to catch us alive. He chased after us but, thank God, we managed to lose him. We reached our barrack and jumped into our bunks. The monster didn’t give up. He ran from barrack to barrack looking for us, but miraculously, he didn’t find us.
What do you think made you and your friends in the Zehnerschaft act with so much courage?
I will tell you a story. We arrived in Auschwitz and they took us to a crematorium with brown wooden doors on which was written the word sauna (shower). It was Friday afternoon and we had just come from Plashow. There were 2,000 girls and we all knew what was coming. There was an electric fence and some of the girls went over to the fence. They said, “Why should we wait to go to the gas chambers? Let’s end it all now.” So I said to them, “The Torah tells us, 'u’bacharta b’chaim' – choose life [Deut. 30:19]. Girls, we have to choose life! No matter what life will do to us, we have to choose life.” And that’s what we did – we chose life. We waited for those doors to open. They never opened for us – we don’t know why. In the morning, Saturday, they marched us to the women’s camp.
In your book you describe many extraordinary incidents involving your friend Rivkah Horowitz who was with you through most of the war. Can you tell me a bit about her?
There has never been a hero like Rivkah Horowitz-Pinkusewitz. She was a teacher and a leader in Beth Yaakov. She was smart and brave. One day in Plashow we were sewing uniforms for the Germans. Next to my sewing machine was Erma’s machine. Erma was depressed and we were trying to cheer her up. Suddenly the door opened and in walked the dreaded Oberscharfuhrer John with two SS men. We all stood at attention, but Erma just sat there; she wasn’t all there any more. So I tried to alert her with a kick. Snap out of it Erma I prayed, but she didn’t get up.
There must have been a thousand women there but he noticed her right away. He walked straight up to her and pointed his gun at her temple – we were all familiar with the joy he found in shooting people. All of a sudden, Rivkah, who was sitting next to us, gets up quickly and faces him and says, “Herr Oberscharfuhrer, this is not her fault, she is meshuge.” She couldn’t remember the German word for crazy so she said meshuge. Now he didn’t know the meaning of meshuge but he couldn’t get over the fact that a girl had the guts to talk to him and to ask him not to shoot her friend. But he didn’t shoot her. He put his gun back and walked away. That was Rivkah.
You also write about the time Rivkah Horowitz tried to save your life during one of the selections at Birkenau. What stands out for you about that incident?
I was dressed already but they gave me a big jacket of a man’s suit and I must have looked terrible because when I came to Hoess, he pointed to the left which meant death – the crematorium. Rivkah was sent to the right, but she snuck around to the left to join me. I begged her to go back but she refused. “I won’t leave you,” she said. “I’m not giving up. We have to keep fighting.”
After us came Ruchka Schanzer: right. Then Sarah Blaugrund: left. Ruchka ran after Sarah to the left. The rest of our Zehnerschaft passed safely, but the four of us were on the left. Then Rivkah took us back to the middle of the line. I was afraid that Hoess would recognize us but Rivkah didn’t care. When we reached Hoess again the same thing happened: he sent Sarah and me to the left and Rivkah and Ruchka to the right. But the two of them followed us again to the left.
I screamed in frustration, “Why follow us to death?! It’s not just your life you’re forfeiting, but also the lives of future generations. You have no right to do it. Go back to the other side where you belong!” Sarah and I shouted, cried and pleaded with them, but they had made up their minds. Rivkah dragged us to the back of the line but when we reached Hoess the third time, the same scenario repeated itself and, once more, Rivkah and Ruchka followed us. By now the selection was over. The girls who had been chosen to live were taken out of the barrack and the four of us stayed behind in the death block with all the other condemned women.
What happened after that?
That same evening…it was Shabbos…someone knocked on the door of our barrack. The Blockalteste opened it and in walked our friend Tillie Rinder, known by all as the White Angel of Auschwitz, and Toni Katz, another angel. They said to us: “Girls, hurry up. Follow us and stay in the shadows. May God watch over us.” The Blockalteste opened the door and allowed us to step out with our rescuers. We followed them, hugging the walls to avoid the floodlights. Then we had to cross the vast Appelplatz which was flooded with light from all the watchtowers. The watchmen had orders to shoot anyone who was seen walking there.
We were terrified – not for ourselves anymore since we were doomed anyway, but for our rescuers. I prayed for their lives. Thank God we made it across and stood in front of the barracks of the living. Nobody said a word. Everything had been prearranged. The Blockalteste assigned us to our bunks, and we were joyfully reunited with the other girls of our Zehnerschaft.
You write about the heroism of Tzila Orlean who was a teacher at Beth Yaakov before the war and who “constantly walked the tightrope between life and death” in order to help others. What stands out most in your mind about Tzila?
I don’t even know where to begin talking about Tzila. If I had the strength left I would write a book about her. In Auschwitz, the Germans called her “Orlean” – Tzila was the only inmate called by name. Everyone who knew her respected her. One Friday she lit the Shabbos candle and said the blessing. All the women in the barrack were watching her, and this gave them hope and the will to continue living. They were all standing there and suddenly they heard the footsteps of an SS guard nearing the barrack. Everyone panicked. “Tzila, Tzila! Put out the candle!”
And Tzila said calmly, “This is my Shabbos candle, I wouldn’t dream of blowing it out.”
Everybody ran out of the barrack. He came in and looked at her and then at the candle. She kept looking at her candle. He stood there looking and then he left.
Can you talk about the time Tzila saved the 20 women who had been selected by Mengele?
When we arrived in Auschwitz there were 2,000 of us but Mengele selected 20 women, including my Aunt Sabina, and they were taken away. I asked Tzila if she could help them. “If Mengele selected them, they’re doomed,” she said. “But if he put them in block 25 there might still be a chance for a miracle. Let’s pray and hope.”
The next day Tzila looked out the window of the infirmary where she was working and saw Dr. Klein, the German doctor in charge of block 25. She ran out and said to him, “Yesterday they took a couple of my nurses to block 25 by mistake. Please give me written permission to take them out.”
“I’m new here," he said. "Please leave me alone.”
Tzila kept insisting but he refused. On the way back to the infirmary she ran into SS Aufseherin, the head doctor. Tzila said to her, “I just spoke to Dr. Klein and asked him to release a few of my nurses who were taken to Block 25 by mistake. Could you please arrange for their release?"
“Yes, I saw you speaking to him just now," the doctor said to her. "Go to my secretary Bronka and give her the names of the women.” So Tzila went to Bronka and gave her the names of all 20 women. Miraculously, they were all released and brought back to our barrack! When I think about it now, I can’t imagine how, in the bowels of Auschwitz, Tzila had the guts to do that.
Can you talk about how you and Rivkah Horowitz managed to get your friend Balka Grossfeld out of prison?
There was a Gestapo chief named Handke who had become the terror of Krakow. He would drag Jewish men from their homes and arrest them for no reason. Anyone who tried to intervene on their behalf was considered an accomplice and arrested. One day Handke’s thugs stormed into the home of my friend Balka Grossfeld looking for her father. He was not at home so they took Balka instead and put her in prison where she was interrogated. She was there for several months and even her uncle, who was very influential, couldn’t get her out. It got to the point where we couldn’t stand it any more, so Rivkah and I decided to try to get her out by going to speak to Handke ourselves.
One morning we went to the Gestapo building. Once there we saw a sign: “Entry Forbidden to Jews and Dogs.” We entered anyway and the angry guard shouted, “Jews! You don’t see this sign?”
“Yes we see it," I replied, "but Handke needs the information that we’re bringing him.” I don’t know why I said it; God put those words in my mouth. They were always looking for information on people, so this was a good reason to let us in.
They took us to Handke’s office and the secretary took our names then put us in a big safe and locked the door. It was so dark in there and we didn't know what was going to happen. Was she going to take us to Handke or were they going to take us to prison together with Balka?
We waited and waited and finally the steel door opened and they took us to Handke. Rivkah didn’t speak German so I had to address him, but how should I address him? Oberscharfuhrer? Maybe he’s Unterscharfuhrer. But if I call him Unterscharfuhrer and he’s Oberscharfuhrer he might get angry. So I said “Herr Doctor.” That got him. I don’t know what made me say it but he liked the title. He told us to sit down, which was very unusual, and asked me why we’ve come. I began to speak about Balka and he said, “She’s stubborn and refuses to tell me where her father is.”
Once again God put words in my mouth and I made up a story. “She doesn’t know where he is and doesn’t want to know," I told him. "Her father is a drunk. He never comes home. She supports her family with her sewing. She’s so innocent. Please let her go home." Then he asked us a few more questions and told us to go home. Two weeks later Balka was back at the ghetto.
What motivated you and your friends of the Zehnerschaft to act in such a self- sacrificing way at the risk of torture and death?
This is the upbringing and education we had. We were taught to help people no matter what price we had to pay for it. We are here to give. We live to give. As long as you give, you live. You stop giving, you stop living; you’re just existing.
Do you think that your religious convictions had anything to do with your survival?
Yes, I was brought up to believe in God and that whatever He does is for our well being. We pray during difficult times and you know…I don’t have to tell you that sometimes we pray and we don’t get an answer right away. It’s very hard to get through a period like that. But we got through it. There is a verse in Psalms, Chapter 30 which I used to recite at the camps: “Though at night we may lie down crying, in the morning we will awake with song!” We lived through many nights, but we believed that morning would come. We believed that God wanted us to survive; to be witnesses; to tell the world how great our people were during the war. And I did tell the world.
What is your message to young people today?
I often speak to Jewish teenagers and I tell them about those girls and boys who risked their lives to save others; to give someone a piece of bread; or to give away their own piece of bread to someone who was hungrier than they were. I speak to those teenagers and I tell them what greatness they possess; how much goodness, beauty and love they have in them; how much of a will to help others and to bring goodness and justice into the world. I tell them they are just as great as the girls of the Zehnerschaft. I just pray that God won’t test them the way He tested us.
How do you think you were tested?
Those Tillies, Tzilas, Rivkahs, those great, great women and men who risked their lives to save others. They were greater than angels. They passed all those tortures and didn’t become beasts like their tormentors. They lived through it and started a new life. They wanted to give, to live, to build a future for the Jewish people. They bore children and grandchildren. Isn’t that great? Aren’t they greater than angels? The angels did not see their parents being tortured. They did not see little children crying for their mothers. They did not see mothers running after the trucks taking their children to the gas chambers. The angels were not tortured…those people were! Those people lived through the tortures and they still believed. They were greater than angels.
What happened to your family?
My family had moved to Slomniki. A Polish neighbor informed the Gestapo that there was a Jewish family living in my house and they came and took my family one Friday while I was working in Krakow. They murdered my parents, my brother Shimshon and his wife Feiga, my brother Berish, my brother Avrum Chaim, my brother Asher, and my only sister Baila Malka. Their lives were brutally cut off in the death camp of Belzec in June 1942. Only my brother Mendek and I survived.
How do you manage to stay happy despite all the pain that you’ve experienced?
I stay happy by making other people happy. I believe that we were put here to make each other happy. Also, I went to a beautiful graduation here in Boro Park at the Beth Yaacov high school. I look and I see all those Jewish children, and I remember that after the war I could hardly walk, but I went from one barrack to another looking for one child. I did not find one child. Thank God, now we see so many wonderful Jewish children graduating, such great dorot (generations). That makes me very happy.
If you could erase all the traumatic memories of the Holocaust from your mind, would you do it?
No I wouldn’t because even in that university of torture I learned a lot. I grew from it. I don’t want to forget it. I want to teach my children about it. I want to tell my children and all the generations to come what is a man – how man can fall deep down into the pit of evil, and how man can raise himself to the loftiest heights and become greater than an angel. I want to tell the children what the “cultured” German nation did to us. I want to teach the children that they should be proud to be Jewish.
Thank you to Dina Reis for introducing me to Pearl Benisch and arranging our interview.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ho/p/97788879.html
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This year Tisha B'Av begins at sunset on Monday July 19, 2010.
What happened on the Ninth of Av?
A Historical Overview
The 9th of Av, Tisha b'Av, commemorates a list of catastrophes so severe it's clearly a day specially cursed by G‑d.
Picture this: The year is 1313 BCE. The Israelites are in the desert, recently having experienced the miraculous Exodus, and are now poised to enter the Promised Land. But first they dispatch a reconnaissance mission to assist in formulating a prudent battle strategy. The spies return on the eighth day of Av and report that the land is unconquerable. That night, the 9th of Av, the people cry. They insist that they'd rather go backThe Jews were shocked to realize that their Second Temple was destroyed the same day as the first to Egypt than be slaughtered by the Canaanites. G‑d is highly displeased by this public demonstration of distrust in His power, and consequently that generation of Israelites never enters the Holy Land. Only their children have that privilege, after wandering in the desert for another 38 years.
The First Temple was also destroyed on the 9th of Av (423 BCE). Five centuries later (in 69 CE), as the Romans drew closer to the Second Temple, ready to torch it, the Jews were shocked to realize that their Second Temple was destroyed the same day as the first.
When the Jews rebelled against Roman rule, they believed that their leader, Simon bar Kochba, would fulfill their messianic longings. But their hopes were cruelly dashed in 133 CE as the Jewish rebels were brutally butchered in the final battle at Betar. The date of the massacre? Of course—the 9th of Av!
One year after their conquest of Betar, the Romans plowed over the Temple Mount, our nation's holiest site.
The Jews were expelled from England in 1290 CE on, you guessed it, Tisha b'Av. In 1492, the Golden Age of Spain came to a close when Queen Isabella and her husband Ferdinand ordered that the Jews be banished from the land. The edict of expulsion was signed on March 31, 1492, and the Jews were given exactly four months to put their affairs in order and leave the country. The Hebrew date on which no Jew was allowed any longer to remain in the land where he had enjoyed welcome and prosperity? Oh, by now you know it—the 9th of Av.
The Jews were expelled from England in 1290 CE on, you guessed it, Tisha b'AvReady for just one more? World War II and the Holocaust, historians conclude, was actually the long drawn-out conclusion of World War I that began in 1914. And yes, amazingly enough, the First World War also began, on the Hebrew calendar, on the 9th of Av, Tisha b'Av.
What do you make of all this? Jews see this as another confirmation of the deeply held conviction that history isn't haphazard; events – even terrible ones – are part of a Divine plan and have spiritual meaning. The message of time is that everything has a rational purpose, even though we don't understand it.
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http://www.jewinthecity.com/2010/07/pour-out-your-kindness-like-water/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+JewInTheCity+(Jew+in+the+City)
JULY 1ST, 2010
Pour Out Your Kindness Like Water
I’ll call her Lindsay in order to protect the innocent; the only one really guilty of anything was me. You see, I found Lindsay to be annoying -- like really, really annoying. The very sight of her drinking water made my skin crawl. Well, it wasn’t just the way she drank the water, it was also the way she poured it. She always poured it into the same orange plastic cup inside which she always placed a straw. As I’d watch that straw bob up and down with the water’s glub, glub, I’d scream in my head, “why aren’t you drinking straight out of the bottle like the rest of us?”
And then she’d begin to sip it. Oh, the way she sipped that water drove me nuts. Though she was very careful to part her bright red lipstuck-lips just so in order to ensure minimal lipstick loss, a ring of redness always stained that straw which - you guessed it - irrationally irked me too.
I know I should have been paying attention to whatever college class I was taking instead of obsessing over Lindsay’s water drinking habits from across the room, but I was young and immature and couldn't pull myself away. What was worse, the more I watched her the more I disliked her. I never did anything mean to her - you know, I'm not a mean person - but I avoided Lindsay, her orange cup, and straw at all costs.
And then, in a Jewish class I was taking, we started learning about kindness. The rabbi challenged us to do something kind for someone we didn’t like. It’s easy to be nice to people you feel positively about, he explained. It’s even a pleasure. But doing true chesed which comes from the word chasid and means "going beyond oneself," requires us to show kindness in ways we'd normally try to avoid.
So in the dining hall later that day, as I watched Lindsay aimlessly carrying her tray, I took a deep breath, called out her name and invited her to join me at my table. She happily accepted, and though our meal together required me to watch her drink, by the time lunch was over, my senseless hatred of her had vanished.
Though Lindsay and I never became great friends, from that day on, her water drinking habits never bothered me again. What I realized after doing my chesed experiment was that although the nicest thoughts don't always come naturally to me, I can go beyond my nature and make sure my actions overflow with kindness like the water did in Linday's cup.
This article was originally published on www.jwrp.org.
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What Do You Think?
You Can(’t) Help Yourself!
By Levi Avtzon
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1237256/jewish/You-Cant-Help-Yourself.htm
If you look around, I am sure you could spot the life-coach who can't get his own life together; the marriage counselor whose marriage is either history or well on the way; and the parent who preaches to her children to "stop scratching and biting over blocks of Lego" while she is constantly brawling over pride and money.
It is quite obvious that many of us can help anyone but ourselves.
We have advice for our children on how to handle stress. We advise our co-workers on how to manage their time. We teach our students the value of study. And of course we educate our parents how to be parents...
It is quite obvious that many of us can help anyone but ourselves...Yet in our own lives, we are enrolled in an anger management club. Our time management is in serious need of a new CEO. An article longer than 300 words is avoided like the plague. And our own parenthood is a non-issue because we just celebrated our sixteenth birthday.
There are many junctures in our lives when we need objectivity and clarity in order to see our strengths and weaknesses for what they are. Dating, career seeking, child rearing and relationship struggles are just but a sample of stages in our lives when an unbiased view can serve as a potential lifesaver, and where we can be our own worst enemy.
That is why the sages of old have advised and instructed to "Appoint a mentor for yourself!"1 Find yourself someone who can be your guide, your objective compass—pushing, advising and instructing you on how you can be the real you.
Therapists are nice (and expensive) and there are times when they are needed. But not every issue calls for therapy. There are the times when all we need is someone who knows us, who cares for us, a wise person with a little life experience who can save us from ourselves—by seeing the reality for what it is, rather than what we perceive it to be.
And dedicated. The mentor must be dedicated.
Let me share an insight. Shortly before his passing, Moses established "Cities of Refuge." What is a City of Refuge? If a person was guilty of manslaughter, and a family member of the victim was chasing after him to kill him to avenge his next of kin's death, these cities served as a safe zone where the killer could stay and – in the words of the Torah (Deuteronomy 4:42) – "live."
From the fact that Torah says that he should "live" in them, and it's a given that one cannot live without Torah, our Sages ruled that the killer's Torah teacher must accompany his pupil to his city of refuge!2
A real mentor is there for you even when you don't think you need himA real mentor follows you to exile. A real mentor is there for you even when you don't think you need him. A real mentor will pull you by the bootstraps out of any rut you fall in.
My dear friends, may we all find such mentors, and may we serve as such mentors to others.
Oh, what a world it will be…
FOOTNOTES
1.
Ethics 1:6.
2.
Maimonides, Laws of the Murderer and Preservation of Life 7:1.
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Uprooted
Rebuilding After the Holocaust
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1235734/jewish/Uprooted.htm
By Tzippora Price
"For everything, there is a season. A time to destroy. A Time to Build" (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
It all happened in a moment.
The moment my grandmother received the knock in the middle of the night, a fierce pounding that shook the door of her sleeping home and threatened to knock it from its hinges. The moment she was escorted from her home dressed in her nightgown and winter coat, hurried by a Nazi soldier who wouldn't allow her the time to put on her stockings. The moment her history was stripped to its barest essentials, pared down to the contents of a single overnight bag – a change of clothes, her hairbrush, and the prayer book she received on her wedding day.
Our common history of our family's exiles unites usFrom that moment my family has been uprooted.
Two generations, and two continents later, we are still rebuilding.
My grandmother was marched through the streets of her once familiar village until the town square where a thousand lost souls waited. Stripped of their names and identities, the entire Jewish community in her town vanished that night.
By the end of the war, my grandmother had no use for Europe. She began again in Coney Island, as a bathing suit designer with no time to swim. For her, it was just work, shaping spandex into waterproof outfits for people untouched by war.
My mother was touched by the war. Yiddish speaking ghosts haunted her nursery, whispering the names of the missing and unaccounted for. Years later, as a mother herself, those same ghosts haunted my nursery. For years, I never knew that anyone living spoke Yiddish. I thought it was the language of ghosts.
I learned about the technicality of the Holocaust in school. I learned about the sheer numbers that defied comprehension. I learned about the terminology of mass genocide. From my mother, I learned the personal side of the devastation. My mother was an English teacher, who specialized in Holocaust literature. So I read all her books, and sat crying by her side through endless Holocaust films at the local theater. We talked about the books we read, and analyzed the films we had seen.
But I never spoke to my mother about what happened in our home. How each time before we left the house, I watched my mother at the gas stove, checking the burners over and over. Surely there were other mothers who also couldn't leave the house without standing before the oven in a trance. Besides, what did this have to do with the war? My mother chanted as she counted the knobs. "Silver, one, two, three, off." She always used these same words, while my father paced and gritted his teeth, jangling the car keys and quietly cursing that we would once again be late. Still he couldn't disturb her or she would start from the beginning.
My mother knew that you had to be careful with gas and germs. You had to check again that the oven was off, and wash the floor every night with bleach. You had to do these things in order to stay alive. You had to do these things to make sure it didn't all disappear before you returned.
My mother's behavior was not unique. To be a child of a survivor means being hyper-vigilant, as though this act of vigilance could keep the wolves from their prey. My husband is also the grandchild of survivors. His grandparents escaped Germany on the eve of the war, and everything they left behind was consumed in the inferno. Our common history of our family's exiles unites us.
Rebuilding is also how my husband and I have chosen to honor our families’ storiesIt would be easy to focus on the losses of the past, especially when their trauma is still being felt. Yet my husband and I have chosen to build our lives in Israel, where we both came as students. In our apartment building, we have neighbors from Canada and New Zealand, from Belgium and South Africa. We are surrounded by those who consciously chose to make Israel their home, despite the challenges of learning a new language and absorbing a new culture that this entails. We are grateful to be part of this community of builders.
On Tisha B'av, the day that is designated nationally for mourning the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple, we also remember the more immediate tragedies that our families experienced during the war. Yet even on Tisha B'av, a day designed for mourning, the focus is not exclusively on the past. By mid-day, it is time to turn our focus once again to the future, to the task of building, and rebuilding, a task at which the Jewish people excel.
The amazing thing about the Jewish people is our ability to focus on the future, and to never forget our responsibility to future generations. When Jews come to a new place, they are commanded to build a mikvah - a ritual bath - before any other community structure. This commandment forces us to focus on the task of rebuilding.
Rebuilding is also how my husband and I have chosen to honor our families' stories. It has been sixteen years since I first came to Israel, on the equivalent of my collegiate "junior year abroad." I was drawn here, searching for something I didn't quite understand. Yet looking back, I understand what drew me here was this search for a way to honor the past by focusing on building the future.
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http://www.aish.com/h/9av/mm/98394544.html
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I don't know where else to file this. The Westboro Baptist Lunatic Fringe is out at Comic-Con, so Comic-Con attendees decided to hold a counter protest. This set of incidents has inspired a series of blogs/article/pics, some of which are shown below:
(http://www.bleedingcool.com/wp-content/uploads//2010/07/220720101179.jpg)
More here:
http://www.bleedingcool.com/2010/07/22/comic-con-vs-westboro-baptist-church
Interesting argument here:
A Defense of 'God Hates Fags' & Lady Gaga: Westboro Baptist as Cultural Vaccine
Jeffrey Weiss
Correspondent
POSTED:
07/17/10
There surely aren't many more famous religious institutions in America than Westboro Baptist Church or many more famous church leaders than its founder, Fred Phelps. Even if you don't immediately recognize the names, I bet you'll immediately recognize a three-word clue: "God hates fags."
Yup. It's the folks who carry their hate in the name of Jesus across the nation, to synagogues and churches, Holocaust museums and public schools, community centers and state capitals. Most notoriously, they picket the funerals of soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan with signs reading "Thank God for Dead Soldiers" -- because they believe that as long as America countenances sin, American soldiers deserve to die.
I'd like to offer a limited but real defense for the Phelpsists: They're an attenuated virus vaccine for the American body politic.
Such a vaccine takes a live disease virus and weakens it in some way. For the vast majority of people, the vaccine causes no serious side effects, and instead provokes an immune response that creates a long-term protection against the deadlier form of the ailment.
This kind of vaccine is used to fight such diseases as measles, mumps, rubella, chicken pox and influenza. If I'm right, the "Phelpsist vaccine" provokes an immune response against racism, anti-Semitism, anti-gay violence and hubris in the name of the Almighty.
In case you don't know, Westboro is a small church in Kansas, affiliated with no Baptist denomination or even another Baptist church. According to news reports, almost all of its members -- fewer than 100 -- are related to founder Fred Phelps either by blood or marriage.
Their theology is, to put it mildly, extreme. They assert that God hates all manner of people who disobey what the Phelpsists consider to be God's will. I went looking in the King James Version (the translation used by the Phelpsists) for evidence to support their assertion. I found plenty of verses where God takes out some serious wrath on one people or another. Lots of talk about love and repentance. And plenty of verses that include the word "hate." But almost all of those verses were about people who hate God or God's laws or God's prophets.
And yet, I did find a few verses where it says God hates somebody:
Psalms 5:5 -- "Thou hatest all workers of iniquity." Hosea 9:15 -- "All their wickedness is in Gilgal: for there I hated them." Malachi 1:3 -- "yet I loved Jacob, And I hated Esau."
Most biblical scholars -- even those who agree with the Phelpsists about the sinfulness of abortion, homosexuality and fornication -- say that their "gospel of hate" is faulty exegesis. (But I'll grant that much larger denominations than the Phelpsist sect erect large scaffoldings of ritual and practice based on fewer verses.)
The theology, however, is not why Westboro is infamous. It's famous because its members hit upon the perfect road to fame in a media-rich era. They carry their intentionally provocative signs from city to city, alighting at places they know will attract the most attention. They maintain a sophisticated website with a constantly updated calendar showing where and when they will strike next. And they create a visual tableau irresistible to TV cameras.
Word of a planned Westboro protest at pop star Lady Gaga's concert in St. Louis on Saturday prompted Gaga to urge fans in a Facebook message before the show: "pay these hate criminals no mind. Do not interact with them, or try to fight. Do not respond to any of their provocation." The Westboro group targeted Lady Gaga earlier this year with fliers that said, "God hates 'Lady' Gaga." Her art and fashion are euphemisms for teaching "rebellion against God," the Westboro flier said. (My Politics Daily colleague Suzi Parker has more details abut the Gaga-Westboro confrontation here.)
Last weekend, they were in North Texas. Next stops on their itinerary included California, Kansas, Nebraska and Missouri. I've noticed for a while that wherever they go, people in those towns come up with some kind of reaction. Almost always, any counterprotest vastly outnumbers the Phelpsists, who generally show up with a dozen or so people, plus a few children.
In some places, the reaction is mano-a-mano -- people with signs and slogans to overwhelm the signs and slogans of the Phelpsists. In some places, the reaction is songs and psalms, voices raised in harmony to cover the shouts. In some places, the reaction is a fundraising Phelps-a-thon, which works a lot like any number of cause-related walk-a-thons. Except in this case, donors are asked to contribute so many dollars for every minute the Phelpsists engage their protest.
Some places engage in a sort of dada protest-by-ridicule. Counter-protesters hold up Westboro-style signs reading, "I have a sign!" or "God hates pie!" or something else absurd.
One of my favorite reactions to Westboro is the Patriot Guard Riders, a loose national confederation with chapters in many states. The riders, created by motorcyclists outraged by the pickets at military funerals, bring their choppers and an American flag to a military funeral and station themselves as an honor guard between the mourners and the Phelpsists. The rumble and growl of motorcycle engines drowns out the Westboro slogans.
In other cases, as with Lady Gaga, people choose not to react in any public fashion, the goal being to deprive the Phelpsists of any additional publicity.
But in every case, in every city, Westboro's targets are forced to confront the issues raised by the protests. How does this community feel about hating homosexuals? Or Jews? What are the appropriate ways to respond to the pickets? How certain are we that we know the will of God as expressed in our sacred texts? What is the best and most effective way to recruit opponents to Westboro? (Not surprisingly, "Facebook and Twitter" have become an important answer to that last question.)
What I've yet to find is anything more than a few isolated voices raised in support of the Phelpsists. They gain no converts to their cause, no support for their hatreds. Even those churches where members agree with some of the theology are so repulsed by the way the Phelpsists make their case that they distance themselves.
So Westboro provokes a beneficial response, while causing little or no lasting harm. Just like the vaccine.
For my theory to hold water, though, I needed to find some long-term effect. Did the introduction of the Phelpsists into a community create a reaction that hangs on after they move along? I decided to contact several people in the cities where Westboro had been over the past few months.
Kathy Kniep is the executive director of the YWCA in Clark County, Washington. In early June, she was part of a counterprotest organized when the Phelpsists came to town. The Westboro folks chose to picket a school. While the educators asked that there be no public reaction at their school, several organizations decided to hold an event at another location.
"We made a conscious decision to hold a rally as a positive event to promote what we think is good as opposed to reacting against what we think is bad," Kniep said.
Their event pulled together elected officials, activists and religious leaders from across a spectrum of beliefs and politics, she said. And that could have a long-term effect as they work together on other causes.
"It was not just the lefty liberal social service staff and volunteers," she said.
Isaac Bailey is a columnist for The Sun News in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Back in May, he wrote about the reaction to a visit there from the Phelpsists. I asked him whether there were residual effects.
"A lot of folks who are usually on opposite sides of the aisle actually protested together against all those things you mentioned -- anti-gay sentiments, religious intolerance, etc.," he said. "I also got word from a few non-profits who received several $100 checks -- including one which is solely designed to help HIV patients and families -- in the name of Westboro Baptist Church -- money they desperately needed and would not have otherwise gotten if Westboro didn't show up."
In April, the Phelpsists visited Charleston, West Virginia. Amy Weintraub, executive director of Charleston Covenant House, organized "flashmobs" to respond. Like the folks in Clark County, these events were intentionally not held near the Westboro pickets. Weintraub said she feared that the pickets could provoke violence, and she wanted to prevent that from happening.
The flashmob consisted of a rehearsed street dance to a disco mix of the old John Denver song "Country Roads." ("It's kind of our state song," Weintraub said.)
At a particular time, on a particular street, the music fired up, people did a little dance, and then melted back into the crowd. Whether it was effective as protest, it was fun. As many as 150 people participated in four performances organized through Facebook.
"It brought together people of all ages and walks of society in ways they never would have, otherwise," she said. And it identified her organization as a potential agent of social change.
Westboro Baptist Church may create a far more permanent legacy than anything to be found in the cities it visits. A federal court case is on its way to the U.S. Supreme Court, testing whether restrictions on the group's military funeral pickets violate the First Amendment to the Constitution.
The court will hear an appeal from the father of a Marine killed in Iraq. Albert Snyder's case has been bouncing up through the lower courts since the Phelpsists showed up at his son's funeral in 2006. A jury awarded him a $5 million verdict. But the 4th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals said the signs contained "imaginative and hyperbolic rhetoric" protected by the First Amendment.
The high court will hear the case this fall.
Extreme cases like these clarify boundaries in the law. And I would not be at all surprised if the court holds its nose and rules that public free speech is public free speech, even at soldiers' funerals. Which would be powerful protection for the rest of us, whose exercise of public free speech is not likely to be nearly as offensive as the Phelpsists.
To push my metaphor a little more, I admit that Westboro is not harmless. Just as that attenuated virus vaccine sometimes makes people sick, some of Westboro's protests are, no doubt, horribly painful for their targets. And the protests do offer some reinforcement for people who hate in silence or in ways less obvious than horrible signs and slogans. Is the risk worth the benefit?
The folks I contacted disagree.
"I don't wish that group on anybody," Kniep said of the Clark County visit. "There was television coverage of the event here. The quotes from the people from Westboro Baptist Church were just heinous. No good came come of that."
Weintraub took the other side. Was the Westboro visit to Charleston, on balance, a good thing?
"As weird as it sounds," she said, "I would say yes."
Worth it or not? Similar sentiments can be found in other theologies, and I know the danger of getting into a proof-text war, but I'm reminded of a passage that I don't see cited on the Westboro website from the King James translation of the New Testament. Romans 8:28:
"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God . . ."
http://www.politicsdaily.com/2010/07/17/a-defense-of-god-hates-fags-westboro-baptist-church-as-a-cu/
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I enjoyed the westbro article.
Born on Top of the Mountain
By Mendy Wolf
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/960537/jewish/Born-on-Top-of-the-Mountain.htm
The story is told of a group of mountain climbers who had their hearts set on reaching the peak of a very tall mountain. They trained for years, practicing in harsh climates, scaling smaller mountains. One day, they thought they were finally ready. Supplied with essentials and filled with excitement, they set out for the long climb.
After many difficult days, the group finally reached the summit. Their satisfaction was complete - they had achieved their great goal, realizing a dream of years. Suddenly, to their shock, they sighted a young boy sitting comfortably on a rock. Here they had trained for years to scale the mountain; how had he gotten there?
In response to their questions, the lad stated simply, "I was born here."
Every one of us is born at the top of some mountainImagine you were that child, fortunate to be given what others needed to labor arduously to accomplish. How would you feel? Would you be grateful? Would you take it for granted? Would you feel superior to others?
Now stop imagining. You are that boy. Yes, we are each born with unique talents and capabilities which enable us to reach heights that remain out of reach for others. Every one of us is born at the top of some mountain, be it intellect, physical strength, creativity or anything else.
It is easy to feel that we own our achievements. We pride ourselves on a job well done. We consider ourselves deserving of the profits of our labor. Charity? It's my money! Gratitude? For what? This is all my work!
In Deuteronomy (8:17-18), Moses exhorts us not to fall into that trap of entitlement. When we start thinking, "My strength and the might of my hand made me all this wealth," we are to remember that our strength was, after all, given to us by G-d.
Yes, we may work hard, and for that we deserve recognition. But let us not forget that we received a head start. We may have cut a great deal, but it was only because we received a "lead." We were born at the top of a mountain: Our efforts, however laudable, really build upon the talents and capabilities we were given, grati
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The Snake in the Wall
Talmud, Shabbat 156b
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/475842/jewish/The-Snake-in-the-Wall.htm
Rabbi Akiva had a daughter. But astrologers said to him, "On the day she enters the bridal chamber, a snake will bite her and she will die."
On the night of her marriage, she removed a brooch and stuck it into the wall. When she pulled it out the following morning, a poisonous snake came trailing after it; the pin had penetrated into the eye of the serpent.
"Was there anything special that you did yesterday?" her father asked her.
"A poor man came to our door in the evening," she replied. "Everybody was busy at the banquet, and there was none to attend to him. So I took the portion which was given to me and gave it to him."
Thereupon Rabbi Akiva went out and declared: "Charity delivers from death."1 And not just from an unnatural death, but from death itself.
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The Jewish View of Marriage
by Dan Silverman
Three ingredients of a successful marriage.
Most of us, if we aren't already, will end up getting married at some point in our lives.
How many of us plan on getting divorced? If statistics are right, there's a good chance half of us will.
The relationships in our lives largely determine the amount of happiness we have in life. Who we choose to marry is arguably the most important decision we will make in determining our happiness and our children's happiness (and even your parents' happiness).
We train and license people for almost every conceivable activity. Doctors, lawyers, plumbers, chefs, interior designers – they all have to prove their competence before we would dare use them.
But for the big issues in life, for the things that really matter, there really is no training – no degrees in parenting, schools for happiness, PhD's in relationships.
For most of us we approach the issues in love and marriage as orphans, without learning from the cumulative experience and wisdom of past generations. We approach the key questions – What is marriage? How do I find the right person? How do I ensure a happy, fulfilling marriage? – alone, making all sorts of mistakes as we try to figure it out and get it right. That method would work – if no one got hurt along the way.
Today, marriage seems to be a kind of evolutionary accident. After a period of getting acquainted, dating and becoming romantically involved comes the stage of restlessness. The couple confronts the terrifying question of: What next? The default answer puts them on the altar of marriage, vowing to live happily ever after. Hopefully.
Jews believe that God created the world for man to have a life of meaning and pleasure. He wants us to have it all. And He gave us an instruction book telling us how to get it. The Torah is Torat Chaim – literally, the instructions for living.
How do you think the Torah describes the state of being married? Eternal bliss? Chained?
"A man should therefore leave his father and mother and be united with his wife, and they shall become one flesh" (Genesis 2:24). Marriage is the process of becoming one flesh. Marriage is not two people coming together to form a partnership, nor an agreement to be roommates permanently. It’s not a method to get a tax break, or a way to share household chores. The Jewish idea of marriage is two halves becoming one, completing each other.
What does the couple need in order to accomplish this sense of unification? Imagine marriage as a journey down the path of life. Car, gas, food – we're ready to go. What is necessary for the two travelers in this car to “unite” for this trip?
Destination: They have to know where they're going in order to commit to go together. If one wants to go skiing, he can't get there with someone who wants to go to the beach.
Commitment: Two people won't arrive at their destination if one can back out at a second's notice.
Affinity: If they can't stand each other, it’s going to be an intolerable ride.
Life Goals
The essence of marriage is the commitment to pursue life goals together.
Marriage needs to have clear goals shared by husband and wife. It's so obvious, but so often ignored. I know a couple who almost ended up divorced because after a few years of marriage he wanted children and she didn't want the burden of raising them. They dated for five years – yet never discussed if they wanted to have children!
Don't think this a far-out example. Couples break up over many issues: How to raise their kids, where to live, how much a part religion will play in their lives, giving priority to a career or family, whose career will come first if they're in conflict.
Shared values and priorities provide a structure which unites the couple and allows them to work on becoming "one flesh.”
Some of us think that marriage itself is enough of a life goal. We are fed the illusion that you don't need any goals outside of one another. “All you need is love.”
Not true. Marriage itself is not a life goal. It puts an unbearable strain on a relationship if the partners expect the relationship will satisfy all their needs.
Love is not all you need. Marriage is a powerful tool to help us pursue the things we care about in life with added energy, with an added sense of self. If you’re depressed, aimless and single, you'll be depressed, aimless and married.
Life goals are the things in life that mean everything to you, the values that you stand for, that you're willing to sacrifice for. If they're so easy to change, then chances are they're not so important to you.
What do we mean by values?
Honesty, integrity, loyalty, kindness. If she’s not nice to her own family, there’s a good chance she’s not going to be nice to yours, either.
This person is going to be the parent of your children. How will they shape your kids?
You can't delay discussing life goals, hoping you'll come to an agreement once you're married, expecting the other person to change. Ideas and tastes change, but character is something very hard to change. Don't expect her to change. You have to be ruthlessly honest.
For many people, the problem is the lack of clear life goals. We spend years going to college, learning how to make a decent living, but we are rarely challenged to confront the issues of what priorities supersede our financial goals.
Sure, we all have a vague sense of what we want in life: to be good, raise a family, make the world a better place. These are lovely sentiments, but in the words of Gloria Steinem, "We best know our values when we look at our check stubs." Our true values are most revealed – not by what we say, but by the way we spend our time and money.
If we aren't clearly defining our life goals, then they are being defined for us. We tend to adopt society's values, and today society's main value is wealth and success. People magazine is filled with the lives of the rich and famous, not the wise and happy. There once was an advertisement that showed the sun setting behind a luxury automobile. The caption read: "You are looking at 3,500 pounds of life goal fulfillment."
We spend so much time and energy on becoming rich and successful, yet we all know that that is not what it's all about. We will never hear a eulogy of how he “was a very classy dresser, he always drove this year's model, and his house was enormous."
Besides this, success and career as life goals are not necessarily conducive to a good marriage. Success requires a lot of time and energy, and that often comes at the expense of one’s spouse and family.
Before you can contemplate marriage, you need to know your life goals: What do I want to do with my life? What are the things that mean everything to me? And why?
Here are two exercises that might help clarify things:
a) Life goals are those things you’d regret not having done if you died tomorrow. Rabbi Noah Weinberg zt”l said: “You don't know what you're living for, unless you know what you're ready to die for. Articulate the essential things that make life constantly purposeful. Go further and ask, "Why? Why am I ready to die for this?" Be clear. And then: If you're ready to die for it, live for it. What else could be more meaningful?
b) List three people you respect most in the world. Identify what you respect. Why do you value this?
Couples may argue over a stray toothpaste cap or whose turn it is to get up with the baby, but no matter how heated these run-ins become, they should never destroy a marriage.
Know your own goals in life. Then you can talk about whether or not the person you’re dating is moving in the same direction.
Commitment
When it comes to the topic of marriage, many people wonder: Why bother? I'll just have the relationship without the marriage.
Let’s understand the Jewish idea of marriage.
In describing Adam, the first human, the Torah says, "Male and female He created them” (Genesis 1:27). We learn from here that originally Man was created as male and female in one complete entity. They were then separated, and brought together again as a couple. Marriage is the unification of two halves into one complete entity, described as "one flesh.”
It's not just poetics.
What is my commitment to my hand?
I am not committed to my hand. I am my hand. My commitment to my hand is one I'd reconsider if it became gangrenous, and I was left with no choice but amputation.
But I wouldn't reconsider my commitment to my hand if it were broken, or ugly, or if I met someone with a nicer hand. If your hand is killing you – then you get rid of it. The commitment of marriage is until it's killing you.
Divorce is appropriate when the marriage has become an abusive, destructive relationship that can't be cured. Amputation is never casual. Often people get divorced because they simply get bored with each other. The marriage goes stale and flat. "We don’t laugh like we used to anymore."
If someone told you that he was amputating his hand because "The fun went out of it" you'd say he's nuts. Marriage is exactly the same.
If that sounds a bit extreme, it’s because we have a faulty definition of comfort and pleasure.
Comfort is not pleasure. Comfort is the absence of pain. Lying on the beach, a cold drink, falling asleep – this is nice and comfortable.
Pleasure, on the other hand, requires effort and work. In fact, all meaningful accomplishments and deeper pleasures necessitate the struggle to achieve them: Raising kids, mastering a sport or an instrument, getting ahead in your career. If it doesn’t require pain, if it comes easily without challenge, then it's not as pleasurable. It doesn't mean as much to you.
Make no mistake about it: Marriage is not comfortable. Marriage demands a lot of work and pain. You can't continue avoiding your weaknesses, living in your tailor-made world of illusions. Marriage requires confronting yourself and that is hard.
Marriage doesn't decrease demands and responsibilities – it adds to them in heaps and bounds. There isn't only “me” to think about anymore – there is a whole other person, who is surprisingly different than you. Marriage forces you to get out of your self-centeredness. It demands an emotional intimacy that for many of us is new and frightening.
Squeezing two people together to form one flesh is bound to create some tension. And there will come a point in the middle of a fight when you're ready to throw up your arms, thinking "This person is nuts – I can't take it any longer!” At that point the future of your marriage hangs in the balance. Take a deep breath and resolve to work it out. Then you're on the road to building a great marriage. If you feel like taking the easy way out, then it’s only a matter of time – maybe six months or six years – but eventually things will get too tough and the relationship will crumble.
Marriage requires work and the commitment to make it work. Without that commitment, do not get married! It's only a matter of time before it gets too difficult, and you'll be out the door.
So maybe you’ll ask (and many people are asking today): Why bother getting married? What makes the effort worth it?
Marriage makes a person into a full human being.
By oneself, a person is destined to remain a self-centered egocentric being, his main concerns in life being the fulfillment of his need for power, prestige and gratification. Marriage gives him the chance to overcome all that and become, instead, a giver – one who is concerned about another person's needs.
Marriage is the way to build a family and a home, share your life with someone you love, deepen your emotional capacities, and open yourself up to another like you never have before.
Those who ask, "Can't I have all this without marriage?" are really saying: "Do I really have to make the level of commitment that requires me to stick it out when the going gets tough?"
Without that commitment, you're roommates. It's not the same as marriage. Whatever you build together is built on quicksand. Because as long as there’s an exit, that exit, at some point in the relationship, will be taken.
Commitment is the backbone of marriage. Of course, if you want the other person’s total commitment, you have to make the same level of commitment yourself.
Love and Infatuation
So where does love fit into all this? How can we talk about marriage without talking about love?
When we talk about love we have to make a distinction between “love” and “infatuation.” Infatuation is: We met on the beach, I was struck by her beauty, it was so wonderful being with her, with the sunset shimmering through her golden hair. I knew this was forever."
Do you think this relationship is going to last?
Because it stems from desire, infatuation rarely lasts. Love, on the other hand, comes from a genuine appreciation of who the other person is. Infatuation is blind, love is a magnifying glass. If you think she's perfect, then chances are you're head over heels in infatuation. If you can't stand the way she says hello, then you're in love.
Love comes from really knowing a person and seeing his/her beauty, strength of character and what he/she is really made of. You can't love someone until you know them. It's like saying you love a book you haven't read. All you got to know was the outer jacket.
Which brings us to a shocker: True love comes after marriage. The Torah says that Isaac took Rebecca into his tent and he loved her (Genesis 24:67). Love should grow continuously as your appreciation of your spouse grows.
A friend of mine was sitting with his father and said to him, "Dad, after five years of marriage, I think I finally understand what love is."
The father said, "Wait till you're married 25 years, then you'll understand what love is."
The grandfather was also in the room and overheard this exchange. He told them: "Wait till you're married 50 years. Then you'll really understand what love is."
Putting It All Together
Of course, you need to be attracted. Intimacy is a foundation of marriage, the true “binding of one flesh” described in genesis. You can't develop a loving relationship with someone who repulses you. But the goal is not to win a beauty contest. What is important is that you have a basic attraction. This will grow as your appreciation of their inner beauty grows. The intimacy becomes an expression of the emotional closeness that you’ve built.
Of course, if you're seriously looking for a lifelong partner, it’s important to get to know the person while remaining as objective as possible. Now is not the time to get swept off your feet; now is the time to take a really honest look at who this person truly is. It's not enough that she's nice and attractive.
So remember: Look for a marriage partner with:
Same destination – life goals
Shared commitment
Affinity and attraction
Define your goals, and then commit to marriage as the vehicle to get you there together. It is life’s most precious journey.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/f/m/98914744.html
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MP3s and the Good Enough Revolution
By Arnie Gotfryd
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1239135/jewish/MP3s-and-the-Good-Enough-Revolution.htm
A person is obligated to give to another, for the money is not his own. G‑d has given the money to him on trust, for the purpose of giving it to others. – The Rebbe (Likutei Sichos, Vol.2, p. 411)
Asian trappers have a neat trick for catching monkeys. They hollow out a coconut through a small hole, fill it with chickpeas, and wedge it firmly between rocks or fasten it to a tree. Smelling the chickpeas, the monkey gingerly sidles over to the treasure trove, surreptitiously slips his hand into the hole, grasps a fistful of goodies, and... oops... he's stuck – stuck between two options… either drop the peas and slip his hand out, our hang onto them and get caught himself. The monkeys are smart but the peas win out.
The art of letting go is much more than a self-help toolWe've all got our chickpea traps – obsessions big or small that cost us our freedom – be it businesses that devour our families, inboxes that gobble up our days, diversions that distract us from our greater goals. The lesson is obvious. Sometimes you just have to let go.
The art of letting go is much more than a self-help tool. It's also integral to a pervasive megatrend sweeping world culture and world markets. Analysts call it the Good Enough Revolution and it stands on a tripod of three factors –simplicity, convenience and low cost. Until recently, technology has been driving product offerings to greater and greater heights of quality, with more and more features. But all that is changing now.
Take, for example, the MP3. These highly compressed audio files have quickly become the industry standard even though, sound-wise, they are of low quality. The explanation is that they are also simple to use, convenient to store and share, and very inexpensive.
The same thing happened in the video recording market. Pure Digital owners Jonathan Kaplan and Ariel Braunstein launched the $150 Flip video camera in a world where a mid-priced Sony was running $800. Like the MP3, they slipped in at the bottom of the market and two years later are the best-selling video cameras in the US. True, the images are grainier, the viewing screen is tiny, there's no color adjustment and no optical zoom. But it takes 10 seconds to figure out how to use it, fits in your shirt pocket, and costs very little.
The list of good-enoughers goes on: we get facts from Wikipedia, breaking news from blogs, telecommunications from Skype, and ads from Google. The US military today relies on the new unmanned MQ-1 Predator that cannot fly as fast, as high or as heavily armed as most craft. But it's simple, portable and relatively cheap – the MP3 Effect.
A good-enough guy works to live, he doesn't live to workWhat about the perfectionists of this world? A perfectionist will certainly care that Wikipedia isn't quite as reliable as the Encyclopedia Britannica, that bloggers don't use fact checkers, that Skype drops calls, and that Google ads don't grab attention. But when it comes to most things, do we really need perfection? Are you investing your life savings based on wikinformation? Are you treating a fatal condition based on a health blog you found? Are you calling a once-in-a-lifetime business contact on a VOIP line? Surely these are the times to raise the bar – to pay more for quality – but those times are rare. Most of the time, good enough is just great.
A good-enough guy works to live, he doesn't live to work. Good enough means sometimes letting a loved one be right even when wrong. Good enough earnings let you take more meaningful jobs. Depending on the day, good-enough parents might drop the dishes to play ball or drop the ball to do the dishes. A good enough attitude lets you know when to drop the chickpeas for things that matter more.
But how do we know how much is good enough? Is there a way to quantify our priorities? Analysts and managers have a tool to do just that. It's called the Pareto Principle or the 80/20 Rule and it's named after a turn-of-the-century Italian economist who noticed that 20% of his countrymen owned 80% of the nation's wealth. Since then, a flood of observations of all kinds have supported the general idea.
Business analyst John Reh says that: "Project managers know that 20 percent of the work (the first 10 percent and the last 10 percent) consumes 80 percent of your time and resources. You can apply the 80/20 Rule to almost anything, from the science of management to the physical world. You know 20 percent of your stock takes up 80 percent of your warehouse space and that 80 percent of your stock comes from 20 percent of your suppliers. Also 80 percent of your sales will come from 20 percent of your sales staff. Twenty percent of your staff will cause 80 percent of your problems, but another 20 percent of your staff will provide 80 percent of your production. It works both ways.
Ever since Sinai, Jews have been tithing their produce and their income "The value of the Pareto Principle for a manager is that it reminds you to focus on the 20 percent that matters. Of the things you do during your day, only 20 percent really matter. Those 20 percent produce 80 percent of your results. Identify and focus on those things. When the fire drills of the day begin to sap your time, remind yourself of the 20 percent you need to focus on. If something in the schedule has to slip, if something isn't going to get done, make sure it's not part of that 20 percent."
In the 80/20 Rule, good-enough marketers of good-enough products see a way to turn good-enough profits. Practicing Jews see a way to spend those profits – on tzedakah, or charity.
Ever since Sinai, Jews have been tithing their produce and their income and giving it away. In Temple times, ten percent went to the Levite (hence the term to levy a tax), and another ten percent went to holiday celebrations and gifts to the poor – about 20% altogether. Today, Jews are obliged to give at least a tenth of their earnings to charity and the virtuous still give a fifth. According to the Tanya, the fifth we give brings purpose and elevated significance to the rest.
Perhaps the two 80/20 rules are related intrinsically, embedded in nature and society like the divine proportions of the golden rectangle. Be that as it may, there is something more to the charity rule. While clever businessmen trade off their 20's against their 80's to maximizing their gains, the simple Jew has it all – the 20% he gives away is a mitzvah and that's his forever, while the 80% he keeps becomes exalted along the way.
That way you get to have your chickpeas and eat them, too.
And since tzedakah brings Moshiach, there will be enough chickpeas to go around for everybody, monkeys and trappers included. And on that day the whole world will know that letting go of 20% really was the way to make a good enough world truly great.
By Arnie Gotfryd More articles... |
Dr. Arnie Gotfryd, PhD, is a chassidic Jew and environmental scientist, having earned Canada’s first doctorate in Applied Ecology. He designed and taught an accredited, award-winning undergraduate course called Faith and Science which has been the most popular offering at University of Toronto’s New College for many years.
He writes and speaks extensively on the interplay of science and faith, and what it all means for the individual and the world at large. You can visit his website for more.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or
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What You Obviously Don't Know
By Yanki Tauber
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/86074/jewish/What-You-Obviously-Dont-Know.htm
The incident I'm going to tell you about occurred more than ten years ago, but hardly a week goes by in which I don't think about it.
I had popped into a Jerusalem synagogue for minchah (afternoon prayers). A few rows in front of me there was this man, sitting with his four kids. The fellow in front of him had his arm over the back of the bench, and the fellow behind him was also disturbing him in some way. He kept snapping at his kids. What a jerk, I thought to myself. Ok, you're nervous, you're rude, that's fine, there are lots of nervous and rude people in these stress-ridden times, but does the whole world have to know it?
I'm really a live-and-let-live kind of guy, but this fellow was impossible to ignore. His ill-will and discontent filled the room. Yes, I thought, your kids are a rowdy bunch, but do you have to yell at them all the time? Why don't you leave them home if they get on your nerves so much?
At the conclusion of the service, his four kids--the twelve-year old, the nine-year old, the eight-year old and the six-year old--stood in a row and recited the mourner's kaddish. What a jerk, I muttered--meaning myself of course--my face hot with shame.
Since there's so much that we'll never know about another person, any attempt to pass judgement on him or her seems doomed to failure. In the words of the Talmud, "Do not judge your fellow until you have reached his place." What the Talmud is really saying, I suspect, is, "Don't judge your fellow, ever," since "his place" is a place where you can never truly be.
The problem, however, is that there are times and circumstances in which we have to judge others, or at least appoint people to do the job for us. We call these people "judges," and without them, no society could function.
Indeed the Torah instructs, "Judges and officers you shall appoint in all your [city] gates." But the Torah also sets down numerous rules and regulations which delimit the judge's power to judge, and ensure that when he does judge, he does so with utmost caution and sensitivity.
A case in point is the law of the "indefensible criminal." This is how it works:
Under Torah law, capital crimes are tried by a tribunal of 23 judges called a "Minor Sanhedrin." After hearing the testimony of the witnesses, the judges themselves would split into two groups: those inclined to argue for the acquittal of the accused would serve as his "defense team" and seek to convince their colleagues of his innocence; those inclined to convict would make the case for his guilt. Then the judges would vote. A majority of one was sufficient to exonerate, while a majority of two was necessary to convict.
But what if all twenty-three judges form an initial opinion of guilt? What if the evidence is so compelling and the crime so heinous that not a single member of the tribunal chooses to argue in the accused's favor? In such a case, says Torah law, the accused cannot be convicted and must be exonerated by the court.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains the rationale behind this law as follows: No man is so utterly evil that there is nothing to be said in his defense. There is always some explanation, some justification, some perspective from which the underlying goodness of his soul can be glimpsed. This does not mean that he is going to be found innocent, in the legal sense, by a court of law: at times the "mitigating circumstances" result in a verdict of acquittal; at times, they do not. But if not a single member of the court perceives the "innocent side" of the person standing accused before them, this a court that obviously has very little understanding of who he is and what has done. Such a court has disqualified itself from passing judgement on him.
But that's a lesson for judges. The rest of us have neither need or cause to pass judgement on anyone. Which is fortunate, because there's so much that we don't know.
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Elul--
August 10 - September 8, 2010
Inventory Season
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/706431/jewish/Elul.htm
Elul, the last month of the Jewish year, is a time to review the past and look at where you've come in life. It's a preparation for the upcoming "Days of Awe" – Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur – when we resolve to do better this year than last.
The theme of Elul is return to your essential self – a.k.a. teshuvah – helped along by prayer and charity. "The king is in the field," they say, meaning that the G‑dly spark within you is much more accessible, as long as you search for it.
Some key customs for the month of Elul:
The shofar is a wake-up call to spiritually prepare for Rosh HashanahEach day (excepting Shabbat), a ram's horn (called a shofar) is blown after the morning services. It's a wake-up call to spiritually prepare for Rosh Hashanah.
When writing a letter, we sign off, "May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year."
We add Chapter 27 of Psalms to the morning and afternoon daily prayers.
The Baal Shem Tov began a custom of saying three additional chapters of Psalms, sequentially, each day, from the 1st of Elul until Yom Kippur—when the remainder of Psalms is completed.
This is a good time to have your tefillin and mezuzot inspected by a scribe to ensure that they are still in good condition.
Selichot
Selichot are prayers to G‑d that ask forgiveness. Sephardic Jews recite special selichot early every morning of Elul. Ashkenazi Jews begin these selichot shortly after midnight on the Sunday morning before Rosh Hashanah—unless this start date doesn't allow for a minimum of four days of selichot, in which case, they start selichot on the Sunday morning before that. Selichot are then recited daily before the morning prayers until Rosh Hashanah. Many continue reciting selichot until Yom Kippur.
Try to attend synagogue for selichot, since many of the prayers can only be said in a group.
Click here for more on Elul and Selichot.
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/4685/jewish/Month-of-Elul.htm
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Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/56888/jewish/The-Month-of-the-Bride.htm
(http://w3.clhosting.org/media/images/95/OENT956467.jpg)
I am to my beloved, and my beloved is to me
Song of Songs 6:3
In every relationship, there are times when the "male" or giving partner takes the initiative, and times when the "female" or receiving partner is the first to express her feelings and thereby stimulate the feelings of her partner.
The question of who takes the initiative has a profound effect on the nature of the relationship. For though the end result is that both of them express their love for each other, the initiating partner determines the nature of the other's response. When initiated by the giving partner, the response stimulated in the recipient will likewise be a "masculine" response; when initiated by the recipient, the giver's response will also be of a "feminine" nature, for it will be influenced and shaped by the source of its arousal.
In Song of Songs, which explores the relationship between G-d and Israel through the metaphor of the love between a bride and her groom, we find expressions of both male-initiated and female-initiated love. In one verse, the narratress proclaims, "My beloved is to me, and I am to him" (Song of Songs 2:16). In another, she says, "I am to my beloved, and my beloved is to me" (ibid. 6:3).
There are times when the Almighty showers us with love and kindness, arousing in us a response in kind ("My beloved is to me, and I am to him"). But there are also times in which we take the initiative, expressing our love and devotion to Him despite His apparent distance from us, thereby awakening in Him His love for us ("I am to my beloved, and my beloved is to me").
It may be argued that the divinely-initiated love produces a higher and loftier love than the love which is initiated by ourselves. When the initial arousal comes from G-d, it is a show of love that is as infinite and sublime as its source, arousing in us feelings that we could never have produced ourselves. Nevertheless, such a love cannot be said to be truly our own. We have been overwhelmed by something that is infinitely greater than ourselves, and our own response is likewise "larger than life," bearing little relation to who and what we are in our natural state.
On the other hand, the love we generate ourselves may be less magnificent and glorious, but it is a deeper and truer love. It is an integral love -- a love that comes from within and expresses our deepest yearnings. And when we awaken such a love in ourselves, G-d responds in kind, showing us an integral, intimate love -- a love that embraces us as we are, rather than transporting us to sublime yet alien peaks of spirituality and transcendence.
The Acronym
The month of Elul is a time of special closeness between the Divine Groom and His bride Israel. This is alluded to by the fact that, in Hebrew, the first letters of the verse "I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me" (ani ledodi v'dodi li) spell the word Elul.
It is significant that the acronym for Elul comes from the verse that describes a love that is initiated by the bride, rather than the verse in which the initial show of love comes from the groom. For despite its designation as a time for special closeness between G-d and man, Elul is a most "ordinary" month, conspicuously devoid of festivals and holy days. In other words, Elul is not a time in which we are "lifted up" from our daily routine to the more spiritual state of a festival day; rather, it is a time in which we remain in our natural environment as material beings inhabiting a material life.
For the month of Elul, whose astral sign is the sign of betulah ("virgin"), is the month of the bride. Elul is a time when the initiative comes from our side of the relationship, and the divine response to our love is one that relates to us as finite, material beings and embraces our natural self and personality.
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A Tiny Fix and a Little Snip
Two Elul Parables
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/4372/jewish/A-Tiny-Fix-and-a-Little-Snip.htm
By Nissan Mindel
The Hole In The Boat
A man was called to the beach to paint a boat. He brought his paint and brushes and began to paint the boat a bright, new red, as he was hired to do. As he painted the boat, he noticed that the paint was seeping through the bottom of the boat. He realized that there was a leak, and he decided to mend it. When the painting was done, he collected his money for the job and went away.
The following day the owner of the boat came to the painter and presented him with a large check. The painter was surprised. "You have already paid me for painting the boat," he said.
"But this is not for the paint job. It is for mending the leak in the boat."
"That was so small a thing that I even did not want to charge you for it. Surely you are not paying me this huge amount for so small a thing?"
"My dear friend, you do not understand. Let me tell you what happened.”
"When I asked you to paint the boat I had forgotten to mention to you about the leak. When the boat was nice and dry, my children took the boat and went fishing. When I found that they had gone out in the boat, I was frantic for I remembered that the boat had a leak! Imagine my relief and happiness when I saw them coming back safe and sound. I examined the boat and saw that you had repaired the leak. Now you see what you have done? You have saved the lives of my children! I haven't enough money to repay you for your 'little' good deed...”
A Piece of String
A wealthy merchant bought a wonderful candelabra for his home. It was a masterpiece, made of pure crystal and studded with precious stones. It cost a real fortune.
Because of the candelabra's massive size, the ceiling in the merchant's dining room could not support its weight. In order to hang this beautiful candelabrum, a hole was bored in the ceiling, through which a rope was run and fastened to a beam in the attic.
Everybody who came to the house admired the wonderful candelabra, and the merchant and his family were very proud of it.
One day a poor boy came begging for old clothes. He was told to go up to the attic, where their old clothes were stored, and to help himself to some. He went up to the attic, and collected a neat bundle of clothes. After packing them into his bag, he searched for a piece of string with which to tie it. He saw a rope wound around a nail and decided to help himself to a piece. So he took out his pocketknife and cut the rope.
Crash! There was a terrific smash, and the next moment the whole family rushed to the attic crying: "You idiot! Look what you have done! You have ruined us!"
The poor boy could not understand what all the excitement was about. He said: "What do you mean, ruined you? All I did was to take a small piece of rope. Surely this did not ruin you?"
"You poor fish," replied the merchant. "Yes, all you did was to take a piece of rope. But it so happened that my precious candelabra hung by it. Now you have broken it beyond repair!"
These two stories, my friends, have one moral: Very often, by doing what seems to us a "small" good deed we never know what wonderful thing we have really done. And conversely, in committing what seems to us a "small" transgression, we are causing a terrible catastrophe. Both good deeds and bad deeds cause a "chain reaction." One good deed brings another good deed in its succession, and one transgression brings another. Each of them, no matter how seemingly small, may create or destroy worlds. Don't you think these two stories are worth remembering?
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http://sethgodin.typepad.com/seths_blog/2010/08/the-places-you-go.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+typepad/sethsmainblog+(Seth's+Blog)
The places you go
from Seth's Blog by Seth Godin
Over the weekend I visited one of my favorite places. It didn't matter that I hadn't been there in a while, or didn't know most of the people I encountered. The second I walked in, heard the noise, saw the walls... even the way it smelled... I was transported.
It’s incredible to think about--a room could magically change the way I felt. A physical room with the right memories can do this in just a heartbeat. So can a metaphorical one, even a brand.
The states of your emotions (your moods and passions) are like rooms in a house.
Anxiety, flow, joy, fear, exhaustion, connection, contemplation, emotional labor... each one can be visited at will if we choose. Sometimes by entering a real room, but more often in metaphor...
Do you have a friend you can have an intimate, tearful conversation with anytime you pick up the phone? Is there a topic that if you bring it up with your boss, it will quickly lead to contention? Is there a place or a memory that never fails to bring melancholy along with it?
Occasionally we encounter emotions at random. More often, we have no choice, because there’s something that needs to be done, or an event that impinges itself on us. But most often, we seek emotions out, find refuge in them, just as we walk into the living room or the den.
Stop for a second and reread that sentence, because it’s certainly controversial. I’m arguing that more often than not, we encounter fear or aggravation or delight because we seek it out, not because it’s thrust on us.
Why check your email every twenty minutes? It’s not because it needs checking. It’s because the checking puts us into a state we seek out. Why yell at the parking attendant with such gusto? Teaching him a lesson isn’t the point--no, in that moment, it’s what we want to do, it’s a room we choose to hang out in. It could be something as prosaic as getting involved in a flame war online every day, or checking your feeds at midnight or taking a shot or two before dinner. It’s not something you have to do, it’s something you choose to do, because going there takes your emotions to a place you’ve gotten used to, a place where you feel comfortable, even if it makes you unhappy.
There’s a metaphorical room I can go to where I’m likely to experience flow--a sense of being in the moment and getting an enormous amount done. Down the hall is the room where there’s a lot of anxiety about something I can’t change. I can visit that room if I choose, but I don’t. And yes, it’s a choice.
Great brands figure out how to supply a ‘room’ to anyone who chooses to visit. Soap opera fans, for example, can count on being put into a certain state anytime they tune in. The Apple store is carefully calibrated as an architectural and retail room that will change how you feel when you enter it. Chiat Day built offices in New York and LA that triggered huge waves of creativity. And there's nothing like the face of a kid eating a Hershey's bar...
YouTube isn't just video. It's a room. Not everyone uses it the same way, but most people use it the same way every time they use it. If it's the site people go to see stupid pet tricks and write stupider comments, then they know why they're going and it's going to be hard for it to become something else...
Is your brand providing the right room to the right people at the right time? Most products, most services--they provide a thing, a list of features, but not a room for my emotions.
This insight about our moods and your brand is all well and good, but it becomes essential once you realize that there are some rooms you’re spending way too much time in, that these choices are taking away from your productivity or your happiness.
Why are you going there again?
Every time you go to that room, you get unhappy, and so do we. Every time you go that room, you spend more time than you expected, and it stresses out the rest of your day. Every time you go to that room you short-circuit the gifts you give to the rest of the team.
Once your habit becomes an addiction, it’s time to question why you get up from a room that was productive and happy, a place you were engaged, and walk down the hall to a room that does no one any good (least of all, you). Tracking your day and your emotions is a first step, but it takes more than that. It takes the guts to break some ingrained habits, ones that the people around you might even be depending o
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The Judge and the Refugee
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2279/jewish/The-Judge-and-the-Refugee.htm
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
In the Torah-section of Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9) we read of the cities of refuge, to which a man who had killed accidentally could flee, find sanctuary and atone. The Chassidic masters note that Shoftim is always read in the month of Elul; for Elul is, in time, what the cities of refuge were in space. It is a month of sanctuary and repentance, a protected time in which a person can turn from the shortcomings of his past and dedicate himself to a new and sanctified future.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe analyzes an important feature of the cities: they were only to be found in the land of Israel, even though the judges and officers who executed Torah law were to be appointed wherever Jews live. Why does the law extend everywhere, while refuge belongs to the Holy Land? And what does this imply for the month of Elul, our place of spiritual refuge in the calendar of the Jewish year?
A Paradox
The Midrash Sifri interprets the opening verse of our Parshah, "You shall set judges and officers in all your gates" to apply to "all your dwelling-places," even those outside Israel. It then continues: One might think that cities of refuge were also to exist outside the land of Israel. Therefore the Torah uses the restrictive term "these are the cities of refuge" to indicate that they were to be provided only within Israel.
Nonetheless, the Sifri says that someone who committed accidental homicide outside the land of Israel and who fled to one of the cities of refuge would be granted sanctuary there. It was the cities themselves, not the people they protected, that were confined to the land of Israel.
The fact that the Sifri initiates a comparison between the "judges and officers" and the cities of refuge, indicates that they have a relationship to one another. It is this: The judges who applied the law and the officers who executed the sentences, did not aim at retribution, but at the refinement of the guilty. And the aim of the cities of refuge was to impose on the fugitive an atoning exile--atonement in the sense of a remorse which effaces the crime until he regains his original closeness to G-d's will.
We might then have thought that if this safeguard, this place of atonement, was available in the holy environment of the land of Israel, it would be all the more necessary outside its borders where it was easier to fall into wrongdoing. And yet only judges and officers were to be provided beyond the land of Israel's borders--only the agents of the law, not its refuge.
Transcendence or Empathy
There are two phases in teshuvah, or repentance. There is remorse over what has been done, and commitment to act differently in the future. These are inextricably connected. For the only test of sincere remorse is the subsequent commitment to a better way of life. To be contrite about the past without changing one's behavior is a hollow gesture.
This the deeper significance of the law that the city of refuge is found only in the land of Israel. For a man could not atone while clinging to the environment which led him to sin. He might feel remorse. But he would not have taken the decisive step away from his past. For this, he had to escape to the "land of Israel," i.e., to holiness. There, on its sanctified earth, his commitment to a better future could have substance.
Judges, however, could be appointed outside the land of Israel. For it is written in the Ethics of the Fathers, "Do not judge your fellow-man until you come to his place." A court which sits in the land of Israel cannot know the trials and temptations which exist outside, or the difficulties of being loyal to one's faith in a place of exile. The land of Israel is a land where "the eyes of the L-rd your G-d are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year." It is a land of Divine grace. One cannot judge a man by its standards if that man lives outside its protection.
So judges had to be drawn from the same environment as their defendants. They had not only to know what he had done; they had to experience for themselves the environment which brought him to it.
Rabbi DovBer of Lubavitch (the second Chabad Rebbe) was once giving private audiences, when he interrupted for some time before continuing. It transpired that a man who had had an audience wanted the Rebbe's help in setting right a particularly degrading act he had done. The Rebbe later said to one of his close disciples that one must discover some analogous quality in oneself--on however refined a level--before one can help someone to remedy his sin. His interruption of the audiences had been to attempt to find in himself this point from which he could identify with the sinner.
It was this principle that lay behind G-d's command to Moses when the Israelites had made the golden calf: "Go, get thee down, for your people have dealt corruptly." For at that moment, Moses was inhabiting the spiritual heights of Mt. Sinai, neither eating nor drinking, divorced from the world. The Israelites were degraded through their sin. But by telling him to "go down" to "your people" G-d created a bond between Moses and the people, on the basis of which Moses was able to plead on their behalf.
Three Degrees of Refuge
Although all the cities of refuge were to be in the land of Israel, they were not all in the same territory. There were the three in the land of Israel proper--the Holy Land. Three were in the territories east of the Jordan, where "manslaughter was common" (Talmud, Makkot 9b). And, in the Time to Come "the L-rd your G-d will enlarge your borders" three more will be provided, in the newly occupied land.
This means that every level of spirituality has its own refuge, from the relatively lawless eastern territories to the Holy Land, and even in the Time to Come. And this is true spiritually as well as geographically. At every stage of a man's religious life there is the possibility of some shortcoming for which there must be refuge and atonement. Even if he never disobeys G-d's will, he may still not have done all within his power to draw close to G-d.
This is the task of the month of Elul. It is a time of self-examination when each person must ask himself whether what he has achieved was all he could have achieved. And if not, he must repent, and strive towards a more fulfilled future. Businessman and scholar--he who has lived in the world and he who has spent his days under the canopy of the Torah--both must make Elul a time of self-reckoning and refuge.
It is the way of the Western world to make Elul--the month of high summer--a time for vacation from study. The opposite should be the case. It is above all the time for self-examination, a time to change one's life. And the place for this is the city of refuge in the "Holy Land", which, in the geography of the soul, is a place of Torah.
Each Jew should set aside Elul, or at least from the 18th onwards (the last 12 days, a day for each month of the year), or at any rate the days when Selichot are said, and make his refuge in a place of Torah.
A refuge is a place to which one flees: That is, where one lays aside one's past and makes a new home. Elul is the sublimation of the past for the sake of a better future. And it is the necessary preparation for the blessings of Rosh Hashanah, the promise of plenty and fulfillment in the year to come.
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The Parshah in a Nutshell
Shoftim
Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2278/jewish/Shoftim.htm
Moses instructs the people of Israel to appoint judges and law-enforcement officers in every city; "Justice, justice shall you pursue," he commands them, and you must administer it without corruption or favoritism. Crimes must be meticulously investigated and evidence thoroughly examined -- a minimum of two credible witnesses is required for conviction and punishment.
In every generation, says Moses, there will be those entrusted with the task of interpreting and applying the laws of the Torah. "According to the law that they will teach you, and the judgement they will instruct you, you shall do; you shall not turn away from the thing that they say to you, to the right nor to the left."
Shoftim also includes the prohibitions against idolatry and sorcery; laws governing the appointment and behavior of a king; and guidelines for the creation of "cities of refuge" for the inadvertent murderer. Also set forth are many of the rules of war: the exemption from battle for one who has just built a home, planted a vineyard, married, or is "afraid and soft-hearted"; the requirement to offer terms of peace before attacking a city; the prohibition against wanton destruction of something of value, exemplified by the law that forbids to cut down a fruit tree when laying siege (in this context the Torah makes the famous statement "For man is a tree of the field").
The Parshah concludes with the law of Eglah Arufah - the special procedure to be followed when a person is killed by an unknown murderer and his body is found in a field - which underscores the responsibility of the community and its leaders not only for what they do but also for what they might have prevented from being done.
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What's a Father For?
by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
The definition of being a father.
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=100467639§ion=/f/p
It’s hard being a father today. The difficult economy has reduced many men’s ability to provide for their families. Dad’s who have often measured their self worth through their financial success are now grappling with the fear of unemployment or reduced paychecks. Families are struggling. Many fathers are feeling down and unsure about the future.
It’s time for us to reexamine a father’s role in the family. What is the definition of being a father?
Is his self worth simply based upon his financial income and type of car that he drives? Or is he here to provide more, to endow his children with both a spiritual and emotional income?
Is it his role to be a physical protector and tangible presence in their lives, or is it possible for him to live his life with an even greater purpose? Is there a way that he, as a father, can build his children’s essence through teaching them how to deal with moments of success, good fortune, anger, worry, disappointments, and life’s many searing challenges?
In addition to his financial portfolio, has he thought about the spiritual portfolio that his children will come to inherit one day?
I read the papers with all their gloomy news and statistics bringing us frightening words like The Great Depression and double dipped recession. I hear the commercials with serious voices asking us to think about overcoming deep debt and foreclosures in these tough economic times. I ponder the challenges facing families today. And though I know that it is both husbands and wives who are working long hours and worrying about the bills, I also know that this recession has somehow hurt the men and hit them hard. Men who had always felt safe and secure as they provided for their families.
And then my mind wanders to memories of my father.
No, we did not have much ‘stuff’ growing up. We never took exotic vacations or had the latest gadgets and toys. But my parents provided us with so much more to carry us through our days; endless love and faith that have anchored us throughout life’s ups and downs.
Though many stories pop into my mind, there is one in particular that imprinted within me the sense of ‘what’s a father for.’
It had been a long hot summer. My husband had undergone delicate surgery for a dislocated shoulder and was warned to watch the movements of his arm. He was wearing a sling while dealing with a lot of pain. I was in my later months of pregnancy, and you know that scorching days and expectant mothers are a difficult combination.
I took my children outside to play and my five-year-old daughter fell off her swing. Her hand lay limply at her side.
I drove to the pediatrician hoping that he’d tell me this was just a bruise or sprain. He gave me the news that my daughter’s hand seemed broken and I would need to see an orthopedist. My child would need an adult to lift her, accompany her into the x-ray room and calm her fears. I also had a toddler who needed someone to watch over him in the office as my daughter was being examined and casted.
Being that I was expecting, that ‘someone’ in the x-ray room could not be me. My husband was completely incapacitated. I drove home, thinking of my various options. My mother was lecturing and I knew that my father had left that morning to visit my sister and spend a week with her family in their Catskill bungalow.
As I entered the house, my phone rang. I picked up the receiver and heard my father’s voice.
“Sheyfalah, how are you?”
I could not speak. I just started to cry.
“What is it, Slovelah? Why are you crying?”
I sobbed a bit more and then relayed my story to my father. I described my husband immobile in his sling, my daughter wailing and needing to have x-rays taken of her arm, my seven-year-old just getting off the day camp bus and my two-year-old doing what two-year-olds did. The orthopedist’s office was an hour away. I didn’t know how to manage. I felt overwhelmed.
“Don’t worry, my shefelah, I’m coming to help you.”
“Abba, what do you mean?” I asked. “You just arrived this morning, you spent three hours on a bus getting there, you’re staying for a week. How will you help me?”
“I am going to take the next bus home, don’t worry. I didn’t even unpack yet, so it’s fine”.
“Are you sure, Abba?” I asked incredulously.
I was astonished. I knew how my father had waited for this week. My parents never took a vacation. This was to be my father’s ‘big getaway’; a week in my sister’s bungalow. His greatest pleasure was spending time with his children and grandchildren, taking walks on the country roads and breathing in the natural beauty of God’s world. He had shlepped up by bus and I learned later from my sister that my father had arrived drenched in sweat from the heat of the trip.
But he made no mention of any of this to me. It was clear that he would just turn around and come home. I was overwhelmed with his kindness. I decided to ask one more time.
“Are you sure, Abba?”
I heard my father’s wonderful laugh over the phone. And then he said something that I will never forget.
“Slovelah, of course I’m sure. What’s a father for?”
As we grapple with uncertainties and a topsy-turvy world, let us at least hold onto this one unshakable truth. Father’s exist in the lives of their children with a role that goes way beyond paying the credit card bills. Father’s are here to lead, to provide spiritual and emotional nourishment to both sons and daughters. Father’s can be the moral compass that steer children through their life’s journey. And then when we grow up and wonder if we are doing the right thing or how we will possibly make it, we can hear our father’s voice and see our father’s image in our mind. We can look back on the small kindnesses, the little talks when we seemed troubled, and the reassuring arm around our shoulders that let us know that we are loved and never stand alone.
And if right now you are feeling hurt and lacking such memories, know that today is your opportunity to create this legacy with your own children.
After all, what’s a father for?
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2nd Post
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1195935/jewish/Noams-Choice.htm
Noam's Choice
A Life of Giving
(http://w3.clhosting.org/media/images/421/jarw4218103.jpg)
By Deena Yellin
Noam Apter, of blessed memory
Noam Apter lived to be a good friend. And he died saving them.
A rabbinical student at an Israeli hesder yeshiva, where students combine army service with Torah study, he volunteered with disabled children and wrote poetry about the holiness inside of every being and the potential for spiritual greatness.
But the 23-year-old's life was cut short when terrorists burst into his yeshiva in Otniel and sprayed the room with gunfire. Noam thwarted the terrorists by locking and then blocking the door to the next room, leaving himself in the room with the terrorists, saving more than 100 young men on the other side but sacrificing himself.
Noam's parents, Yossi and Pirchia Apter of the Israeli town of Shilo, say they consider their son's heroic death "a natural extension of the way he lived."
Noam was following a path that reflected a love of giving to his fellow man, explained his father, Yossi Apter.
Under fire, Noam was faced with an agonizing split-second decision, his father said: Armed with a gun in his pocket, he could either try to shoot the terrorists or run to lock the door.
Under fire, Noam was faced with an agonizing split-second decisionNoam's decision to die saving his fellow students "wasn't a random, spontaneous action. It was an accumulation of a lifetime of giving to others," Apter said. "Noam was always busy with volunteer projects and helping the needy."
He opted for saving lives over killing.
On the night of December 27, 2002, the students at Yeshivat Otniel, in the Hebron Hills, were enjoying a Shabbat meal. They sang "Shalom Aleichem" and other songs welcoming the Sabbath. Four students had volunteered to be the evening's waiters and were busy in the kitchen dishing out the food. Noam Apter was among them.
The others were Yehudah Bamberger, 20, Zvi Ziman, 18, and Gabriel Hoter, 17.
When the terrorists burst into the kitchen, Noam could have run from the room and saved his own life. But he didn't. Instead he sprinted to the connecting door and locked himself in the room with the terrorists. He hid the key where they wouldn't find it.
The terrorists shot him in the back. Fatally wounded, Apter fell to the ground — but not before blocking the door with his body.
After they shot everyone in the kitchen – Yehudah, Zvi, Gabriel and Noam – the terrorists tried to open the door to the dining room but failed. Next, they attempted to shoot into the room through a small glass window, but that didn't work either.
Finally, they fled. Later, they were hunted down and killed by the Israeli army.
Noam was hailed a hero by students and rabbis at the yeshiva for his actions. Had he not locked that connecting door during his final moments, they said in news reports on the incident, many more people would have been killed that night.
After Noam's death, his family discovered a trove of poems in his desk.
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/421/wdCS4218104.jpg)
"Everybody has within him his own temple," Noam wrote in poetic Hebrew. "In some, it's in ruins. Some don't realize that it even exists. But this temple is in every being. It's our soul. Someday, all the private temples within us will stand upright and then we will be prepared to bring the Divine, the Shechina, into the world...."
They also found writings about the importance of giving and love. "Love is the tool through which one person can reach another," he wrote.
Noam, who regularly volunteered with disabled youth and enjoyed spending his free time on outings with them, also gave talks to their counselors about the nature of giving and loving.
"Love is the tool through which one person can reach another," he wroteHe once printed up fliers, which he paid for himself, in order to explain the significance of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, so that those unfamiliar with what the Holy Temple was would understand why Jews mourned its loss on the 9th of Av, Tisha B'Av. He distributed the fliers himself at bus stations throughout Israel.
The Apters periodically visit schools and synagogues throughout the world to speak about their son's life. "I want to teach about Noam's life as a giver, his belief in kindness and mission of helping other people," Apter said.
The presentation, which includes a movie documentary about Noam's life and death, is always well received. "We get a lot of hugs and many warm wishes," said Apter, who has launched a scholarship fund in his son's name. "A lot of people who heard our story told us they were very inspired."
Among them was David Sheffey, an attorney from Teaneck. When he and his wife, Debby, learned several years ago of Noam's courageous act, they were so moved that they decided to name their son after him.
"When we heard the story of Noam Apter – about his bravery, his selflessness – it was a story that resonated with us on many levels," said David Sheffey, who has since introduced his 3.5-year-old son, Noam, to the Apters.
"As we learned more about this exceptional personality and have come to know him through his family, we have come to understand that this act was reflective of a whole life of giving."
Yossi Apter said that even now he continues to meet people who recount the stories of Noam and how he impacted their lives.
"Five months ago I gave a ride to a young fellow. After a few minutes of looking at my face he asked if I'm Noam's father."
The young man revealed that he had served with Noam in the same army unit. He was a new immigrant from Asia whose knowledge of Hebrew at the time was very poor. Noam immediately recognized his difficulties and took it upon himself to help him from the very first day.
Once they were serving in the Harmon Mountains together in the same bunker and the young man got a terrible toothache during his guard duty. Noam appeared out of nowhere and told him he was taking over. He used his little free time so that the young man could rest. "It was a real act of kindness, of chessed," said Yossi.
Noam was following a path that reflected a love of giving to his fellow manRabbi Yakov Nagen of Otniel said that he uses Noam's life to convey lessons to teens he encounters in and out of yeshiva. "One of the teachings I try to give over is that it may have been easier had we never been born, but it is not better," says Rabbi Nagen. "There's what's easy and what's good. What life is really all about is choosing between the easy path or choosing to do what's good."
(http://www.chabad.org/media/images/421/rSkJ4218102.jpg)
To exemplify this lesson, Rabbi Nagen recounts the story of Noam's death. Noam was next to the dining room door and could have fled through it to safety. But, he perceived what the terrorists were planning, and locked himself in the kitchen with the terrorists to prevent them from reaching the scores of students. "So that last moment choice not to run out," says Nagen, "but rather to lock the doors and be sealed inside, I think, is the best example of the choice between what's easy and what's good."
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Growing Up
By Shana Guzick
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1258572/jewish/Growing-Up.htm
Something happened. Something so startling, so awkward, and so unexpected, that I still, 218 hours later (roughly), am musing nonstop about its meaning, sporadic breathing and heart palpitations galore.
Backing up. I am currently, to my surprise and to the surprise of everyone else I know, a full-blown yeshiva student. Let me paint you a picture of my daily routine.
Lipstick marks are supposed to be the way you can tell which cup is yours, and which cup is Bubbie’s7:00 am, I wake up, throw some egg whites onto the plug-in hotplate, and burn my throat with every hurried bite as I hope to make it on time to my first class at 7:45 am. Class is until 4:00 pm, with a short break for a lunch consisting of something dairy on top of something carby with a side of something with sliced beef tomatoes. 4:00 to 6:30 pm is homework/errand time. Dinner is some kind of indistinguishable meat with something carby and more sliced beef tomatoes. More class until 10 pm. If we get out on time. And somewhere after that, after homework, calling home, putting the laundry in the dryer a third time, and hoping to become immune to other people's noise, is sleep.
Don't misunderstand me; being in yeshiva is nothing short of amazing, and to say that I absolutely thrive on my studies here would be a gross understatement, but the predictability of it all can become tiring. At any given hour on any given day, what I am doing at any specific time is exactly the same as it was the day before and as it will be on the day after.
So, you can imagine my excitement when I was offered an opportunity to jazz up my 7:30 one evening. I was invited to an engagement party for the daughter of the friend of my friend's father. Don't worry. I'll give you a moment to process that.
In pre-yeshiva life, you couldn't have bribed me with all the jewelry or all the expensive French bleu cheese in the world to get me to go a party for someone I didn't know. But such is no longer the case for a yeshiva girl like me. Opportunities to vary the agenda are coveted and highly rare. And yes. I jumped at the chance to go celebrate with this stranger.
I put on nice clothes, did my makeup, carefully arranged my grandmother's pearls around my neck, and felt like a real person for the first time in a long time. And for as much as I'd thought I hated small talk, I actually enjoyed schmoozing and making connections. I savored gourmet hors d'oeuvres, miniature delicate desserts, and other things that were not served with a side of sliced beef tomatoes.
I was sitting contently at one of the many elegantly laid tables when I glanced to see if my tea needed a refill. That's when I saw it. It was staring me right in the face, flagrant and unapologetic. It was dark. It was red. And worst of all, it was mine.
There, on my pristine white mug, was an undeniable lipstick mark. Each colored, jagged line was so perfectly printed, it could have been hand-drawn. I'm sorry, but lipstick marks are supposed to be the way you can tell which cup is yours, and which cup is Bubbie's. How did a little girl like me ever manage to get old enough to leave a mark like that? Is it actually possible that I've turned into…a woman?
I couldn't move. It didn't seem right that something like this could happen so suddenly. No one hesitates to notify you when your books are overdue or when it's time to get your teeth checked; how could this have been left off the list? Had I missed the signs?
When I was a kid, I figured that I'd know I was grown up when I could make my own bed time, when I could simply choose not to buy green beans instead of having to surreptitiously wrap them in a napkin and shove them down my pocket at the table while figuring out how to sneak them into the toilet without getting caught.
Being a woman meant making my own choices. Well, here I am, making them. I attended the university of my choice. I studied the field of my choice. I eat the food of my choice in the apartment of my choice off of the dishes of my choice (paid for out of the wallet of my choice with the credit card of my choice). And yet, choices galore, as I sat staring at the red print before me, I still didn't feel like a woman yet.
How can I possibly feel fulfilled if I don’t have what I want?I suppose this is due to the fact that, as I've grown up, my definition of what it means to be a woman has changed without my knowledge. Now, when I think of what it takes to be a woman, I imagine the women I look up to. The women who work at a rewarding job during the day and then come home to their (adorable, preferably) children with enough time to play with them and cook a delicious meal that's ready just before Dad gets home with his customary, but always genuine, hug and smile for the whole family.
Now, let's turn that into a checklist and see what I've accomplished. Rewarding job? No. House? No. Wonderful husband? Adorable kids? Kitchen adequate to feed nonexistent husband and kids? No. No. No. Aha, so this was why I didn't feel like a woman yet.
The question is, should a woman be satisfied when she doesn't feel she's living up to the definition of what a woman is? When Lipstick-On-Mug Day arrives and all the other woman around you seem to be light-years ahead of you, how do you stay motivated?
I decided to call in the special forces on this question. By special forces, I mean very special: my rabbi and rebbetzin. Tending to be more open (and impatient) than is sometimes prudent, I decided to throw caution to the wind and open up this question to them and the other guests at their Shabbat table. I asked, how can I possibly feel fulfilled if I don't have what I want? Shaking his head, my rabbi inserted a very pregnant pause into the conversation as I waited anxiously to hear what he had to say. After much thought, he finally answered, "I hate to tell you this, but I'm afraid you've missed the point." Great. Another problem to add to the list.
He continued, "Right now, you say that if you can just get a good job, then you'll be happy. Then what happens? When you get the job, then that's not good enough anymore, so you'll decide that as soon as you get married, you can be happy. After you're married, you can only be happy once you've got children. Once you have kids, you can finally achieve happiness once they get into prestigious colleges. And this cycle will just keep going and going." Well…duh, I thought. That's exactly my point! How can you be happy without those things? He continued, "Of course you need goals, but you can't wait for those things to happen in order to be happy. The fact that you exist is reason enough."
I waited for him to continue, to say something that would bring it all together, but that was it. Surprise surprise, I was not anywhere near satisfied with that. Existing is enough in itself? So, no matter if I'm dirt poor, if I stay single for the rest of my life, if I gain so much weight that a crane has to lift me out of my house to get to the grocery store, G‑d forbid, I should just say, "Hey, I exist, and that means everything's fantastic!" I don't think so.
I gave up for the duration of that meal. I was too annoyed and too exhausted. We moved onto other topics, but my mind didn't budge. My whole life, I'd been told by my teachers, the movies, the economy, and pretty much every situation I'd ever encountered, that a woman's value is based on her achievements. I'd been told endless cautionary tales of girls who'd never turned into women, who everyone smiled at when she walked by and whispered about when she left, "When is she going to get a life? Is she ever going to grow up? Her parents must be so embarrassed."
The message becomes very clear that if you don’t make something of yourself now, you might as well have never been bornWe live in a society where babies who haven't even learned how to talk yet are hooked up to machines to see what career will be the best fit for them, where if you don't start saving your birthday money once you turn five, you'll never be able to buy a house, where if you don't have a boyfriend by the time you're thirteen, you might as well buy a bunch of cats and an ugly housecoat because nobody will ever want to marry you. The message becomes very clear at an early age that if you don't make something of yourself now, you might as well have never been born.
The more I thought about this, the more distraught I became. What ever happened to enjoying the moment? Of course it's good to have aspirations, but if a woman spends her entire life looking at what she doesn't have and what she hasn't done, how can she possibly be happy? There will always be something new to achieve, but happiness comes from appreciating what you already have now, not from mourning your deficiencies. For my birthday, my friend gave me a card that said, "Today is the day that G‑d decided the world couldn't go on without you." If that holds true for a birthday, why not for every other day? If I'm here on this earth, I must be fulfilling some purpose, even if I don't know what it is.
I thought back to what my rabbi said, that existing in itself is not just a reason, but the reason, to be happy. Finally, it started to make more sense. I might not always have the things I want. I might not always achieve my goals. But I exist, which means I have value right now. I'm not in G‑d's head, and I don't see His master plan, but at least I can hold onto the trust that if G‑d deems me worthy of being on this earth, who am I to disagree? He will put me where I need to be, and He will give me what I need. And if what I need right now is lots and lots of sliced beef tomatoes instead of my own kitchen, so be it.
"Make known to me the path of life, that I may be satiated with the joy of Your presence, with the bliss of Your right hand forever." – Psalms 16:11
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The Jewish Heart
The Secret of Elul
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By Sara Esther Crispe
Love. It is the most powerful of the human emotions. We all crave it. We cannot live without it. And yet, it is so overwhelming, so all encompassing, that there is no way to measure it, prove it, define it or even describe it.
When we speak of the intellect, it is represented by the mind. And when we speak of the emotions, specifically of love, they are represented by the heart. But why?
When our back is turned, we have no idea of the state of the otherThe symbol of the heart is probably one of the most well known symbols. Spanning continents, cultures, religions, languages, that little red heart means love. It is used to sign letters, to represent the word “love” itself, and has inundated the buyers’ market by being plastered on cards, t-shirts, necklaces, balloons and just about everything else.
How is the image of the heart as we most commonly know it, the symbol for this passionate experience of love?
The month that we are now in, Elul, is the key to unlocking the inner and most potent meaning of the heart. As is well known, the Hebrew letters that make the word “Elul,” an aleph, lamed, vav and lamed, are an acronym for the phrase (from the biblical Song of Songs): Ani L’dodi V’dodi Li, which means, “I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me.”
This beautiful and romantic phrase is that which represents our relationship with our Creator, which is often paralleled to that of a husband and wife, a bride and groom, in our individual lives.
The Zohar explains that at the beginning of Elul we are achor el achor meaning “back to back” and by the end of Elul we are panim el panim meaning “face to face.” But how can it be that we are back to back? Wouldn’t that imply that G-d has His back turned to us as well? How can we say such a thing when this is the month in which--as Chassidic master Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi teaches us-- "the King is in the field"? Is it not the month when G-d is more accessible than ever, when He is waiting for us to greet Him, when He is there for us in the "field" of our everyday lives?
The fact that we are described as back to back and then face to face is an incredible lesson. Often, when we feel angry, hurt, abandoned, whatever the root of our pain may be, we turn our back. When our back is turned, we have no idea of the state of the other. And it is often easier to believe that we are not the only one with a turned back. It is easier to think the other also turned around, that the other isn’t facing us at all, because if that is the case, then even if we turn around it won’t help, so why bother. Why make that first move only to turn around and see the back of the other?
But this rationalization is the cause of many unsettled arguments, hurt feelings, and broken relationships. How classic is the scene, played out endlessly in movies, of the couple who walk away from one another. At some point the man turns around, wanting to call her name, ask for another chance, beg for forgiveness. He is about to speak, but realizes that her back is turned. She is walking away. He tells himself that it is too late, she just doesn’t care. So he turns back around. Seconds later, she turns to look at him. She doesn’t want this to end. She wants to say something but can’t garner the courage, doesn’t have the strength. And why, why should she when his back is turned? The month of Elul teaches us the necessity of being willing to turn aroundShe looks at him longingly but it just doesn’t matter, she assumes he couldn’t care less as he continues to walk away from her. And we, the viewers, sit on the edge of our seats, hoping that maybe they will both turn around at the same second, that they will finally realize that the other does care, that even though they appear to be back to back they really want to be face to face. Sometimes that fairytale ending does happen, other times they simply continue to walk in opposite directions right out of each other’s lives.
It is the month of Elul that teaches us the necessity of being willing to turn around. The King is in the field, our Creator is there, and no matter how we may feel, He has never had His back turned. All we need to do is turn ourselves around to realize that He is there and waiting for us. The “back to back” that we experience in the beginning of the month is based on our misperceptions, our fears, our assumptions. Only when we turn around do we realize the truth, the inner essence, and then we are “face to face” which does not only mean that we can finally look at each other, but more so, that we can look in each other, for the root of the word for face, panim, is the same as pnimiyut, which means “innerness.”
So now the question is how this lesson is taught to us, not only in the month of Elul, but through the name “Elul” itself. A Hebrew name is not a mere way of referring to something, but actually represents its soul. Chassidut teaches that every parent is gifted with Divine Inspiration is when he or she names a child. It is the name that represents the deepest aspects of this person. Kabbalah and Chassidut teach us that to uncover the essential meaning of a Hebrew word we need to analyze the letters that comprise it, their numerical value, their form and their meaning.
As we said above, the word Elul is comprised of an aleph followed by a lamed followed by a vav followed by the final letter, another lamed. The first letter in Elul is also the first letter in the Hebrew alphabet. The letter aleph is numerically equivalent to one, which represents the idea of G-d’s total unity.
So now we must answer how all of this is related to the heart. Here is where our lameds are once again defined. At this point it is important to think again about the symbol of the heart and to question its origin. And so it should come as no surprise that the meaning of this symbol will once again be found in the word for heart itself.
In Hebrew, the word for heart is lev which is spelled lamed-beit. Rabbi Abraham Abulafia, in the year 1291, wrote a manuscript by the name, Imrei Shefer, in which he defines the meaning of the heart.
Rabbi Abulafia teaches that the word heart, lev, lamed – beit, needs to be understood as two lameds. This is because the letter beit is the second letter in the alphabet, and is numerically equivalent to two. So he explains that the word needs to be read and understood as two lameds.
But it is not enough to have two lameds. As Rabbi Yitzchak Ginsburgh explains, in order for their to be a relationship, the two lameds need to be connected. They need to be face to face. When we turn around the second lamed to face the first, we form the image of the Jewish Heart (as seen in the picture at the beginning of this article). While the heart, as we are used to seeing it, is quite clear in this form, an entirely new part of the heart is also revealed.
The heart and the love it represents, can only thrive, can only flourish, when there is a totality in connection.This is because the letter lamed is the tallest of all the letters in the Hebrew alphabet. The reason is because the lamed represents the concept of breaking out of boundaries, of going beyond your potential, of entering the superconscious from the conscious.
The lamed also means two things simultaneously. It means both “to learn” and “to teach” which shows us that the two are intertwined and both are essential. In a relationship, I must be willing to learn from the other, thereby making myself a receiver. Yet the other person also must be able to learn from me, which then makes me the teacher, the giver.
Furthermore, the image of the lamed can be broken down into three other letters. The top part of the letter is that of a yud, the smallest of the Hebrew letters, and the letter that represents the head. The head contains the mind, the intellect, but also the face.
The next letter in Elul is a vav. In Hebrew, the vav serves as a conjuctive "and." As a word vav means “hook” and in its form it looks like a hook. So in this case the vav is the hook which is connecting the yud, the mind, with the bottom letter, the chaf, which represents the body. Physically speaking it symbolizes the neck which transports the flow of blood from the brain to the heart.
This teaches us that the heart, that the love that it represents, can only thrive, can only flourish, when there is a totality in connection. The Jewish heart, true love, represents a mind to mind, face to face, eye to eye, body to body, soul to soul connection. The vav, the connection between the head and the heart must always stay healthy with a clear flow. If anything cuts it off, the relationship cannot continue. As we all know, one of the quickest ways to kill a person is a slit right across the neck. The neck is our lifeline. It ensures that our head, our intellect, rules above our emotions and that there is a healthy interchange between the mind and the heart.
The heart that we are all familiar with, the symbol that represents love throughout the world, lacks the yud and the vav, it is missing the mind and the neck. The popular symbol represents only the physical connection between bodies.
So this is why and how Elul is the month that begins back to back and ends face to face. At the beginning of the month we are unaware of the reality that “I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me.” However, by working on ourselves during this month, by being willing to turn around and make changes, we come to realize that our Creator has never had His back turned. He has always been facing us and just waiting for us to turn around. And once we do, we are then like two lameds that are face to face, which form the Jewish heart and is the essence of the month of Elul.
Elul then must be understood as an aleph representing G-d, followed by a lamed, vav, lamed, a lamed that is connected (vav) to the other lamed.
And the Jewish heart, this idea of love as a totality of connection, is not merely the work for the month of Elul but is the entire purpose of our creation. This Jewish heart is a symbol for why we were created and what we are meant to accomplish. For the Torah is the blueprint of creation and the guidebook of how we connect to the Divine. And it is not a book that has a beginning, middle and end, but rather a scroll, since we are taught that the “end is endwedged in the beginning, and the beginning in the end.”
So what do we find when the Torah scroll’s end rolls into the beginning? How does the Torah end and begin? The last word of the Torah is "Yisrael," Israel, which ends with the letter lamed and the first word is "bereishit," meaning “in the beginning” which begins with a beit. When we join the first and last letters of the Torah, we have lev, the Hebrew word for heart.
May we be blessed with the ability to tap into the powers of the month of Elul, recognize and reveal our ability to both learn and teach, and through that, come face to face within ourselves, with our loved ones, and with our Creator, as we are taught through the Jewish heart.
The Jewish Heart design and jewelry is patented and copyrighted by Rabbi Yitzchak Ginsburgh.
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By Tzvi Freeman
Depression, anxiety and pessimism damage the channels of blessing from Above.
The Zohar explains that there is a lower world -- our world -- and there is a higher world. Our world is meant to continuously receive from that higher world, but always according to our personal state of mind.
If we are glowing with joy and vitality, then that world shines upon us in its full glory.
But if it we wallow in depression and anxiety, then we can only receive the metered trickle that squeezes through a constricted channel.
That is why King David said, “Serve G-d with joy!” Because your joy here draws upon you another joy from above.
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Correcting Our Vision
Correcting Our Vision
by Rabbi Boruch Leff
Why did God create so many of us with faulty vision?
I’ve been thinking a lot about eyeglasses lately.
I was sitting at the steering wheel ready for my three hour drive home after spending the day out of town with friends.
One of my friends saw a defect in my eyeglasses and asked if he could fiddle around with them. He has lots of experience fixing glasses. I appreciated his offer, let him tinker with them and didn’t think twice.
Minutes later he returned with a very apologetic face. One of the lenses was split into two, and the frames were unusable. "In all my years, this has never happened to me," he said. I was speechless.
I tried my best to make him feel that I was not angry, and my wife, who loathes driving long distances at night, took over.
Within days, my friend quickly made amends and everything is back to normal now. But I'm still thinking about eyeglasses. I have very poor eyesight and prior to that mishap, I don’t remember the last time I had to see blurry for such a long time.
Eyeglasses first appeared in Pisa, Italy, around the year 1286 and only in the late 14th and 15th centuries did they begin to be mass-produced on some level. What did people with poor eyesight do before eyeglasses were invented? How did they live?
Thank God I live in a world where my problematic eyesight is so easily fixable. But what’s with God? Since He’s perfect and all-powerful, why did He create so many of us with faulty vision?
He didn’t give us fingers that would only work if we attached a metal or glass mechanism to them. Yet according to the Vision Council of America, approximately 75% of adults use some sort of vision correction. Why did God make a world where the vast majority of people need corrective lenses in order to see properly?
There is very powerful lesson here. We have eyes but we cannot see. We are incapable of clearly seeing anything without help.
We look at everything in the world and we think we are seeing it unmistakably. We think we see exactly what is there in front of us in plain sight.
But in reality, we are always seeing blurry.
We judge other people. We condemn situations and circumstances. Yet, we actually possess very poor eyesight. We need to attach the ‘proper lenses’ to give us the right perspective and vision in order to look at the world appropriately. Do we look for the good in people or for their faults? Do we look at situations as random occurrences or do we try to see the underlying message guided by Divine providence?
An unkempt man was touring the Louvre with a group of tourists. As they were scanning Rembrandt's works the man yelled, "Yogurt!" Everyone thought he was nuts. But he said it again, "It looks like yogurt to me."
Then they passed by the Mona Lisa. Again he exclaimed, "Yogurt!" A wise man on the tour looked at the fellow. "Let me see your glasses."
He gave him his glasses. "What did you have for breakfast today?" he asked.
"Some cereal and yogurt," he answered.
The wise man cackled. “Look at your glasses! They are dotted with yogurt! No wonder everything you look at appears as yogurt!” (Parable of Rav Mordechai Pogramanski, pre-WW2 European scholar)
Everything we look at depends upon the lenses we are looking through.
A person with the quality of a good eye and a clean, positive lens, does not hate others, nor does he get angry with them. He does not covet what others have, because he sees everything positively without any ‘yogurt.’ If he is lacking something it is because God is telling him that he doesn’t need it, and he is happy for his friend who does have it.
We have eyes but we need to correct our vision and work on seeing people in a positive light. These are the eyeglasses we must wear at all times.
The Sages tell us that the 2nd Temple was destroyed as a result of baseless hatred, sinat chinam. During this period of the Three Weeks leading to the mournful day of Tisha B'Av when the Temple was destroyed, we are all trying to improve ourselves and our relationships with others.
One key way to better our relationships with others is to judge them favorably, looking at them in an positive way. When we live with this attitude in the courtrooms of our minds, we avoid the roots of negative vibes which often lead to hatred.
Now's the time to get your eyes examined and check your glasses, and wipe away any remaining yogurt.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/97793524.html
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You Complete The Circle
The Power of Lighting Shabbat Candles
By Shula Bryski
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/839944/jewish/You-Complete-The-Circle.htm/r/cache
Two rabbinical students were sent under the direction of the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory, to the faraway Aleutian Islands, with the sole purpose of bringing the joy and light of Judaism to any Jews that lived there.
After a week of searching, they found not one Jew. Despondent, they made one last attempt at the local elementary school. They went to each classroom and asked if there were any Jewish children in the class, and each teacher told them that there were no Jewish children. They entered the very last classroom, and asked the teacher if there were any Jewish children there. She immediately answered no.
A girl in the back raised her hand. "Mommy, so we're not the only Jews in the world?!" little Stacy exclaimed to her mother/teacher.
The embarrassed mother quietly and quickly told the rabbinical students that she'd talk to them after class.
The now-revealed mother and daughter sat with the two rabbinical students that afternoon. The mother confessed that she was not very comfortable with her Judaism, or expressing it with her daughter, as they were the only Jews on this island, and it seemed easier to just put it aside. They all talked for a while, the boys offering words of warm encouragement to explore their Jewish identity. The mother bought some Jewish books and Mezuzahs. She then asked the boys to offer some words of encouragement to her daughter, as they had to her.
We're not the only Jews in the world?The rabbinical students left the little girl with this thought: "All around the world, women and girls bring in Shabbat by lighting candles on Friday afternoon, eighteen minutes before sunset. But when they are lighting eighteen minutes before sunset, bringing in Shabbat in Australia, it is not yet Shabbat in Israel, until eight hours later, when the women there light the candles. And then seven hours later, New York lights and brings in Shabbat, and eventually California, and the entire world lights, and brings in Shabbat at different times."
"The very last time zone is at the furthest point on earth, which is the Aleutian Islands. And the Aleutian Islands is the very last place in the world every Friday to have the opportunity to light Shabbat candles! You and your mother have this opportunity-to usher in the light of Shabbat for the entire Aleutian Islands."
"You will also be the very last Jewish girl in the world each Friday, little Stacy, to usher in Shabbat with your Shabbat candles, completing this unifying circle."
And with these words, the boys bid farewell to their new Jewish friends on the island.
This story got me thinking-at first almost wistfully: Wow, talk about people making a difference! This mother and her daughter, two lone Jews, on this lone island, have a powerful opportunity-to be the last two Jewish women in the entire world to light the Shabbat candles, completing the circle!
But in truth, we all have the opportunity to complete the circle.
We are each, independently, an entire world Like a child who might occasionally ask her father if he loves her as much as her sister, we might wonder at times how much G‑d loves and values us, as individuals, amongst millions of others. And what is the reply a loving father gives his child? He does not assure her of equality, but rather replies, "My love for you is different than my love for your sister. She is my only she in the whole wide world, and you are my only you in the whole wide world- there is no one with your uniqueness."
We are one big, beautiful world of millions of Jewish women, united in our sameness- bringing light to the world with our candle-lighting, always on Friday evenings, always with a blessing.
And yet, we are each, independently, an entire world-comprised of our unique emotions, talents, and ways of thinking; serving G‑d with our unique flavors; connecting, doing, feeling and experiencing with our own unique ways.
Some light white candles, others light colored candles.
Some meditate during the blessing, some meditate in the precious moments that follow.
Some talk from a place of gratitude, others from sorrow.
Some with their minds, some with their hearts- and some with both.
G‑d is yearning for you, the precious world that is you, dear reader, to invite Him into your home. To talk to Him about your gratitude, perhaps your confusion, even disappointment in Him.
This Friday afternoon as the sun sets, He is yearning and waiting for little Stacy, for me...for you, to light the Shabbat candles on Friday night, completing the unique weekly time cycle of you, your world, in your unique way.
The circle is not complete without you.
Shabbat Shalom.
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[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obdd31Q9PqA&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
Repentance...the true work of repentance...
No excuses can replace that.
You can make excuses or you can start the real work of personal growth.
Which one will it be for you this year?
http://rabbiphyllis.blogspot.com/2010/08/make-excuseor-grow-instead.html
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The Bat Mitzvah My Daughter Never Had
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1262063/jewish/The-Bat-Mitzvah-My-Daughter-Never-Had.htm
By Shari Shizgal
Emunah Shira, of blessed memory
I can hardly believe that it has been twelve years since our beautiful daughter Emunah Shira, of blessed memory, came into and left this world.
As we approached her Bat Mitzvah year - what would have been a milestone in her life (and ours) - I tried to hone in on how I wanted to commemorate it, if at all. Each year on her yortzeit, the date of her passing, I do something that is meaningful for me. It is usually small and personal (a walk in nature, learning with my husband or a friend; one year I gave a class for a group of women). This year, perhaps because of the significance of it being her would be Bat Mitzvah year, I felt that I wanted to do something bigger. I decided to invite a group of women over for a special meal to commemorate the event.
The message of her short life made such a profound impact on so many peopleWhen Emunah Shira was born, twelve years ago, it was the most challenging thing we had ever dealt with. And yet she changed our lives forever and the message of her short life made such a profound impact on so many people.
She stengthened our faith. She taught us not to ask "why?" (lama in Hebrew) but rather "to what" (le-ma which is the same word pronounced differently). Understanding the "why" is not in our job description. There is Someone much greater than us in charge of that. Our job is to find the potential in every situation and grow. I felt that sharing time together with a group of women would be a way of keeping Emunah Shira's messages alive.
Twelve years ago we had two healthy children in our lives, and one miscarriage behind us. I was pregnant and had experienced a pretty wonderful full term pregnancy with absolutely no complications. All of the tests were perfectly fine. The birth itself was also really wonderful. I was thrilled. Emunah Shira was born.
As soon as she was born, the midwife saw that she was having some trouble breathing and her color was off. They whisked her to the nursery to examine her. My husband went with them. The nurses heated her up, made sure she was fine, and brought her back to me all wrapped up to keep her warm. I was so happy to have my baby back.
As I nursed her, I noticed that she was purple. I asked my labor coach to call the midwife. She came immediately, took one look, and whisked her off again. This whole scene is a bit of a blur. My husband went with them again and this time they did a number of tests, called in the top neonatal cardiologist in the country and within four hours we had a full diagnosis.
The cardiologist was wonderful and explained in detail our baby's condition. She had two different problems with her heart; each complicated the other and her situation was far from simple. He suggested that she stay where she was to get the care that she needed and we would wait until she grew to a weight that would make treatment easier. There was a specialist in Boston who had experience with this type of condition, but he had never treated a baby so small. The goal was for her to grow to a weight that he felt he could handle and we would be off to Boston.
Talk about having your life turned upside down in a moment.
Everyone said that the problem should have shown up on the twenty-one week ultrasound but the truth is that it was a blessing that it didn't as there was nothing we could have done at that point. Further, at the time we were coordinators of an educational program called Livnot U'Lehibanot in Tzfat.
The few months prior to the birth were filled with tremendous challenges including major medical issues of some of the students. I can't imagine dealing with intense prenatal issues on top of everything else we were facing. For us the lack of knowledge was truly a blessing. Looking back afterwards, we really felt that the challenges of those months helped us develop the tools to deal with this sudden and huge change in our lives.
For us the lack of knowledge was truly a blessingThe three month Livnot program in Tzfat always spends a week or so in Jerusalem. We had successfully planned that week around my due date so we were not only in Jerusalem, but a few blocks away from the hospital when I went into labor. As soon as we realized that Emunh Shira had a serious health problem, we were instantly relieved of all of our duties at Livnot. It just so happened that this was our last program and the couple who was switching us as program coordinators had been using this program as a learning program. Well, now they were in charge and we were in coping mode.
Having watched my pregnancy develop, and having anticipated the birth, the group was seriously affected by the news.
After much deliberation and consultation about whether we should name our baby right away or wait until her condition was more stable, we decided to name her with the group. Having shared the months of my pregnancy together, it was important to them and to us to share this moment. We all needed a name to pray for. We called her Shira after my grandmother, and Emunah which means "faith" because we were in a place in life where our faith was growing and it was a focus of our lives.
They say that one of the only contexts where prophecy still exists is when parents name a child. We had experienced this very strongly with our two older boys (who were almost five and two and a half at the time) but this time it ended up being even more remarkable. The experience of her life was the biggest faith booster we could have ever imagined.
We had a very intense and meaningful baby naming with the group. They were a group of young adults who were trying to find a connection with their Judaism. It was clear to us that each and every one of them needed to be at this place at this time to go through this with us. We all were supposed to experience this together and grow from it together and we really did just that.
Being in a very public position at a time like this (a call had been put out to all past participants to pray for our daughter...) meant that the calls and emails of love and support kept pouring in. There was a line up of people offering to take care of our other kids and the flow of food was continuous. We were clearly not in this alone! That gave us much needed strength.
I had been blessed with the opportunity of nursing Emunah Shira after the birth which was very important to me. I then pumped for her and she was fed by a tube because the exertion of nursing would be too hard on her heart. She was in the NICU and the staff there was absolutely amazing. I couldn't have asked for kinder more dedicated staff.
One time when I walked in, I saw a nurse holding our baby while treating another, because ours had been crying and the exertion wasn't good for her heart. I was moved to tears by this expression of caring and dedication. Our baby was not lacking love.
My husband had brought our other children to the hospital so see her a couple of times. They had drawn pictures for me to put up on the wall in my room. I decided to take one of them and turn it into a name sign for Emunah Shira's bedside. I went with my two-year-old to the NICU to put it on her bassinet.
I asked the staff if I could bring her to the door of the NICU so that my son could see her from up close. Until then they had only been able to see her from through the window. I was granted permission. It was a very intense moment for my son (and of course for me as well.) He was so young but that moment created a very strong connection for him towards his sister. He was able to see her up close, talk to her and touch her. It was very emotional and moving.
I had not really considered the option of her dyingEmunah Shira was born on a Monday. On Friday morning I went in to see her. While I had of course spent much time with her touching and stroking her since her birth, now I gathered the courage to ask the nurses if I could nurse her again. It was so important to me and I was thrilled when they let me nurse her for a few minutes. During that visit I also decided to take a picture of her. In all the tumult of the birth we hadn't taken any pictures. I wished her a Shabbat Shalom and went back to Livnot with every intention of coming back on Shabbat to spend some time with her.
That picture remains the only picture we have of her.
We had given the hospital staff all of the possible phone numbers to call if they needed to reach us on Shabbat and with a bit of trepidation off we went. We had a beautiful Shabbat dinner with our kids. At some point while we were joyfully singing Shabbat songs we noticed the sound of phone ringing, from the office, from our cell... We realized that maybe the hospital was trying to reach us.
We walked over to the hospital and on the door there was a sign that indicated that someone had passed away. I was so sad and wondered who it was but I didn't give much thought to it. I just wanted to see how my baby was doing.
When we walked into the NICU and saw the look on the nurses' faces it all of a sudden hit me that the sign was because of our baby. I couldn't believe it. That wasn't part of the plan. She was supposed to grow bigger and we were going to fly to Boston. I had not really considered the option of her dying.
I don't think I have every cried so hard in my life.
We went to see the Livnot group on Sunday morning so that whomever wanted to see/speak with us could. After we spoke with them one of the participants came up to me and shared with me that a similar thing had happened to his parents before he was born. Talking to him was really important to me and I was so grateful that he had shared that with me. To me he represented my future children and that filled me with hope.
The weeks and months that followed were truly hard. One of my strongest memories was dealing with the "why?" question and so completely coming to the conclusion that understanding why is not in our job description. As soon as I was able to let go of that, it was much easier to find the good and grow. And that is exactly what we did. We allowed ourselves to hurt and cry and be loved and supported by those around us. We became so clear as to why we had named her Emunah, meaning faith as that was what we needed more than anything.There was no question that Someone higher that us had guided each and every step along the way. From not knowing about her condition in advance, to sending the couple to switch us at Livnot right at that time, we knew that everything had happened for a reason.
Our lives since then have been a series of events and circumstances that continue to strengthen our faith in our Creator, our search for meaning in life, and our ability to see the good in things and grow from challenges.
So when it came to the yortzeit of our daughter's Bat Mitzvah year, I really felt moved to invite a group of women over to a semi pot luck breakfast of sharing and thought and song. I asked everyone to bring something to share on the subjects of Emunah (faith), Shira (song), or Bat mitzvah. I spoke some and answered questions. Those who were moved to speak did.
One friend brought a guitar. She had been through an extremely challenging birth and post birth of twins just over two years ago, and her guitar had helped her through it in a very meaningful way. Since one of the themes was song, she played and sang a song that had helped her through her tough time.
His note asked G‑d that Emunah Shira smile up in heavenThe women were visibly moved by what we shared. I felt very blessed!And I was taken by how much the women whom I invited (including those who didn't make it) wanted to be there. It felt important. It felt like it made an impact. As women we spend a lot of energy doing for and giving to others. It is a huge blessing to be able to do that. The reality is that we can benefit from any opportunity to be together and help charge each others' batteries.
Once everyone left - the house was already mostly clean thanks to some helpful friends - the rest of the morning passed fairly regularly. On my way to pick up my son from kindergarten, I utilized the time to have a private chat with G‑d. In the group atmosphere of the meal, the one thing that was lacking was my own personal reflective moment. Thankfully the walk gave me that.
When my seven-year-old came home from school, he handed me a piece of paper. It was something that they had done at school that day. They had prepared a note to put in the Western Wall. His note asked G‑d that Emunah Shira smile up in heaven. Tears came to my eyes. It was such a sweet, pure thought.
Later in the afternoon my cellphone rang. One of my son's names appeared on the screen. His maturity was beyond his years from a very young age. As such her short life affected him very much and he always felt very connected to her. In general our policy with our kids was to be very open and talk about the whole story. We didn't hide anything and encouraged them to talk about it in any way they wanted. Over the years this particular son had wanted to light a memorial candle for her in his classroom. He had made a plaque with her name on it in day camp, and it still hangs on the door of his closet until this day.
On this day his class was on a trip to Jerusalem. Unbeknown to me, he had arranged to leave the group to take care of something personal and rejoin them later. That was when I got the call. He asked me where I thought he was calling from and after a couple of guesses, he revealed to me that he had gone to be by his sister's graveside. After I thought about it, I realized that it totally suited him to do this. My first reaction though was still to be moved to tears, firstly that he did this at all, and in many ways even more significantly, that he called me. Although he is a deep, feeling and caring person, he keeps a lot of it to himself. Yet something moved him to share this moment with me. I thanked him so much. It meant so much to me.
So that was how we commemorated our Emunah Shira's yortzeit. May Emunah Shira's memory be blessed! And may we all grow through our challenges, remembering to ask "Le'ma" (to what) and not "Lama" (why?) when challenges do come our way.
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Sounds of Silence
By Arnie Gotfryd
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1225796/jewish/Sounds-of-Silence.htm
Praying with simple faith joins the essence of the soul with the essence of the Infinite, so that the Essence of the Ein Sof will be the Healer of the ill, and He Who blesses the years.
The Rebbe, HaYom Yom, 11 Tishrei.
Musicians manipulate it. Comedians play it up. Actors, politicians, kids and their parents all have some intuitive sense of how to convey deep and powerful messages using this one simple technique - Silence. Whether it's a pregnant pause, an upbeat syncopation, a raised eyebrow or a baby's silent scream, a well-placed silence speaks volumes.
We enter into the realm of divine where we can actually create a new will within G‑d HimselfBut for those who aren't so good at reading between the lines, there's a new invention out of the Karlsruhe Institute of Technology that can decode a lot of that quietude for you. It's a lip-reading telephone that can pick up bioelectricity from your face muscles and send the encoded signal through a cell phone to be reassembled as a speaking voice at the other end of the call.1 Move lips at point A, hear speech at point B. Cool.
That may or may not put a stop to those annoying people who yammer and holler into their cell phones as if they were plastic cups connected by string. But what it will do is help patients with speech problems, workers in noisy environments, friends with secrets, and astronauts with their hands-free flight controls. There's even a translation function that allows the listener to hear your mouthed words in their language.
Like so many things these days, this remote lip-reading innovation has been presaged by an ancient Jewish ritual. No, I'm not referring to the guilt trip. Nor the silent auction (right, that's Chinese). I'm actually talking about prayer. True, not all Jewish prayers are silent - just the most important one - the Amida, a.k.a. standing silent prayer.2
A Jew's morning prayer cycles through stages - the Verses of Praise often said aloud or sung; the blessings of the Shema which includes a lot of vocal responsive reading; and the Declaration of Unity itself - which in some congregations, Yemenite for example, is a deafening shout that can literally shake the walls. But when we get to the climax of the prayer service, the top rung of the ladder, the Amida, what do we hear? Nothing. Just lips moving.
But why? Why, after all the hub-bub, when we get to the heart of our personal conversation with G‑d, do we finally go silent? One answer is that the lead-up prayers are about us talking. The Amida is about G‑d listening.
In general prayer serves two functions. The verb "to pray" - l'hitpalel - is actually reflexive, meaning to judge oneself. At this level, we are working on ourselves, our appreciation, our emotions, our consciousness. For this we need voice, we need to resonate, to feel the prayer. But the word "prayer" itself - tefillah - is beyond that, it's about selflessness.3 In fact it is so selfless, we enter into the realm of divine where we can actually create a new will within G‑d Himself, to heal the sick, feed the hungry, salvage broken relationships.
We learn about silent prayer from the Biblical Chana who invested her heart and soul in a tearful, silent prayer to be blessed with a child. The son she bore, the prophet Samuel, went on to anoint Saul and later David, the forerunner of Moshiach, may he come speedily in our days. Then we will see all our prayers answered in a world where all communication barriers will be broken, a world awash with silent waves of knowledge, a world immersed in the knowledge of G‑d as waters cover the sea.
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Fit for a King
by Rebbetzin Tzipporah Heller
God never gives up on us.
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=48948711§ion=/h/hh/rh
Once there was a king. The king had a servant to whom he entrusted a precious vessel. The vessel was somehow damaged. The servant's awe of the king was so great that he did not know what to do, where to turn. He found a wise man and sought his counsel. The wise man told him that he should not bring the shattered vessel before the king; it was not befitting. The servant decided it would be better to seek advice from one of the king's closest friends. The servant thought a person such as that would be more likely to have a deep knowledge of how the king would respond and would also know what course of action the king would take.
When he appeared before the king's trusted companion, he asked his advice and received the following reply: "I know the king's greatness and exaltation. A vessel such as this may not be placed before him. You must destroy the vessel completely."
The servant still did not know what to do and finally decided to go to an expert craftsman, hoping that perhaps he would be able to repair the broken vessel. He went to the craftsman, who told him that even if he succeeded in repairing it, it would still look damaged. Its appearance would remain marred; it would never be appropriate to take to the king.
The servant said to himself, I cannot act as though nothing has happened; I cannot absolve myself from responsibility. I will go before the king. Let him do to me as he sees fit.
The king said, "I will use the broken vessel. Those with whom you consulted responded as they did for the sake of my glory. I, however, choose to use the vessel as it is."
FEAR OF CONFRONTING ONE'S FAILURES
God unveils His presence to those who are able to see. The awesome splendor of nature, the intimacy of Divine Providence, are visible to anyone who has not blocked his vision.
When we seek to go beyond the blinders of ego, materialism, and escapism, we are still at times blocked. At times it's not what we don't see that causes our blindness; it's what we do see. When we let ourselves hear our deepest selves, the voices of inner wisdom of spiritual yearning, we are sometimes overwhelmed. We feel that "the vessel cannot be placed before the King." These feelings of spiritual inadequacy can be so overwhelming that we don't know what to do. We see our brokenness, and in sharp contrast we perceive the power and goodness of God. At moments of stark revelation, we tend to retreat. How can we possibly live with what we have become? The more honest we are, the less accessible teshuvah, repentance, feels.
Teshuvah, repentance, is a statement of God's very nature: His never-ending compassion.
The ultimate insult one person can give another is lowering one's expectations of him. The attitude "I would never expect any better from you" is not one of compassion. It is the most profound form of disdain. God does not give up on us. His exacting judgment, which we must face on Rosh Hashana, is real. We must not allow ourselves to be defeated by the dread this knowledge inspires.
God judges us, not because He wishes to punish us and see us get what we deserve, but because He believes in our ability to transcend our blockages. Even the most severe punishments ever meted out to humanity, such as Adam's expulsion from the Garden of Eden, were given to enable personal rebuilding of that which was broken in Adam and in the world.
Teshuvah is the key to our rebuilding ourselves. We must trust God's compassion and not be afraid to approach Him honestly. The month of Elul is the time of year when the spiritual nature of the season moves us toward Him and Him toward us.
SEEING OURSELVES AS WE ARE
Examining where our lives have taken us is the first step. The purpose of this is not to generate self-hatred or despair, but to seek correction and ways of moving beyond our present situations. We must be willing to look, not only at the specific actions that may be less than perfect, but at the character traits that motivated errors in moral judgment. When we content ourselves with superficial self-examination, our efforts are doomed.
I am a fairly unsuccessful gardener. The verdant plants I bring home from the nursery live very uneventful (and unusually short) lives. Part of the reason is that my own urban childhood brought me to maturity without the ability to look at two green shoots and know which one is a weed. When the shoots grow tall enough to make it clear (even to me) which is which, I tend to cut the weed rather than uproot it. The re-germination of aggressive and unwanted weeds is an eternal, unpleasant surprise.
Similarly, when searching for the "real" self, one must ask the basic question: why? Why do I do this? Why do I want this? Which basic trait is somehow contorted? Until these questions are honestly answered, the root of the weed is left untouched. There is still little awareness of which middah, character trait, needs to be corrected. The "plant," therefore, is very likely to flourish again. The same deed (or its very similar first cousin) is likely to be a prominent part of one's soul-searching next year.
WHAT TO DO WITH THE FLAWS
Character traits don't disappear. One of the most irrational decisions that can be made is the rejection of one's essential personality. Finding new and appropriate channels for the traits that are the least desirable is a challenge. Denying their existence, or attempting to eliminate them, is escaping the challenge that is part of one's very being, for finding a positive outlet for them often has the effect of uprooting the negative aspect of the trait.
To understand the mechanics of change, let us look for a moment at one of the most striking examples of self-change I have ever seen.
Irene's parents never wanted a child. Perhaps they wanted a trophy to show others, very much as they collect art and hang it on the walls of their exquisite home. Irene never felt wanted. This was not a matter of unrealistic expectations; it was a realistic acceptance of her status. When her parents' marriage dissolved, the custody battle revolved around who would be "stuck" with the child. She was raised from the age of eight by various hired women.
By the time Irene was an adult, her insecurity was a very strong component of her personality. We all know the forms insecurity takes. No friend was loyal enough, and therefore she constantly "tested" them until they almost always failed to meet her expectations. No situation was stable enough, and she moved from lifestyle to lifestyle.
I, too, was a member of the society of failed friends. I liked her and admired her enormously; she is a woman of rare brilliance and refinement. However, I was unable to give her the kind of unconditional support she needed and therefore demanded.
We drifted apart. I heard of her occasionally. She is an artist, and her works are displayed periodically in various galleries. One Elul, I wrote her a letter in which I asked forgiveness for having allowed our friendship to disintegrate.
As God would have it, I met her on the bus the very day I put the letter in my purse. As I handed her the letter, I did not know what her response would be. Would she trust my sincerity or would she see this as a sort of cushion upon which I could lean to alleviate any guilt I might be feeling before the High Holidays arrive? She smiled at me warmly, gave me her address and phone number, and invited me to her home.
In the course of my visit to her somewhat isolated house on a remote Israeli settlement, I found myself feeling as though the body of the person to whom I was speaking was Irene, but the person inside the body must be someone entirely different. The warmth, security, and genuine interest she showed in me and my life were completely out of character.
As the sun began to set over the desert, I felt comfortable enough to ask her how she had accomplished such a major achievement. She knew exactly what I meant. She had decided to uproot the negative side of her insecurity completely. In order to do this, she wrote a brief account of everything good she experienced every day. She opened her closet and showed me a collection of tens of school notebooks. Each one was full, and each one was a statement of its owner's longing to free herself from the limitations that enveloped her. This changed her view of the Creator and His world.
Simultaneously, she decided to use her insight to zero in on other people's fears and insecurities and make herself a friend to many people who would never approach someone less sensitive to their fears. I felt that I was in the presence of one of the authentic heroines of our generation.
MITZVAHS: THEIR PLACE IN THE CURE
The Maharal speaks about the difference between positive commandments, in which the Torah tells us how to direct our energies, and negative commandments, various actions the Torah tells us to refrain from in order not to diminish ourselves. Both are necessary for us to retain the integrity of our characters. Therefore, when one notices that a certain trait is the root of behavior that is self?destructive, reestablishing a commitment to the commandments that are most difficult is a first step. When performed with the consciousness that what is at stake is not just a specific mitzvah, but also a redefinition of how one's traits can be used, there is a world of difference.
We must use every day that is left to see ourselves as we are. We must see our histories, our choices, our potential, our habits and hereditary tendencies. We must not be afraid to see the flaws; rather, we must take our broken vessels to the King and let ourselves be healed.
From "This Way Up: Torah Essays on Spiritual Growth" by Rebbetzin Tzipporah Heller, Feldheim publications.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/hh/rh/48948711.html
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1215054/jewish/Advice-for-Life-from-Rabbi-Israel-Baal-Shem-Tov.htm
Advice for Life from Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov
as recorded by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn
(http://w3.clhosting.org/media/images/286/uecN2861810.jpg)
Love
G‑d sends a soul down to live on this world for seventy-eighty years, just to do a material favor for another—and certainly a spiritual one.
Providence I
Not only is every movement of every creation ordained from Above, but the every movement of every individual creation is part of the grand plan for the entirety of creation. Let's use, for example, a blade of grass in a deep forest, in a place where no person has ever traversed. Its every movement – forward and backward, to the right and to the left – for as long as it exists, is all directed by divine providence; for G‑d has determined that this blade of grass should live for this amount of months, days and hours, and during this time it should sway this amount of times. And furthermore, the movements of this blade of grass have an implication on the all-encompassing master plan which governs creation. I.e., only through the cumulative movements and actions of the myriad creations – human, animal, plant life and the inanimate – can the master plan of creation be fulfilled.
Providence II
G‑d causes many events and occurrences in order to effect His divine providence on the smallest of creations. So a tremendous wind will sweep in on a bright summer day so that a leaf that has fallen off its tree a year beforehand, or a straw that was dislodged from a thatched roof, should be moved from one place to another—the place it now has to be by divine ordinance.
Providence III
When two people meet, it is by reason of divine providence—and the purpose of the encounter lies in its being utilized for good matters. G‑d orchestrated the meeting as a "hint" to both people. Each one needs to a) learn a lesson from the other, and b) positively impact the other in the area of charity and kindness, and also with regards to Torah study and mitzvah observance.
Providence VI
Everything that a person sees and hears contains a lesson for the person to utilize in his service of G‑d. It is required, however, to properly understand that which we see and hear, and not to misinterpret the experiences. Proper understanding is a quality that emanates from the soul, as it illuminates the mind. How does one achieve such soul illumination? a) Through saying Psalms with warmth and passion; b) through doing a favor for another—not just a monetary favor, but one that requires personal effort and inconvenience; c) loving one's fellow, to the point of self sacrifice.
The Other I
When someone issues a "verdict" on another, he is actually pronouncing his own verdict. For example, if one asserts that because of a certain misdeed another committed he is deserving of such-and-such punishment, he is actually issuing that verdict on himself. And conversely, if one says that because of a good deed or word that another has done he is deserving that G‑d should help him in the areas where he is needing, that blessing, too, is fulfilled on him himself.
The Other II
The blessing of a good friend is considered in heaven with great significance, and is more powerful than the advocacy and prayers of Angel Michael.
The Other III
Just like when a person looks into a mirror and sees dirt on his face, it is only because his face is dirty, so too when someone sees a fault in another, it is a sign that the fault exist within himself.
The Other IV
Upon hearing a negative report about another Jew, one should be greatly pained. For something bad has certainly occurred: If the report is true, then that individual is in an unhealthy situation; and if the report is untrue, then it is the one who is slandering is in a poor place.
The Simpleton
The greatest of the great needs to learn from the simplest of the simple—for in the simple one sees the essence of simple sincerity.
The Ladder
A cardinal point of chassidism: The rungs of life's ladder are refining one's character traits and cherishing and valuing the simpleton. In order to climb these rungs, in an orderly fashion, one needs the assistance of an elder.
Faults
The chassidic way to correct one's character traits is transforming the faults into strengths.
The Will
The place where one's will is—there he is.
Bringing Closer
If you wish to steer a coarse and boorish individual to the correct path, do so by showing him love—until he recognizes his own faults.
G‑d's Children
The simpleton and the greatest scholar share the same lofty essence: they both are G‑d's children. Just like a child's countenance is similar to his father's, so too G‑d's children are merciful, bashful and kind—a reflection of their merciful, giving and forgiving Father.
Adapted from the Hebrew by Dovid Zaklikowski.
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Living through the Parshah
How the Chassidic Revolution Shook Society
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/974820/jewish/How-the-Chassidic-Revolution-Shook-Society.htm
By Rochel Holzkenner
Every so often the plates of society shift so fiercely that a volcanic transformation takes place. Take, for example, the Industrial Revolution in the 18th and 19th centuries. The changes to agriculture and manufacturing were so profound that eventually every aspect of life was influenced in some way. Around the same time another great revolution was unfolding: the 18th century "Chassidic Revolution." The very fabric of Jewish society was forever altered by its powerful impression.
A culture of emotional comatoseness and lethargy plagued Jewish livingOne man is responsible for this revolution, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (1698-1760). He was supported by a group of fellow clandestine Kabbalists who carried down a tradition from the great Kabbalist, the Arizal. The group urged the Baal Shem Tov to go public as a global mentor.
Unlike other revolutions, the Chassidic Revolution did not introduce new beliefs. It only re-emphasized some basic tenets of Jewish faith and philosophy that had taken a back burner due to extreme suffering and anti-Semitism. A culture of emotional comatoseness and lethargy plagued Jewish living until the Baal Shem Tov inspired a mass "re-Jew-venation."
Of the basic tenets that he reintroduced, the most well know perhaps is the emphasis on joy. Later, one of the Baal Shem Tov's disciples expressed his master's sentiment by saying, "although depression is not a sin per se, it leads to the worst of sins." Sing, dance, smile—do what it takes to put yourself in a place of joy!
Many of Rabbi Israel's contemporaries were taken aback by his radical emphasis on happiness. They felt joy to be appropriate only after spiritual accomplishments. But if one was lacking – and aren't we all lacking? – then joy might breed complacency. Nonetheless Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov maintained his commitment to its importance and it's Jewishness.
In the latter part of the Book of Deuteronomy G‑d rebukes His people, saying as follows:
Because you did not serve G‑d, your G‑d, with joy and gladness of heart when you had an abundance of everything—you will serve your enemies whom G‑d will send against you… —Deuteronomy 28:37-38
What is G‑d's critique? Not that He wasn't being served, but that He wasn't served with joy. It was a somber and listless service. Evidently G‑d did not only expect the joy that is an outgrowth of accomplishment, but the joy that is the beginning, the end, and very backbone of our contribution to G‑d's world.
One fallacy that breeds depression is the sense that we need an external reason to be happyIn a country where almost 20 million of us suffer from depressive disorders, where the joke is that we'd all benefit from a little Prozac diluted in our city waters, happiness is a serious problem. Like any serious problem, its roots are incredibly complex, but perhaps one fallacy that breeds depression is the sense that we need an external reason to be happy. And even when we have a good reason to be happy, it too can quickly melt away into status quo and no longer give us that euphoric high.
Chassidic masters say that it's imperative to have self-generated happiness. It's our only shot at overcoming the constant struggles that we face in life. Personally, if I'm to have any chance of dealing with my children proactively and patiently, I need to feel upbeat. If I'm down, it's a lost cause. Joy is the only emotional environment that is conducive for growth.
There have been many recent studies about the affect of positivity on the brain. Positive people were shown to have a broader scope of visual attention and were more creative. Scientists at Cornell University experimented with physicians and found that when patients gave their physicians a small gift they were better at integrating case information and less likely to become fixated on their initial ideas.
The commitment to live life with joy was given great emphasis during the Chassidic Revolution. And, like any of G‑d's directives, it often times takes tremendous commitment and self-discipline.
In 1988, the Rebbe said that the way to bring about the final global transformation and redemption is to increase in joy with the intent of bringing the complete redemption. Just by being happy we have power to break through our personal barriers and the barriers of exile.
Simply put—be happy. It will benefit you. It will benefit the world.
Based on Tanya chapter 26 and the Rebbe's talk Parshat Ki Teitzei 5748
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While We're in Exile, Where's G‑d?
By Naftali Silberberg
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1245109/jewish/While-Were-in-Exile-Wheres-Gd.htm
In our Parshah, Moses prophesies regarding our nation's exile as well as our ultimate redemption, regarding which he says, "G‑d will return your exiles and He will have mercy upon you. He will once again gather you from all the nations, where G‑d, your G‑d, had dispersed you" (Deuteronomy 30:3).
Though galut (exile), by definition, is a time when G‑d's presence in our lives isn't manifest and palpable as it was – and will soon again be – during the Holy Temple glory days, it by no means signals a hiatus in our relationship with Him. This idea was expressed by Joseph prior to the first time that our nation was dispatched into exile, when he informed his brothers that they would spend many years exiled in Egypt, but "G‑d will be with you" (Genesis 48:21).
G‑d is omnipresent, He's with everyone at all times, so Joseph's special assurance that G‑d would be with the Jews was referring to G‑d's overt presence and protection. Indeed, though our exiles have been times of great national difficulty, persecution, and worse, it is these very travails that testify to the fact that G‑d is still "with us." For is there any other explanation for the fact that a small, displaced, and defenseless nation outlives all the superpowers that endeavor mightily to annihilate her?
Is G‑d a master conductor who keeps a watchful eye over us while remaining serenely unaffected?But lest we think that G‑d is a master conductor who keeps a watchful eye over us while He Himself remains serenely unaffected by our suffering, the verse (Psalms 91:15) quotes G‑d as saying, "I am with him [Israel] in distress." This was the message that G‑d conveyed by choosing to appear to Moses in a thorn bush when the Jews were being oppressed by the Egyptians. When we suffer, it's as if He is being pricked by thorns. After all, is there a father that is not distressed when his child is in pain?
The verse cited above, from this week's Parshah, takes this idea a step further. The Hebrew wording employed in this verse is rather unusual. Rather than the standard וְהֵשִׁיב, which translates as "He [G‑d] will cause you to return," the word וְשָׁב, which translates literally as "He will return," is used. On this our Sages comment: "From here we learn that the Divine Presence resides among Israel, as it were, in all the misery of their exile. And when they are redeemed, G‑d writes [here in the Scriptures], redemption for Himself—for He, too, will return with them!"
This is not simply a father who is commiserating with his son. This is a father who accompanies his son into exile. A king who voluntarily joins his son in captivity.
And when the time of the redemption arrives, He will return together with each and every one of us, as Isaiah prophesies (27:12)., "And you will be gathered up, one by one, O children of Israel."
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Bridging the Gap
by Rabbi Adam Jacobs
Living up to your ideals this new year.
I could get 99 out of 100 people to agree that speaking gossip about another person is wrong. I also know that if I polled those folks, 98 out of the 99 will still routinely speak gossip.
You can get the vast majority of humanity to agree up and down about the great value of altruism and selflessness, but at the end of the day, in the absence of extreme persistence, dedication and stalwartness in the face of failure, most of us will not fully live our ideals. That’s why we meet dating coaches who can’t seem to maintain a relationship, therapists whose personal lives are a train wreck and even the occasional spiritual leader whose day to day existence is anything but transcendental.
They may be fully committed to these concepts…but only intellectually, and there is a huge chasm between the head and the heart.
Historian Paul Johnson wrote a fantastic book that deals with this phenomenon called Intellectuals. In it, he outlines the philosophies of several major intellectual figures from Western culture (Russo, Marx, Tolstoy, etc) and then demonstrates through primary sources what their lives were actually like. Needless to say, they don’t match up too impressively. Marx, for instance, was actually not very into seeing actual proletariat (just writing about them). He spent most of his days in a pub in London racking up personal debt and treating people amazingly poorly. Russo wrote beautifully about the “Brotherhood of Man” yet had many illegitimate children whom he refused to assist, gambling debts and a host of other interpersonal issues. Did they believe what they were writing? Absolutely. But living what they wrote was another story.
Judaism has long maintained that the root of self esteem is for our insides to match our outsides. When we behave in a manner that is consistent with what we hold dear, we feel good about ourselves and the idea settles more deeply within us. When we behave in ways that oppose what we know to be right and good we feel hypocritical and unhappy.
One of the 48 ways to achieve wisdom listed in Ethics of the Fathers is to teach. One reason is that it forces you to learn an idea very well in order to articulate it effectively to others. Another is that is compels you to practice what you preach…literally. Last year I started teaching a series called “Master Your Emotions” that instructs people how to effectively understand and control their negative emotions. I started to feel like a fraud telling others how to behave when I wasn’t really doing it myself. Suddenly I found the motivation to really work on controlling my emotions. And the more consistent I was, the better I felt about my self as a person and a teacher.
Rosh Hashana is just around the corner. As the leaves change and the world turns towards Monday Night Football, the Torah teaches that it’s time to start looking within. Now is the time to start making a plan for your new year, one that maximizes our integrity and authenticity. Here are some practical suggestions:
Get Clear: Spend one hour doing a comprehensive diagnostic of where you’re being inconsistent. In one column list the behaviors and values that you hold dear. In the other, rank yourself on a scale of 1-10 how closely your outer behavior matches your inner values.
Narrow it down: Pick one area to focus on and keep a daily journal of your progress. Half the battle is just coming to the awareness (in the moment) that you’re doing the thing you don’t want to be doing. Then, like getting better at tennis, you need to relearn your serve. Part of you doesn’t want to do it and it needs a lot of practice to be retrained. This is where exercising your free will muscles comes in. Consciously resist the temptation to react as you always have and then chart your progress
Ask for help: Rosh Hashana is the day when we ask the Almighty to “renew our contract” for another year. It’s the day to commit to a new business plan. Showing Him how serious we are leading up to our “interview” is a great and rewarding way to kick off the new year in high gear.
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The Parshah in a Nutshell
Ki Tavo
Deuteronomy 26:1-29:8
Moses instructs the people of Israel: When you enter the land that G-d is giving to you as your eternal heritage, and you settle it and cultivate it, bring the first-ripened fruits (bikkurim) of your orchard to the Holy Temple, and declare your gratitude for all that G-d has done for you.
Our Parshah also includes the laws of the tithes given to the Levites and to the poor, and detailed instructions on how to proclaim the blessings and the curses on Mount Grizzim and Mount Ebal -- as discussed in the beginning of the Parshah of Re'ei. Moses reminds the people that they are G-d's chosen people, and that they, in turn, have chosen G-d.
The latter part of Ki Tavo consists of the Tochachah ("Rebuke"). After listing the blessings with which G-d will reward the people when they follow the laws of the Torah, Moses gives a long, harsh account of the bad things -- illness, famine, poverty and exile -- that shall befall them if they abandon G-d's commandments.
Moses concludes by telling the people that only today, forty years after their birth as a people, have they attained "a heart to know, eyes to see, and ears to hear."
The Parshah in a Nutshell
Nitzavim-Vayelech
Deut. 29:9-31:30
The Parshah of Nitzavim includes some of the most fundamental principles of the Jewish faith:
The unity of Israel: "You stand today, all of you, before the L-rd your G-d: your heads, your tribes, your elders, your officers, and every Israelite man; your young ones, your wives, the stranger in your gate; from your wood hewer to your water drawer."
The future redemption: Moses warns of the exile and desolation of the Land that will result if Israel abandons G-d's laws, but then he prophesies that, in the end, "You will return to the L-rd your G-d... If your outcasts shall be at the ends of the heavens, from there will the L-rd your G-d gather you... and bring you into the Land which your fathers have possessed."
The practicality of Torah: "For the Mitzvah which I command you this day, it is not beyond you nor is it remote from you. It is not in heaven... It is not across the sea.... Rather, it is very close to you, in your mouth, in your heart, that you may do it."
Freedom of choice: "I have set before you life and goodness, and death and evil; in that I command you this day to love G-d, to walk in His ways and to keep His commandments... Life and death I have set before you, blessing and curse. And you shall choose life."
The Parshah of Vayelech ("And He Went") recounts the events on Moses' last day of earthly life. "I am one hundred and twenty years old today," he says to the people, "and I can no longer go forth and come in." He transfers the leadership to Joshua, and writes (or concludes writing) the Torah in a scroll which he entrusts to the Levites for safekeeping in the Ark of the Covenant.
The mitzvah of Hak'hel ("Gather") is given: every seven years, during the festival of Sukkot of the first year of the shemittah cycle, the entire people of Israel -- men, women and children -- should gather at the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, where the king should read to them from the Torah.
Vayelech concludes with the prediction that the people of Israel will turn away from their covenant with G-d causing Him to hide His face from them, but also with the promise that the words of the Torah "shall not be forgotten out of the mouths of their descendants."
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History or Memory?
By Mendel Kalmenson
It has been said that there is no word for history in the Hebrew language.
(The modern-Hebrew equivalent, "historia," is a word-lift from the English "history," which was pinched from the Greek "historia." What goes around comes around…)
The absence of a word as central to any nation as "history" is striking. It's probably because there's no such thing as history in Judaism.
Zikaron (memory), however, a distant cousin of history, features prominently in biblical language and thought.
It goes far beyond semantics, cutting straight to the core of Judaism's perception of the past.
You see, "history" is his-story, not mine. The first two letters of "memory," however, spell me.
Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from meWithout me there is no memory. Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from me.
Put differently: History is made up of objective facts and memory of subjective experience.
As you might have guessed, Judaism is less interested in dry facts than in breathing experiences.
It is for this reason that much of Jewish tradition and ritual draws on reenactment. We don't just commemorate, we remember. We don't just recount someone else's story, we relive our own.
A few examples:
Much of the Seder curriculum aims to stimulate feelings of slavery and bitterness (e.g., the salt water, bitter herbs, poor man's bread a.k.a. matzah, and so on) as well as royalty and liberty (four cups of wine, leaning on cushions, and the like).
In fact, in certain Jewish communities, the seventh night of Passover (the night the sea split for the Jews) finds many walking through pails of water to recreate that event.
On Shavuot we stay up the entire night in anticipation of the giving of the Torah on the morrow, and children are brought to synagogue to hear the Ten Commandments from G‑d.
He's not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard fromIn fact, Judaism teaches that, in soul, we were all present at Sinai;1 each one of us personally encountered G‑d. Consequently, G‑d is not just the G‑d of our ancestors; He is our G‑d. He's not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard from.
The divine revelation at Sinai thus distinguishes itself from any other revelation described in other religious traditions. Central to other religions is the belief that G‑d never shows Himself to the masses, to a community of commoners. He speaks only to the prophet, who alone is worthy of divine communion. It's for the flock to trust implicitly in their shepherd's account of revelation. Not so in Judaism, which maintains that, indeed, the greatest divine revelation of all time was made accessible to maidservant and Moses alike.
Moreover, even as He spoke to a nation of millions, G‑d addressed each one of them personally. As our sages teach, in His opening words at Sinai, "I am G‑d, your G‑d," G‑d chose to use the singular form of "your" (elokecha) – the "thy" of vintage English – over the plural form of "your" (elokeichem).
This was one of the greatest gifts that G‑d bequeathed our people, to include all of us in the Sinaic display, for it turned our nation's most seminal event into a living memory, as opposed to a lifeless lesson in history.
Moving along to the Ninth of Av, the day the Holy Temple was destroyed thousands of years ago and a national day of mourning – its customs include eating eggs dipped in ash (just prior to the fast), sitting on low stools, wearing slippers, fasting, and lamenting like it happened only yesterday.
The sukkah transports us to that distant and formative road-tripCome Sukkot, and we move into huts for a week to recall the booths we lived in throughout our desert trek. Like a figurative time machine, the sukkah transports us to that distant and formative road-trip.
And the list goes on.
The point is, remembering is big in our tradition.
The following discussion seeks to highlight just how big.
The Finale
"Today I am one hundred and twenty years old," begins Moses' last homily. "I am no longer able to lead you…"
The end is near, or here.
"Be strong and courageous… Do not be afraid… for G‑d is going with you…"2
These moving snippets, and the time in which they were spoken, help set the scene and mood of the last public address given by a selfless leader to his (less than selfless) congregation.
And these are the words with which he leaves them:
At the end of seven years…during the festival on the holiday of Sukkot, when all Israel comes to appear before G‑d, in the place that He will choose, the king should read the Torah before all of Israel. Assemble the people, the men, the women, and the minors, and the convert in your cities, in order that they will hear and in order that they will learn and they shall fear G‑d…3
Moses' final remarks to his people outlined the mitzvah of Hakhel, the commandment obliging all Jews to septennially gather in the Holy Temple to hear selections of the Torah being read by the Jewish king.
Then, following Moses' talk with the people, G‑d has a final talk4 with him:
You are soon to lie with your fathers. This nation will rise up and desire to follow the gods of the people of the land into which they are coming. They will forsake Me and violate the covenant which I made with them…
Now, write for yourselves this song…
Which song, we wonder; and how might a song stop Jews from assimilating?
Maimonides explains:
It is a positive command for every Jewish man to write a Torah scroll for himself, as the verse states, "Now write for yourselves this song," meaning to say, "write for yourselves a Torah which contains this song…"5
This mitzvah, for every individual to write his own Torah scroll, is the 613th and final mitzvah to be recorded in the Torah.6 It is the subject of the last conversation between G‑d and Moses that pertained to the people. It must somehow contain a recipe for Jewish survival, an antidote for assimilation.
But what might that be?
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long lifeThe single concern on Moses' mind that day, and later echoed by G‑d in their conversation, was the future of this fragile nation – a future that would become less rosy with time, offering terrible persecution as well as progressive religious challenges.
The solution suggested by both G‑d and Moses was the same:
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long life; if it were taught as a dead subject, however, it would, G‑d forbid, be subject to death.
Both the mitzvah of Hakhel and writing a Torah scroll were established to turn the former prospect into reality.
Hakhel was the reenactment of Sinai. Here's how Maimonides describes it:
They would prepare their hearts and alert their ears to listen with dread and awe and with trembling joy, like the day [the Torah] was given at Sinai …as though the Torah was being commanded to him now, and he was hearing it from the mouth of the Almighty...7
Might this explain why of all Biblical commands, Hakhel stands alone in obligating (parents to bring their) children,8 including those too young to walk and too underdeveloped to understand, feel, or appreciate what was going on around them?
But the Hakhel experience was not just about the mind, it was about the soul; it triggered the subconscious, not just the conscious. As such, children, who possess as much soul as adults, were present. Somewhere inside their psyche they re-experienced Sinai.
This also explains why even the greatest sages were present when the king read the Torah, even though they were fluent in what would be read. For this was not a lecture or a refresher course, it was a trip.
Hakhel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real againFor a similar reason it wasn't the scholar most proficient in Torah who read from it, but the king, "for the king is an agent to make the words of G‑d heard."9
A class is best taught by an expert teacher. The awe of Sinai is best reenacted through the presence and word of a mighty king.
In sum, Hakhel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real again.
But while that worked in Jerusalem, in the Holy Temple, once in seven years, how would the other six years, outside Jerusalem, and the day when our nation would be bereft of a Temple, be charged with living Judaism?
For this reason G‑d gave us the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll, to be written and stored inside one's home wherever and whenever they may live, and whose purpose it is to recreate the personal Divine encounter we each experienced at Sinai.
Maimonides could not have put it better when he said that when "a person writes a Torah with his own hand, it is as if he received it from Mount Sinai…"
Thus, Moses' punch line could not have been more appropriate and helpful at that historic moment. Both the mitzvot he conveyed and the ideas they represented were his last and best words of advice to a people facing great odds.
Do more than study Torah and perform mitzvot. Live them, ingest and digest them, experience them—and they will live on.10
What's in It for Me?
We're losing numbers, and fast.
Currently, 72% of (non-observant) American Jews intermarry.11
Most of those unfortunately never received a Jewish education. That's problem number one.
Some of them did, however, which is problem number two.
If we want to get through to the youth of today, we must shift our educational focus from Jewish knowledge to Jewish experience – Judaism as a lifestyle not (just) a topic for discussion or a paper.
How often have I heard someone who recently experienced Shabbat, a Jewish holiday, or passionate study saying, "I love it, it talks to me, I can't live without it!"
Perhaps that's because for the first time in their lives they engaged in living Judaism, not laboratory Judaism.
Or perhaps it was the first time that they felt that Judaism wasn't someone else's story, but was their own.
FOOTNOTES
1. See Pirkei d'Rabbi Elazar ch. 41; Midrash Rabbah, Exodus 28:6.
2. Deuteronomy 31:2, 6.
3. Ibid. 31:10-12. According to the biblical commentator Abarbenel, verse 31:30 describes an address given by Moses to the representatives of Israel, but the people weren't present.
4. Ibid. 31:16, 19. Their conversations later on (e.g., 32:48 and further) were logistical and contained some final remarks, but didn't pertain to his leadership of the people.
5. Laws of a Torah Scroll 7:1.
6. For more on this mitzvah, and the reason why it isn't commonly practiced nowadays, see Writing a Personal Torah Scroll.
7. Laws of Festival Offerings 3:6.
8. See Talmud, Kiddushin 34b: "Children are obligated in the mitzvah of Hakhel."
9. Laws of Festival Offerings 3:6.
10. Based on the Rebbe's teachings, recorded in Likutei Sichot vol. 34.
11. http://www.simpletoremember.com/articles/a/IntermarriageWhyNot/
See also http://www.simpletoremember.com/vitals/world-jewish-population.htm.
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Be within.
But stay above.
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What is Tashlich?
By Dinka Kumer
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/564247/jewish/What-is-Tashlich.htm
Tashlich comes from the Hebrew word meaning "to cast," referring to the intent to cast away our sins via this meaningful and ancient Jewish custom common to both Ashkenazi and Sephardic communities.
Tashlich is usually performed on the first day of Rosh Hashanah. If the first day of Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat, Tashlich is done on the second day of Rosh Hashanah. It may be performed up until Hoshanah Rabba (the last day of Sukkot), as some communities are anyway accustomed, except on Shabbat.
Special verses are recited next to a body of water, such as a sea, river, stream, lake or pond, preferably one that has fish (though when no such body of water was available, some rabbis were known to do Tashlich next to a well, even one that dried up, or next to a bucket of water). Upon concluding the verses, the corners of one's clothes are shaken out; for males, this is usually done with the corners of the tallit katan (tzitzit garment).
Though Tashlich is not mentioned in the Talmud, its earliest reference appears to be in the book of the Prophet Nehemiah (8:1) which states, "All the Jews gathered as one in the street that is in front of the gate of water." This gathering is known to have taken place on Rosh Hashanah.
Many reasons are given for this custom:
One reason for saying Tashlich next to water goes back to Abraham's trip to sacrifice his son, Isaac, which took place on Rosh Hashanah. On the way to the designated location, the Satan tried several times to undermine Abraham's progress. One of the Satan's tricks was to have a river materialize and block Abraham's path. Undeterred, Abraham forged on straight into the river followed by his small entourage. Upon reaching the middle of the river when the water reached his neck, Abraham prayed to G‑d and the river dried up. We commemorate the self-sacrifice of Abraham by going to a river bank.
Another reason for saying Tashlich next to a river is because Rosh Hashanah is the day when we coronate G‑d as King of the Universe. Jewish kings are anointed next to rivers, and so it is appropriate that we crown G‑d as our King next to a river, as well.
Going to a river bank or sea shore is also awe inspiring as we contemplate G‑d's mercy in preventing the waters from flooding the dry land. The realization of G‑d's omnipotence inspires us to repent.
Though we do Tashlich beside an earthly river or sea, this watery entity actually represents its Heavenly counterpart. Jewish mysticism teaches that water corresponds to the attribute of kindness. On Rosh Hashanah, we beseech G‑d to treat us with kindness during the new year.
Water with fish is optimal since fish are not subject to the "evil eye" and are also known to have many offspring. Fish do not have eyelids, so their eyes are always open. This is likened to G‑d's constant supervision over us, and we pray that He mercifully care for us. Also, just as fish may be caught in a fisherman's net, so, too, we are caught in the net of judgment. This awareness helps awaken us to repent.
Just as fish may be caught in a fisherman's net, so, too, we are caught in the net of judgmentWhile there are different versions and verses of the Tashlich liturgy depending upon community, what are common to all are the verses from the book of Micah (7:18-19) "Who is a G‑d like You..." These words correspond to G‑d's thirteen attributes of mercy which we seek to arouse on Rosh Hashanah as we are being judged; the allusion to these thirteen attributes is known to always be beneficial.
The goal of Tashlich is to cast both our sins and the Heavenly prosecutor (a.k.a. the Satan) into the Heavenly sea. And when we shake our clothes after the Tashlich prayer, this is a tangible act to achieve the spiritual goal of shaking sins from our soul.
Needless to say, the physical motions near the water and fish of Tashlich are not what grant us atonement. But if we pay attention to the symbolism and apply the sincere desire to heal our relationship with G‑d as portrayed in the physical demonstrations of Tashlich, then it serves as a crucial part in the process of repenting and returning to G‑d in purity.
May we all shake ourselves from sin and be signed and sealed in the Book of Life for a good and sweet new year!
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Anti-Social Daughter
Answered by Beryl Tritel
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1249348/jewish/Anti-Social-Daughter.htm
Dear Rachel,
My husband and I are active community members. We have always valued being the ones that help shape a community, rather than just being one of the followers. For example, I serve as the President of the Sisterhood, and my husband coaches our twins' softball team, as well as being the Treasurer of our synagogue. My husband and I have worked very hard to instill this philosophy of community activism into our children.
However, our eldest daughter, (fourteen years old), is just way too shy. She doesn't like to get involved with anything. When we need kids to help run events, she stays home, when we ask her to call some of her friends to help in a synagogue activity, she refuses. When she was offered the coveted position of Youth Group President she stormed off in a huff! She would prefer to stay home and read or paint.
This is very hard for us as we are beginning to wonder what is wrong with her! It's not like we are fighting, it's just she avoids us when she hears that we are getting involved in another project. What can I do to help her realize that this is an important part of life?
Frustrated Mother
Dear Frustrated Mother,
You must be extremely busy with your children and all of your activities! I am always impressed by people that value being active members of a community. It is far more admirable to be an agent of change, rather than complaining when things are not the way they should be.
For a parent that feels so strongly about a certain value, it can be very frustrating and disappointing when one of your children does not appreciate the same values as much as you would like.
It is very normal for parents to fantasize what they want their child to be like, and what interests they will develop. Often times, parents begin this process when their child is in utero, if not before! One of the biggest challenges parents face is realizing that our children may not become exactly the people that we want them to become. Our task is to help nurture their talents and strengths, this is the way that they will develop into the best person they can be.
The first thing that you need to do, is be more cognizant of the fact that your daughter is growing up, and she is at the age where she is able to make decisions for herself. And, as part of that maturation and decision making process, she needs to start exploring who she is, and figure out who she wants to be. Many, many times, children do not share the same interests and strengths that their parents have, nor are they interested in trying to develop them.
It is obvious that you and your husband are both social and energetic people. These are amazing qualities, and I am glad to see you channeling them in such a productive way. Remember, as you have these amazing qualities, there are other amazing qualities out there, and you have to open your minds to discover the ones your daughter possesses.
The first step to help you see her amazing qualities, is to reframe them in your mind. While you value being "out there," your daughter does not. There are many benefits to being more quiet, and watching things from the side. Instead of shy, try thinking of her as reserved. People that are like this also accomplish many things, and they have a lot to add to a community. Not everyone can be the facilitator, and that may not be her strength.
You wrote that she likes to paint, so think of her as a budding artist. As a painter, she is most likely also creative, another great quality that you can readily appreciate. Being a reader, she is also probably very intelligent, and she may have some insightful ideas if you are able to give her the space and the time to share them.
Also, a teenage girl of fourteen is at an age where kids tend to pull away from their parents. She needs this space as she grows up. For teenagers, this is a very difficult time. Their bodies are changing, their sleep cycle is off, and hormones are causing emotions to run amok. This is not the time to try and engage her in things that she is just not interested in. From her perspective, she feels as though you don't understand her. Even if you don't, you should act as though you do, and hold back from forcing her to be part of these activities.
Spend time getting to know her. Make a point of walking in when she painting, and watch her. Ask her about her creative process. Find out what book she is reading, read it too, then ask her out for breakfast so the two of you can talk about it. Stay away from pressuring her to do things that she doesn't want, and engage her on her level.
It sounds like your daughter is trying to get you to see her for who she is and what she needs as opposed to how you want her to be. This is specifically why we have the Torah directive in educating our children, Chanoch Lenaar al pi darko (Proverbs 22:6)meaning "educate your child according to his way" as each child will need a different approach focused on his or her specific abilities.
As you get to know her better, you will begin to see the beauty of what she has to offer, and how it really compliments your values beautifully. As an added bonus, as you get to know her on her terms, you may find that she is more willing, and even eager to participate in some of the things that you value. Enjoy your daughter, and all of your children. May you have much joy from all of them.
Rachel
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The Truth About “an Eye for an Eye and a Tooth for a Tooth” (Is it Meant to be Taken Literally Within Jewish Law?)
http://www.jewinthecity.com/2010/08/the-truth-about-an-eye-for-an-eye-and-a-tooth-for-a-tooth-is-it-meant-to-be-taken-literally-within-jewish-law/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+JewInTheCity+(Jew+in+the+City)
Ask your average Jew the name of Jesus's mother and you'll most likely get a "Mary." Ask him the name of Moses mother and you'll most likely get a blank stare. Despite the fact that we Jews are the people of the book, for many of us in the last couple generations, the books we know do not include our own.
What that amounts to is a very educated people which is very ignorant about its own heritage. And being that we're a small group, often living amongst many different types of people, it's not so uncommon for Jews to confuse their beliefs with those from other religions.
So, for example, despite the fact that both birth control and abortions are allowed at times within Jewish law, many Jews nowadays confuse Judaism with Catholicism and believe that Orthodox law prohibits both in all circumstances.
When it comes to "an eye for an eye," many Jews also misunderstand the Jewish view here and believe that this Torah verse is meant to be taken literally, much like it is within certain branches of Islam.
Which brings me to a case going on right now in Saudi Arabia where the Islamic court has sentenced a man to paralysis. The defendant was convicted of assaulting and paralyzing another man during a fight, and the court is searching for a sugreon who will agree to cut the defandant's spinal cord in retribution for his crime.
Such a scenario never has, nor ever would take place within the Jewish court system because according to the Talmud, if someone damages or destroys another person's eye, tooth, or any other bodily part, the punishment is not corporeal but rather monetary.
So if the Talmud rules that the punishment only involves money, why would the Torah use the language of one body part being equivalent for another? Because the Torah is trying to teach us that on some level an eye should be for an eye.
If a human being's eye is only worth dollars and cents, a person with a lot of dollars and cents could just go around gouging out eyes one moment and handing out money the next.
In practice we only sentence with a monetary retribution because a bodily punishment would be too barbaric according to Jewish thought. However, the deeper lesson here is that a monetary retribution is only sufficient if the perpetrator internalizes the severity of his crime - something that no one should be ignorant about.
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The Master Key
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/90202/jewish/The-Master-Key.htm
By Rabbi S.Y. Zevin
One year, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov said to Rabbi Ze'ev Kitzes, one of his senior disciples: "You will blow the shofar for us this Rosh Hashanah. I want you to study all the kavanot (kabbalistic meditations) that pertain to the shofar, so that you should meditate upon them when you do the blowing."
Rabbi Ze'ev applied himself to the task with joy and trepidation: joy over the great privilege that had been accorded him and trepidation over the immensity of the responsibility. He studied the Kabbalistic writings that discuss the multifaceted significance of the shofar and what its sounds achieve on the various levels of reality and in the various chambers of the soul. He also prepared a sheet of paper on which he noted the main points of each kavanah, so that he could refer to them when he blew the shofar.
Finally, the great moment arrived. It was the morning of Rosh Hashanah, and Rabbi Ze'ev stood on the reading platform in the center of the Baal Shem Tov's synagogue amidst the Torah scrolls, surrounded by a sea of tallit-draped bodies. At his table in the southeast corner of the room stood his master, the Baal Shem Tov, his face aflame. An awed silence filled the room in anticipation of the climax of the day -- the piercing blasts and sobs of the shofar.
Rabbi Ze'ev reached into his pocket and his heart froze: the paper had disappeared! He distinctly remembered placing it there that morning, but now it was gone. Furiously, he searched his memory for what he had learned, but his distress over the lost notes seemed to have incapacitated his brain: his mind was a total blank. Tears of frustration filled his eyes. He had disappointed his master, who had entrusted him with this most sacred task. Now he must blow the shofar like a simple horn, without any kavanot. With a despairing heart, Rabbi Ze'ev blew the litany of sounds required by law and, avoiding his master's eye, resumed his place.
At the conclusion of the day's prayers, the Baal Shem Tov made his way to the corner where Rabbi Ze'ev sat sobbing under his tallit. "Gut Yom Tov, Reb Ze'ev!" he called, "That was a most extraordinary shofar-blowing we heard today!"
"But Rebbe ... I ..."
"In the king's palace," said the Baal Shem Tovl, "there are many gates and doors, leading to many halls and chambers. The palace-keepers have great rings holding many keys, each of which opens a different door. But there is one key that fits all the locks, a master key that opens all the doors.
"The kavanot are keys, each unlocking another door in our souls, each accessing another chamber in the supernal worlds. But there is one key that unlocks all doors, that opens up for us the innermost chambers of the divine palace. That master key is a broken heart."
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Finding Ourselves Through Others
The Meaning of Community
By Sara Esther Crispe
There is a story of a teenage boy who was suffering from typical teenage angst and went to the Rebbe for advice. He was having a difficult time and kept slipping back into situations that he knew were not right for him. He asked the Rebbe: How come G‑d didn't just create us as angels? If He had, we would be perfect and we wouldn't make such mistakes and create such problems.
G-d wants us to be unique individuals The Rebbe explained to him that G‑d doesn't want us to be perfect, He wants us to be unique individuals who grow and learn from our experiences and mistakes. He asked the boy if he understood the difference between a photograph and a portrait.
When you want to capture a perfect replica of something you see, you take a picture. The picture can be beautiful and is exact to what you witnessed with your eye. Yet the typical photograph costs pennies to reproduce. A portrait on the other hand is something that is always filled with inaccuracies. It can never be a perfect reproduction of something like a photograph can. If anything, the better the portrait, the more creative license that went into it to bring out the meaning and color and beauty that does not always exist in the surface look.
Unlike a photograph, the portrait can sell for millions. People pay for the portrait because it is a reflection not only of the subject, but of the artist as well. That person's creativity is part and parcel with the portrait. The Rebbe explained that the angels are G‑d's photographs. We, however, are G‑d's portraits.
The Torah portion that we read on the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah, Nitzavim, begins: Atem Nitzavim Hayom Kulchem Lifnei Hashem Aleichem… "You are all standing this day before the L‑rd, your G‑d, the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers-- every person of Israel"
The idea is that before we head into Rosh Hashanah, we gather together as a group, as a community. When we talk about a community, the word used in the written Torah for this is kehilla. But the term used in the Oral Torah is tzibur (spelled Tzadik, Beit, Vav, Reish).
We head into Rosh Hashanah as a community Interestingly enough, the meaning of tzibur, when used in the Written Torah, (in Genesis 41:49) (Vayitzbor Yosef) refers to piling and amassing diverse objects, assembling together very different things.
There is a beautiful quote from Elias Canetti, a Jewish writer who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981, who says: "Jews are different from other people, but, in reality, they are most different from each other." (Crowds and Power)
So this idea of a community is the throwing together, the assembling, of a lot of different and diverse parts.
The 17th century Kabbalist, Nathan Nata Shapiro, from Krakow, explains in his work, the Megaleh Amukos, that the word for community should be understood as an acronym:
Tzadik: Tzaddikim: Righteous
Beit: Beinoni: Intermediary
Vov: AND
Reish: Rasha: Not so Righteous
What is interesting here is that all of these categories exist together, and they are bound by the letter vov. The vov means "hook" and hooks together, binds together, what comes before it with what comes after it. So it is not distinguishing between the righteous, the intermediary, and then, down there, the rasha, the wicked one. But rather, it shows that they all must co-exist to be considered a tzibur, a community.
It is easy to want to forget those that we don't feel are worthy of our respect, that we don't feel deserve to be included. Yet this is our reminder that everyone is part of our community and no one can be left out or forgotten about.
No one can be left outThe numerical equivalent of the word tzibur, community, is equal to that for the word rachamim = 298. Rachamim is the term for empathy and this shows us that empathy is required in order to connect to others. What does it mean to have empathy, as opposed to sympathy? Empathy is the ability to truly relate to and understand the other person as if what they are experiencing is also happening to you. It is the ability to connect on an internal level, not just external.
This is why the root of rachamim is rechem, a womb. Only when we feel that the other is truly a part of ourselves do we have compassion and empathy. And when we feel that the other is a part of ourselves, then we are able to deal with the differences--and the things that need help. If you are told that the baby within your womb has a problem, it is not the baby's problem, it is your problem and you love your baby and will do whatever you need to do to solve that problem.
So to have a community, there needs to be a feeling of interinclusion, and to truly feel like we are one united group, we need to have empathy and feel that we are all a part of one another.
But this is not as simple as deciding that I just need to work on connecting to my neighbor who is really obnoxious. Or that I need to reach out to that woman who is always so rude to me. It is far from that easy.
Nor can we look at the levels of the community in the acronym, that of the righteous, the intermediary and the not-so-righteous, and start deciding where we or others belong. Perhaps I think that I am kind of in-between, vacillating between being righteous and not being so great, and you are really pretty perfect and that guy over there is just not so great. So the three of us should get together and go golfing and we will have formed a nice little rectified community.
It goes much deeper. It is not that you are righteous, you are the intermediary and I am the wicked one. But rather, you are all three, he is all three and I am all three.
We are all righteous, intermediate and wicked, all in different ways and at different times, and what forms a community is when all of our different ways join together, with empathy for the other, and unify.
We are all righteous, intermediate, and wickedWhen we can recognize this about ourselves and about others, then we can start to understand how we are all here to teach one another and it is only through learning from others and teaching others that we can start to develop and grow.
This is why we read this statement, of how we all stand together before our Creator, right before Rosh Hashanah. And He knows we are not angels, because He didn't create us to be perfect. But He did create us with the ability to connect with others and become better people. For, after all, a community is comprised of a diverse group of individuals, each with his or her own unique talents and abilities, and each an essential part of the whole.
May we be blessed to enter this New Year with the ability to reveal our potential and help others reveal their's. May it be sweet, healthy and productive!
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Inner Stream
The Rainmaker
By Lazer Gurkow
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/328206/jewish/The-Rainmaker.htm
When on vacation I like to rise early and enjoy the crisp ambiance of an early summer morning. Some mornings I awake to the patter of rainfall, as a soft drizzle sprinkles the ground and cools the air. Other mornings I awake to glorious and bright sunshine, the grass covered by a shimmering dew that glistens like a million stars.
Both mornings are wet, one with rain and the other with dew, yet they evoke very different responses. One is soft and soothing; the other is cheery and invigorating. The difference is usually attributed to the sunlight or lack thereof, but according to the Chassidic masters the difference is also reflected in the moisture itself, in the rain and the dew.
Before his passing, Moses gave his final testament. In introduction, he composed a song of praise, a beautiful composition of lilting poetry. "May the heavens listen as I speak / And may the earth hearken to my words / May my teaching flow like rain / And may my words drip like dew."1
Noting two metaphors that Moses employed, rain and dew, the Midrash offers the following homily: "Israel requested that their inspiration flow like rain, to which G-d replied, 'No, not like rain. Better that it should drip like dew.'" Israel wanted rain and G-d wanted dew. What is the difference? Both consist of condensed vapor, both are moist and both can be seen on the ground.
The difference is in the origin. Rain is formed when moisture from below evaporates and rises into the atmosphere where it condenses, forms clouds and precipitates as rain. Dew does not require rising vapors; rather, dew is formed here on earth, when the temperature drops and the warmer vapors come in contact with cooler surfaces.
The cycle of rain begins with an ascent from below, while the cycle of dew requires no ascent.
To understand the importance of this distinction and its relevance to the dichotomy between Moses' request and the divine response, we must first understand its spiritual parallel.
Oscillating Souls
Just as evaporated waters rise from the earth's surface below to the skies above, so do souls. Souls oscillate between the lower spiritual planes, which are further from G-d, and the higher spiritual planes, which are closer to G-d.
Like the waters upon the surface of earth, we are often content with life here below where we are spiritually distant from G-d. Tossed about upon waves of whim, we often focus on the body rather than the soul, on matter rather than form, on the physical rather than the spiritual. But like the surface waters, our contentment cannot last for ever; eventually we too feel the need to ascend.
It is then that our minds turn to G-d and we remember our spiritual void. We realize that we live in a morally bankrupt society where conceit and arrogance, selfishness and rage, permissiveness and corruption are common. We pine for a more meaningful existence.
With this realization, our material lifestyle loses its allure. Our enthusiasm for it evaporates and, like evaporated moisture over the oceans, we rise to a higher, more spiritual plane. From this vantage point we look back with dismay and form clouds of remorse in the higher atmosphere.
These clouds obstruct the light and replace our cheer with shame. But these clouds must not be permitted to linger. Beads of inspiration must soon form within our heart that will precipitate a torrential outpouring of love for G-d and inspire us to study the Torah and observe its mitzvot.
Spontaneous Desires, Conscious Response
Understanding the fickle nature of man, Moses knew that few can maintain a constant level of devotion. Moses therefore asked that G-d make our inspiration flow like rain.
Like rain drops that form from evaporated waters below, so did Moses ask G-d to accept our penitence from the lower plane, which would in turn raise us to a higher plane and precipitate within us an outpouring of love for G-d.
G-d replied that inspiration would instead drip like dew.
Dew forms on the surface below and does not require its vapors to rise. G-d was saying that He would work to inspire our souls "down below"--independently of the choices we make. When G-d sees that we stray from the path of Torah, He does not wait for our vapors to rise, He does not wait for us to repent. He proactively plants a bead of inspiration within our soul and stimulates within us the desire for a mitzvah.
There are times that we inexplicably feel a desire to get closer to G-d. We suddenly experience a need to attend a service at a synagogue or to join a Torah class, to light Shabbat candles or to donate to charity. These desires appear spontaneously; they are not stimulated by anything we see or hear. They are dew-like inspirations that are stimulated by G-d, not by our ascent from below.
G-d stimulates the desire but leaves the implementation to us. We have two choices: we can either confine ourselves to a single inspiration, or we can utilize this inspiration to stimulate further inspiration for additional mitzvot.
In other words, we can either make rain or wait for the next dew.
Let's choose to make rain.2
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Chassidic Masters
Chana's Prayer
By Tzvi Freeman
Some people see the human being as a lonely creature in an indifferent and even hostile universe. They need to look deeper, for the two are essentially one: The soul of man is G-dly and the soul of the universe is G-d. Only in their outward expression does a conflict appear -- or even that which may resemble indifference. But within is a love affair, an eternal, inseparable embrace. It is a drama King Solomon entitled "The Song of Songs," for it is what lies at the core of every song, every human expression and all the cosmos: The longing to reunite, to be one, to create a harmony in the outer world that matches the perfect union that lies beneath.
This, too, is the work of prayer: We have our concerns. G-d seems so distant from them. There is a vast chasm between our world and His. But then He says, "Speak to me about what bothers you. Tell me with all your heart what you desire and I will listen. For what is important to you is important to me. Speak to me. I wish to dwell within your world."
The chasm merges and seals. Outer and inner, higher and lower, spiritual and physical, holy and mundane, heaven and earth kiss and become one.
There is a condition, however, to this healing of lovers' hearts: That first we must find the inner sanctity that lies behind our own desires and strife. For there is nothing of this world that does not contain a Divine spark, no movement of the soul without G-dly purpose.
Only once we have made this peace within ourselves, between our inner souls and our outer desires, between the sanctuary of our hearts and the words of our lips, only then can we create this cosmic peace between the Essence of All Being and our busy, material world.
This is why prayer is called throughout the Psalms "an outpouring of the soul." That which lies within pours outward, with no dam to obstruct it, no mud to taint it, nothing to change it along the way. The entire world may be ripping apart at the seams, but the beseecher's heart and mouth are at peace as one. And then that peace spreads outward into all things.
There are many things we learn from the prayer of Chana (recounted in Samuel I, Chapter 1 and read as the Haftorah for the 1st day of Rosh Hashanah). We learn that our lips must move in prayer, that we must be able to hear our own prayer but no one else should. We learn that prayer is to be said standing. But most important, we learn how to pour out our soul.
Eli thought Chana was drunk with wine. He was the High Priest, the holiest of the Jewish nation. The Divine Spirit rested upon him and he was able to see within the hearts of men and women. Yet, he saw Chana as a drunkard -- drunk with a worldly desire, a desire for a child so she would no longer suffer the shame and ridicule afforded her by Penina.
But Chana answered, "No, it is not wine but my soul that pours out to G-d. For my desire for a child has purpose and meaning beyond the pursuits and follies of man. My child, the precious jewel of my heart's desire, I have already given him to G-d."
So it is with our prayers: We pray for material things, but it is not the material, but the spiritual within them that our soul desires.
The mission of every human being is to bring the many things of this chaotic world into harmony with their inner purpose and the oneness that underlies them. To do this, each of us must have those things related to our mission: our family, our health, our homes, our income. We pray for these things from the innermost of our hearts; our soul pours out for them -- because our soul knows that without them she cannot fulfill her mission in this world.
And G-d listens. Because He wishes to dwell within our mundane world.
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I wish everyone a Sweet Happy Meaningful New Year! Shana Tova
Preparing for Rosh Hashana
by Rabbi Yaakov Salomon
The secret to an inspiring new year.
I have always felt Rosh Hashana to be somewhat confusing. Solemn, yet celebratory. Stirring, yet scary. Inspiring, but rather intimidating.
But there is one facet of this holy day that is as clear as the clarion call of the shofar itself - it is a day of opportunity for closeness to God. Some find it through introspection, others through meditation. For some, prayer is the medium of choice, while for others it is the shofar blasts that pierce through the curtains of the mundane. But for many of us, the closeness never really comes and the disappointment is palpable.
The key to getting the most out of any experience is preparation before the event. You cannot expect to leap from the shower to the shul and instantly feel holy. It just doesn’t work that way.
You can't expect to leap from the shower to the shul and instantly feel holy.
With that in mind, this year I decided to do something practical to get “in the mood.” Mere reflection and contemplation were just not cutting it.
Being a native of the asphalt jungle called “Manhattan,” I always felt that I was perhaps too easily impressed by anything that grew and was any shade of green. Show me an impressive patch of artificial turf and you just might catch me extolling some kind of sacred blessing. I needed to raise the bar.
So I made plans to visit the picturesque Pocono Mountains in Eastern Pennsylvania. I had been there before and always appreciated the incredible scenery and Heavenly wonders. Perhaps that would do the trick. Maybe by witnessing God's wonders of nature, that special closeness would be within reach.
It was thankfully a glorious Tuesday when my wife and I embarked on our VTBI (Voyage to be Inspired), otherwise known as Bushkill Falls. The Chamber of Commerce of this fine State has seen it fit to describe this attraction as The Niagara of Pennsylvania. Hmm…
We parked, searched for the camera that my wife (not me... never me) forgot, purchased two bottles of water for about $150, and prepared to get “connected.”
Our first task was choosing which trail to traverse. They ranged from Blue (the shortest walk), to Red (the longest). We chose yellow and began. This not being a travelogue, I'll spare you the unnecessary details. Bushkill actually contains eight different “falls.” Most of them are small, so we concentrated on the main one. It is actually quite pretty. You see the falls from a distance early on the trail, and you walk down a series of winding stairs and bridges, getting closer and closer to the falls.
Temperature in the area of the gorge is quite cool and the whooshing sound of the rushing water adds a soothing element to the serene ambiance.
“Isn't this…er… nice?” I said to Temmy.
“I guess,” she said.
When we reached the bottom and were at the closest possible distance to the falling water, I thought I detected a faint spray in the air. Maid of the Mist it wasn’t.
“Well...” I commented.
There was no reply.
We lingered there about as long as we could and began our ascent toward the eventual exit. I didn't need to be genius to figure out what Temmy was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing. After all, this was a VTBI.
“This is a very nice place, but THE NIAGARA OF PENNSYLVANIA??”
I wasn't sure if the ad exec who created that line should be fired or promoted, but I sure did want to meet him. Scenic? Yes. Calming? I guess. But inspiring? Not exactly.
We climbed our way back toward the top of the falls and spoke about various topics. Needless to say, the words Rosh Hashana were not mentioned.
The trail ends at the top of the Falls. I had already written off the experience as something between disappointing and okay. The exit sign with the customary arrow beckoned to my left. But my eye caught something. It was small. It was subtle. But it was profound.
We were standing above the Falls. We were able to see where the water originated from. The water was just moving slowly through the woodland. It was, I guess, what you call a creek. The stones caused the water to disperse into scores of different channels, all moving ever so slowly towards the edge of the cliff. Without purpose; without direction. But then, the channels all kind of narrowed at that edge. And when the waters hit the edge they simultaneously came cascading over the natural rock formations in a rushing torrent.
You want to create a waterfall, but you have to start small.
We stood there… fixated. Seeing just the Falls, we weren’t particularly impressed. After all, we were expecting a Niagara-like experience. But watching the source and seeing how this Falls came to be was quite another story.
We sat down on a bench and peered out at our little creek. We said nothing. It was so simple and peaceful and unassuming. And then we spoke about Rosh Hashana… finally.
People always talk about making big changes – New Year resolutions.
“I want to lose 50 pounds.”
“I want to finish the entire Talmud.”
“I’m going to spend 90 minutes of quality time with my daughter every night.”
It doesn’t work. It never does. And if it does, it peters out. You have no choice. You must start small. You want to create a waterfall…maybe a Niagara, or even a Bushkill. It doesn’t just happen.
You need a creek and a few stones. The water has to crawl and meander and slowly reach its destination. And then…when the time is right…it can crash and splash and whoosh and become something.
We almost missed it, but we had our Voyage to be Inspired.
And I hope you have too.
Take it slow and have a wonderful, inspiring New Year.
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Forgiveness Begins at Home
By Levi Avtzon
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/1277081/jewish/Forgiveness-Begins-at-Home.htm
Back in elementary school, I thought that forgiveness was a game. Every year we would review the laws of the holidays, and when it came to the laws of Yom Kippur, the teacher would tell us that we must ask forgiveness of our friends before we ask G‑d to forgive us.
So I would dutifully walk over to Shimmy and say, "Do you forgive me?" And he would smile and say, "Sure I forgive you! Do you forgive me?" I would hastily answer "Sure!" and run over to David and do the spiel all over again. You forgive; I forgive. As meaningless as a handshake between diplomats.
As I grew older, my emotional intelligence grew, my self-awareness developed, and I came to realize that forgiveness is not child's play, but serious business, a real ego-dynamite, and that "Sorry" is not (just) a board game.
I learned that sometimes it takes more courage to ask for forgiveness than to be the one to grant it.
And I also learned that as hard as forgiveness can be between acquaintances, it's still child's play compared to the guts and humility it takes to drive the two-way street (asking for and granting forgiveness) between ourselves and those closest to us: our parents, our siblings, our spouse.
It hurts to walk over to the person whom you love so much, and inevitably hurt, and ask for forgivenessIt hurts to walk over to the person whom you love so much, and inevitably hurt, and ask for forgiveness. Many will say that asking forgiveness from a loved one ranks as the most awkward encounter in a person's life.
But it is the most important act of forgiveness we can ever do. It is the most challenging, and as a consequence, the most rewarding. Forgiving those you love makes your life happier and healthier, and initiates tremendous self-growth. Forgiveness benefits the forgiver as much as it benefits the forgiven. It brings closure.
There is nothing more healing in a relationship than the balm of forgiveness. "I am sorry, Mom and Dad!" "I accept your apology, honey, and I want you to know that I love you regardless. I will always love you and accept you."
In case we hurt our loved ones in any way throughout the past year, now is the time to bring the relationship full circle. Not as diplomats, but with self-awareness, honesty, and with our whole heart.
In summary: Heroes are those who treat the people in their homes with at least the same courtesy as the nameless gas station owner on a lonely highway.
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Posted in the context of the important issues of the day facing our society, including forced redistribution and the idea of raising taxes punitively only on the rich:
THE 10th COMMANDMENT (Exodus 20:17)
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's.
(http://www.apostolic.edu/biblestudy/files/10th-com.htm)
A very strong argument (Commandment) in support of private property rights. I am very interested in arguments of how that could be interpreted otherwise.
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Amen!
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Woof,
And now we know where the ancient roots of the saying "Get off my ass!" comes from. :lol:
P.C.
THE 10th COMMANDMENT (Exodus 20:17)
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's.
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Talking to the ladies
http://www.treppenwitz.com/2010/09/talking-to-the-ladies.html
Nearly every year during the Rosh Hashanah holiday I see or hear something that becomes the memorable thing that stays with me for the rest of the year.
This year it happened as I was passing my friend Shmuel's seat on my way out of services. As I passed, I noticed that, rather than using one of the many popular Israeli machzorim (holiday prayer books), or a prayerbook from one of the many modern American Jewish publishing houses, he had a tattered copy of the old Birnbaum machzor sitting in front of him.
It caught my eye because during my early years of becoming observant, the Birnbaum weekday, Shabbat and holiday prayer books were all I had known. I had been given a well used set by the navy chaplain in my home port of Pearl Harbor, and they had sailed with me around the Pacific and Indian oceans for many years before going into semi-retirement amid my growing collection of Jewish books.
There was absolutely nothing wrong with the venerable Birnbaum prayer books. They were workmanlike, clear, and contained everything one needed to get from beginning to end of any service of the year.
But they lacked the faux leather binding and preachy philosophy of the Artscroll books that would come along later, and at some point, orthodox congregations became too sophisticated for the old cloth-covered stand-by.
When I asked Shmuel why he was still using the Birnbaum when there were so many other choices out there, he just smiled and began flipping through the threadbare volume in front of him. Every few pages he stopped and showed me a page with a faint lipstick smudge near the top.
I didn't understand what he was trying to show me and watched as he thumbed past several more pages similarly marked with crimson smudges.
After a few moments of enjoying the obvious puzzlement on my face, he explained that this was a machzor from the synagogue in New Jersey where he had grown up. He told me that as a kid in that shul, he had watched the old ladies - many of them survivors of Hitler's Europe - praying with their own brand of devotion... and occasionally giving the pages a kiss before setting them down in their ample laps.
He explained that he still used the tattered old Birnbaum machzor instead of one of the many modern choices available in the Jewish bookstores, because it allowed him to spend a few moments of each Rosh Hashanah talking with the long-departed old ladies of his childhood memories.
How could he not gain strength from this machzor, he asked me, when any page turn might reveal some smudged token of old-world reverence for this threadbare volume and the words it contained?
Of all the things I saw and heard this year during Rosh Hashanah, this is the one that will stay with me this year.
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The Story of Your Life
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/430304/jewish/The-Story-of-Your-Life.htm
By Shais Taub
The Book of Jonah, read in its entirety during the Yom Kippur afternoon services, is the story of your life. This is what the Kabbalah says.1
I know what you're thinking. "This has got to be a metaphor because I have never boarded a sea-faring vessel for Tarshish to escape prophecy, gotten caught in a storm, had the crew throw me overboard and been swallowed by a fish."
You're right. Those things haven't happened to you. And they probably won't happen to very many of us. But, still, the Zohar says that this is the real story of your life.
You are Jonah. The real you, for "Jonah" -- in kabalistic parlance -- is another name for the soul. Hence, the story of Jonah is the story of a soul's journey here on earth. Thus, on Yom Kippur, as we examine our lives and consider our purpose in this world, we remember the historical Jonah whose real life narrative symbolizes our spiritual odyssey.
Your story begins at birth. A soul from on high is plunged into an earthly body. Before its descent, the soul lived an angel-like existence, basking in a glow of pirituality, intimately bound to its Creator. But the soul must leave its home. It is confined to a material vessel, its senses overwhelmed by the brash stimuli of this world. "Jonah" -- the soul -- "boards the ship" -- the body. And where does this ship take its passenger? "Away from the presence of G-d." Indeed, the very name of Jonah -- closely related to the Hebrew word meaning "aggrieved" -- alludes to the unique frustration of the soul confined to the body.
The soul, Jonah, the hapless passenger, has traveled far away from G-d. Yet, where can one go and be far from the One? Where is it that the Omnipresent cannot be found? Has the soul -- upon entering this coarse, physical realm -- really left G-d behind? Just as G-d was with Jonah at the moment of his first prophecy in the Holy Land, so too was G-d with Jonah as he languished on the high seas.
And yet, we, like Jonah, delude ourselves into thinking that our journey to this earth has somehow taken us "out of range" from our relationship with G-d. Like Jonah, we take this perceived distance as an indication that we have somehow been dismissed from our mission. The soul does not escape G-d by coming down to this earth. To the contrary, it is an agent of G-d, a representative of G-d's will charged with imbuing sanctity into the mundane and perfecting an imperfect world.
But sooner or later, the false lure of material satisfaction comes to its inevitable conclusion and the physical life to which the soul had resigned itself grows unruly and fierce. "The Almighty rouses a furious tempest." Not to punish, heaven forbid, but to shake the soul from its complacency, for "Jonah had gone down to the inner part of the ship... and slept." The soul is numb.
"So the captain came and said to him, 'What do you mean, you sleeper? Arise, call upon your god!'" A voice of conscience stirs from within. "What is your occupation?" What have you done with your life? Why are you here? Why were you sent?
The moment of truth. The soul must acquiesce. G-d is here too, I am none other than His very messenger. My life has a purpose. "I am a Hebrew and I revere the G-d of Israel!"
FOOTNOTES
1. Zohar II, 199a.
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Moment
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/4559/jewish/Moment.htm
When Elazar ben Durdaia (a notorious sinner) found that all his appeals for assistance had been turned down, he said: “It all depends entirely on myself.” He placed his head between his knees and wept until his soul departed from him. A voice from heaven then announced: “Rabbi Elazar ben Durdaia is destined for life in the world to come!”
Hearing this, Rabbi [Judah HaNassi] wept: “There are those who acquire their world in many years, and there are those who acquire their world in a single moment.”
Talmud, Avodah Zarah 17a
In this world of ours, more is less and less is more.
Quantitatively, the earth is but a tiny speck in a vast universe; in significance, it is the focus of G-d’s creation. Of the earth itself, inanimate matter constitutes virtually all of its mass, only a minute fraction of which are living cells. Plant life is more plentiful than animal life, and animals far more numerous than humans. Within the human being, the head, seat of man’s most sophisticated faculties, is smaller than the torso or limbs. In a word, the greater the quality, the lesser the quantity.
The same is true of man’s most precious resource: time. Quality time--time that is most optimally and fulfillingly utilized--comprises but a quantitative fraction of the time we consume. How many minutes of each day do we spend on truly meaningful things? The bulk of our hours are taken up with earning a living, sleeping, eating, and fulfilling a host of social and other obligations--worthy pursuits them all, but secondary to the purpose of our lives.
The very structure of time, as designed by its Creator, follows the “less is more” model. There are six mundane workdays, leading to a single day of spirit and tranquillity. Yom Kippur--the “Sabbath of Sabbaths” whose twenty-six hours bring us in touch with our deepest, most essential self--occupies less than 0.3 percent of the year. Everything we do takes time, but the greater the quality of our endeavor, the less the quantity of time it consumes.
The most potent of human deeds is teshuvah--our ability to rectify and sublimate past wrongdoing by returning to the timeless, inviolable core of self which was never tainted by sin in the first place. And teshuvah is the least “time-consuming” of events: the essence of teshuvah is a single wrench of self, a single flash of regret and resolve. “There are those who acquire their world in many years,” says the Talmud, building it brick by brick with the conventional tools of achievement. Then there are those who acquire their world in “a single moment”--in a single, timeless instant that molds the future and redefines the past.
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The Perfect Quarrel
The Three Festivals: One Big Fight
By Mendel Kalmenson
Long before John Grey wrote his best-selling book "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus," prior even to those planets' creation, a different kind of book on relationships was written.
Released in the year 2000 B.C. (before creation), it has, to date, sold well over six billion copies, topping the charts as the best-seller of all time. This non-fiction work chronicles the first romance ever; one which took place between the Author and His beloved bride, the Jewish people. The wedding day was set for the sixth of Sivan. The venue was Mount Sinai, the menu was dairy, and the invite list included all the cosmos. They married on that historic day; the marriage has lasted three thousand years and counting. There were many hiccups on the way, as any good marriage would have, and much work was necessary to ensure its survival.
The couple can never come to a consensus regarding the naming, and the significance, of noteworthy milestones in their relationshipIt is through the lens of this union that all future ones can be seen, for they all are rooted in that very matrimony. Over the millennia, scholars have examined this relationship from every angle, and have used it as a source of countless relationship tips. Understanding the dynamics of this cosmic relationship can greatly benefit every marriage.
Interestingly, though, this relationship has, from its very inception, been plagued by a quarrel between the spouses. As is common with many couples, they find themselves continuously and constantly arguing the same argument. In this instance, the couple can never come to a consensus regarding the naming, and the significance, of noteworthy dates and milestones in their relationship.
Let us chronicle the history of this disagreement.
Love at First Sight
The relationship took root during the bride's difficult sojourn in the land of Egypt. That is when, like a knight in shining armor, the Groom rode into her life and saved her from the clutches of a tyrannical ruler. Since then they celebrate what you might call their very first date on the fifteenth day of Nissan, a holiday on which they relive and re-experiences the love at first sight they experienced on that fateful date.
As far as the name of the holiday is concerned, however, the bride and the Groom don't exactly see eye to eye. While disagreements are not an uncommon phenomenon amongst young couples, the point of difference between this couple is very uncommon indeed. In the Torah, the Groom chooses to name this holiday Chag Hamatzot, "the Holiday of Matzot"; the bride prefers the name Pesach, or Passover.
The name "Holiday of Matzot" recalls the unswerving loyalty the bride had to her Groom. Matzah is a product of the dough that had no time to rise due to the hurriedness of the exodus. It speaks of the bride's readiness to travel into the wilderness, far away from civilized life and its comforts and stability, with no knowledge of her destination and how she might reach it. Only someone deeply in love would follow her loved one the way this bride followed her Groom. As such, the Groom prefers the name "Matzot," to highlight and forever be reminded of His beloved bride's unshakable faithfulness.
In admirable disagreement the bride chooses to call it PassoverIn admirable disagreement the bride chooses to call it Passover, in commemoration of her Groom's unconditional allegiance to her, His undeserving betrothed, which He demonstrated when He "passed over" and spared the bride's homes during the course of the Plague of the Firstborn.
The Jewish nation had sadly been influenced by Egyptian culture and practices which were steeped in polytheism and idolatry of the highest order. In fact, Midrashic tradition has it that when G‑d informed the Angel of Death that the Jewish people were untouchable, an angelic commotion was raised: "Both the Egyptians and the Jews are idol-worshippers; how can you redeem one and punish the other?" What even the angels failed to understand was the extent of G‑d's love for His bride—a love, which transcended rhyme and reason, good and bad, and astonishingly even withstood unfaithfulness.
This was a love of no condition, and it is this love that the bride seeks to highlight on the night when she recalls His passing over her—in spite of angelic protestations.
What to Name the Anniversary?
This exact difference of opinion resurfaced come the following holiday, celebrated on the sixth of Sivan. The Groom dubbed the festival "Shavuot," while the bride, in her prayers, refers to it as Z'man Matan Toratenu—the "Time of the Giving of the Torah."
Shavuot means "weeks," and refers to the Biblical command to count seven weeks from Passover onwards, the conclusion of which is celebrated with a holiday. According to the Kabbalists, this physical count is paralleled by a spiritual count, whereby each day is not just counted but is made to count, as we progress on a spiritual journey of self-refinement. Each day of the Omer we labor on internalizing our spiritual gifts. As we progress with our character elevation, we become deserving and worthy of the gift – the Torah – that we receive on Shavuot each year.
The Groom seeks to underscore our commitment to His service. This is what He celebrates. And that's why He calls the day "Shavuot"; recalling the seven-week period of love and devotion embarked upon by His affectionate bride.
In His estimation, this holiday has nothing to do with His act of giving and has everything to do with the bride's devotionIncredibly, nowhere in the Torah is it mentioned that this holiday is at all related to the giving of the Torah. This important piece of information was conveniently left out by the Groom. In His estimation, this holiday has nothing to do with His act of giving and has everything to do with the bride's devotion.
The bride, however, maintains the opposite: the holiday has nothing to do with her and has everything to do with Him. She feels that no matter how much she accomplishes in the seven weeks, her finite service cannot possibly earn her the infinite treasure of light that G‑d generously gifts her with each year. Hence she's fond of calling it "the Time of the Giving of Torah."
Huts vs. Clouds
Come Sukkot, and like a seasoned old couple they are blessedly still at it.
The Talmudists argue about the definition of the word "sukkah" mentioned in the Torah: "So that your generations will know that I caused the Children of Israel to dwell in sukkot [literally: booths] when I took them from the land of Egypt." One opinion is that the words sukkah is figurative, and actually refers to the encompassing Clouds of Glory that accompanied and sheltered the Jews during their sojourn in the desert. These clouds miraculously provided the nation with protection from the elements as well as enemy fire, leveled mountains to make traveling easier, and even washed, dried, and starched their clothing! The other Talmudic opinion is that the booths referred to are literal. We recall the wooden huts in which we dwelled while in the desert.
Here you may wonder: if the verse is referring to wooden huts, what then are we celebrating? G‑d providing us with shabby huts in the desert calls for a celebratory festival?
Well, by incorporating the Talmudic principle of "One master says one thing and the other says another, yet they aren't arguing" (or to employ a different Talmudic truth: "Both opposing opinions are the words of G‑d") we can bring our love story full circle.
The voice of a Groom who never tires of retelling the story of how and why He first fell in loveThe bride maintains that the sukkah is symbolic of the Clouds of Glory. She sits in her sukkah and recalls her Groom's miraculous and benevolent behavior towards her. It is the sweet and tender voice of an adoring bride as she tells her close friend about her Groom's love.
The Groom, however, begs to differ. The sukkah, He protests, is quite literal. "Look," He says, "look at how My bride sacrificed herself for forty years—willing to live in shabby decrepit huts, so long as the path she treaded led to Me." As He conveyed through His messenger Jeremiah: "I remembered for your the kindness of your youth, the love when you were a bride, your following me in the desert, in a land not sown."
This is the voice of the Groom who never tires of retelling the story of how and why He first fell in love.
It pays well to remember the secret of our successful marriage to G‑d, and it would do us wonders to apply this formula in our relationships with our own beloved husbands and wives, the beautiful offspring of that holy union.
I'd call this type of disagreement between couples the perfect argument. It's the charming dispute of spouses constantly seeking to set the other above themselves.
This is how a marriage flourishes.
I've actually tried arguing with my wife in this manner, and believe it or not it turned out to be fun. The best part about it? They were arguments that neither of us minded losing.
Note from the author:
The idea expressed above is based on the words of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, the one who explained why G‑d refers to Passover as Chag Hamatzot, while we persist on calling it Passover.
An essay by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks inspired the thought regarding Sukkot.
I believe that this idea, the "recurring fight" between G‑d and His people, finds expression in many other areas too. Two more examples would be the holiday of Rosh Hashanah and the mitzvah of tefillin.
The best part about it? They were arguments that neither of us minded losing...We commonly refer to the first day of the Jewish year as Rosh Hashanah, whereas in the Torah it is referred to as "the Day of Shofar Blasts." The biblical commentator Rashi explains that the New Year is thus named to recall the Binding of Isaac, in whose stead a ram (from whose head we take the shofar) was offered. In order to recall the sacrifice of Isaac, and thus highlight the quality of the Jewish people, G‑d made shofar blowing central to the holiday's celebration and even named the holiday after this mitzvah.
We, on the other hand, call it Rosh Hashanah, expressing our purest belief that G‑d will again be gracious and once again give sustenance and existence to all of creation. As the new year approaches, the mystics teach, the worlds' continuity hangs in the balance. On Rosh Hashanah G‑d grants creation another year's worth of energy and vitality—which is then dispensed to all the days of the year. And so we call this day Rosh Hashanah – the "head" of the new year – just as the head contains the body's life-force which is then distributed amongst all the limbs.
On Rosh Hashanah we also coronate G‑d as our King. By extension, chassidic teachings see the blowing of the shofar as a symbol of this coronation, similar to trumpets used to announce the crowning of a new king. So the shofar we blow crowns G‑d. But the shofar He hears is our crown—for G‑d hears the shofar and remembers Isaac's binding; the paradigm of Jewish sacrifice throughout the ages.
As for tefillin, we are told that G‑d fulfills all the mitzvot—including the mitzvah of tefillin. In our tefillin we have parchment scrolls that proclaim "the Lord is our G‑d, the Lord is One."
What is written in His tefillin? The Midrash answers: "Who is as great as the Nation of Israel?!"
By Mendel Kalmenson More articles... |
Rabbi Mendel Kalmenson has traveled Europe, Asia and South America, reaching out to Jews in the remotest areas. He now resides with his wife Chanale, daughter Geulah, and son Dov, in Brooklyn, New York, where he serves as rabbi of the Besht Center, a spiritual center for young professionals.
Mendel regularly contributes articles to Chabad.org, most of them appearing in his Parshah column, "What the Rebbe Taught Me."
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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What Massage Therapy Taught Me About Simchat Torah
by Chava'le Mishulovin
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1288567/jewish/What-Massage-Therapy-Taught-Me-About-Simchat-Torah.htm
"Más participación", interrupts Margarita, my massage course instructor, "y menos presión."
I nod without looking up and continue to knead down the back of Yvonne, my fellow student; this time, as per my Venezuelan teacher's directions, using more participation (namely from my entire hand) and applying less pressure.
"Muy bien", she proclaims when I'm done, "very good".
With a small towel, I wipe away some sweat from my forehead.
Onto the shoulders now.
"If you are not relaxed, how can you bring relaxation to your patient?"My eager fingers grab, pinch and pull her stiff joints, bidding the cartilage to allow her shoulders the ease of movement they so desperately desire. I work vigorously. I stand stiffly as my fingers do their dance, their concentrated dance, upon Yvonne.
Deeper now, deeper. More pressure, more pressure. Get out all the knots. Dig!
I'm breathing hard and quickly.
Yvonne nudges me and points to our teacher. "Más participación y menos presión. Involucrate!" Margarita repeats herself. "More involvement and less pressure. Get involved! You need to involve ALL of your hand! Ease on the pressure!"
I roll my eyes and we all giggle. It's an ongoing joke, this constant reminder for me to slow down and focus on where my energy is coming from and where it's going to, rather than pounding away zealously.
I shake my wrists, take a deep breath and carefully resume my labor of love on my dear friend and classmate. "Victim", she claims with a wink.
I started this course about three weeks earlier and the classes are the highlight of my week. I'm absolutely in my element as Margarita lectures, demonstrates, tests, and guides us in everything there is to know about Masaje de Todo (Everything Massage). I knew a bit about massaging before I joined, having been blessed by G‑d with 'hands that heal', but entering the world of the erudite and gentle Margarita was entering into a whole new sphere of healing.
We'd always start our session with deep breathing.
We'd go through a series of postures and breathing exercises aimed at gaining control of the body and mind. We were to saturate our physical, mental and emotional selves with peace and tranquility.
"If you are not relaxed, how can you bring relaxation to your patient?" Margarita would challenge us when we would mutter about the silliness of pretending we are trees with roots reaching down fifteen floors to the ground level.
I had no patience for this stuff; I felt like it was a waste of time. I wanted to get right down to the "real thing". To the poking and prodding, twisting and tapping, kneading and knuckling, pinching and pressing, stroking and softening of the body. Y'know, REAL massage.
But the soft-spoken Margarita would not budge. "The peace and healing that comes from massage does not emanate from your hands alone but from all of your body's maneuvers and from all of your soul's energy".
Well, I was certainly not lacking in THAT department; the only problem was, my energy was fast and impatient. And so, week after week, class after class, I learned to slow, tame and focus my overflowing energy.
And when it would happen (as it often did), that after a gradual build-up of careful kneading and gliding, I would lose myself in the intensity and euphoria of the healing moment and I would start massaging with an uncalled for urgency, Margarita would be there to calm my intensely fervent moves. She'd remind me that an effective massage was a result of a process, not an instant. "Your massage will be a lot more productive if you slow down and use all your fingers as you rotate. You need to involve all sides at once and you won't need to exert so much energy when you do so, look-" she demonstrates on Yvonne, immediately eliciting a sleepy response of approval.
When will I learn?? When will her wise words penetrate? When will I finally realize that slow and steady, not fast and furious, wins the race?
When will I finally realize that slow and steady, not fast and furious, wins the race?Margarita is not the only one trying to teach me this.
My dentist has been trying for years. "Buy a softer toothbrush and don't brush so hard!" he chides me, shaking his head. "Brushing your teeth too quickly and with too much pressure will cause you to damage some teeth and miss out on others." He pokes one in the back of my mouth. "Like this one." Heh. If only he knew that I cram six months worth of flossing into the three weeks before the appointment.
It's the same message: For maximum effect, you need to deal with your 'challenge' from all sides. You need to focus the setting, gather your energy beforehand and then dispense it evenly and deliberately. A sudden spill of forceful energy in one area will never equate to careful attention to all details.
And so, like a dutiful student, in addition to memorizing the músculos del cuello, la espalda, las piernas etc (muscles of the neck, back and legs etc) as well as the difference between sweet almond, soothing lavender, invigorating spearmint and detoxicating rosemary body oils, I also repeated the vital mantra "Más participación y menos presión, más participación y menos presión" in between classes. "More participation and less pressure. More participation and less pressure". Involucracion ("Involvement") was the name of the game.
I was evolving from a simple civilian to a mighty massage therapist.
Walking in the streets, I frowned at incorrect postures; standing on line, my hands itched to ease the tension of the pregnant woman in front of me; and when I would bend down to pick up something from the floor, I always made sure to do it while flexing my knees.
One morning, praying from my siddur (prayer book), the budding massage therapist in me gave me a nudge. I realized, with a start, I was doing it all wrong. True, I was saying all the words from beginning to end in my tefillot (prayers) but there was no participación and no involucracion and thus, no productivity. I was trying to get to the end result by rushing; forgetting that prayer was a process and not an instant. You can only climb the ladder of prayer, rung by rung. Step by step. Page by page. Prayer by prayer. Awareness brings you to gratitude which brings you to humility which leads you to love which enables you to wholeheartedly embrace the Yoke of Heaven. That's a heavy process right there, no room for skimpiness.
You can't expect change and healing unless you go through all the steps. The deep breathing exercises we start off our class with is just as necessary as the intense friction on the back. The gentle music and the positive thoughts are as important as the vibrations down the calves.
Awareness brings you to gratitude which brings you to humility which leads you to love As such, I could not attain the love and acceptance of Heaven if I did not go through all prerequisite steps. Without first clearing my head, learning about G‑d, understanding the words I was saying and opening my heart, I would not get to where I desired. The effects of prayer would not be felt, nor attained by utterance alone.
There had to be más participación in all areas; mucha mucha más participación.
And it's not just in massage and not just in prayer that involvement makes all the difference. Sending over supper for a new mother is not complete if it's not warm; and what about including a good wish? Inviting a guest to sleep over in your home is generous; but you're a real "mensch" when the room is tidy and the guest is made to feel completely comfortable. Lend your music-player to your friend without warning them continuously not to break it. Give a discount to a needy customer without mentioning it. Smile as you hold open the door for another. Do your kind deeds wholeheartedly, all the way, and with as much participación and involucracion as you can summon. It's the most effective way.
And it's the Torah way.
Torah is not (only) about 613 commandments and a bunch of "you must" and "you may never" rules. Following the Torah is about having a connection with its Author, and when it comes to this relationship, complete immersion, complete participation, is required. You may be an employee from nine to five, a seatmate from 10:37-11:09, a customer for four minutes, and a high school student for four years, but some relationships are timeless. You're a family member 24/7, you're a human being 24/7 and your relationship with your Creator must be 24/7. It's the only way it can work. Just as you don't assure your husband "I'll be there for you on Tuesdays and Fridays", so you can not promise G‑d to be there "five minutes in the mornings and five minutes when I can't find a parking space". That's not a relationship. That's a (one-sided) business deal.
The Torah is called Torat Chayim, the Torah of Life. It gives us life as it guides us through life. Every part of life.
I must remember that I can't be a Torah Jew only in class, only with friends or only in the synagogue. Like breathing, Torah must be a natural and continuous part of my entire day and my every day. The Torah ought to be my fashion consultant, my dietitian and my entertainment advisor; it must be my absolute screenwriter. I am told that the rewards for such a committment are rather gratifying. When we accomplish that no part of our day is untouched by the Wisdom of Torah, we will be filled with calm, confidence and joy, for "there is no joy equal to one which comes from the alleviation of doubts".
Which brings us to Simchat Torah.
We read a portion of the Torah every Shabbat during the year. We finish the entire Five Books contained therein on the festival of Simchat Torah. We celebrate this holiday unlike any other in this holiday-filled month. Not with prayer nor with fasting, not with shofar blasts nor with willow-waving do we celebrate it, but with dancing. Pure joyous dancing. Hugging this life-giving Torah close to our hearts, we dance and sing with gratitude and appreciation. Jubilation shines from our faces.
And to acknowledge that our relationship with the Torah cannot be compartmentalized into autonomous days and deeds, on the very same day that we celebrate the completion of the Torah, we scroll right back to the first chapter, and begin reading Bereishit (Genesis).
We never stop with the Torah; it's our life.
From my massage course I've learned that to effectively reach my goal, I've got to surrender my entire being to it. Isolated bursts of energy are fine, but they don't heal, they don't cure and they definitely don't make for a very worthwhile relationship.
Like Margarita repeatedly coached me, it's not about más presión but about más participación.
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If you did things right, celebrate that you have a G-d who appreciates your good work.
And if you fell on your face, celebrate that you have a G-d who does not abandon you when you fall.
Perhaps you might even allow Him to pick you up.
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Holiday Over-Dosage
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/577189/jewish/Holiday-Over-Dosage.htm
By Yossi Braun
My household cleaning service is getting frustrated. A festival. And then another one. And following it, a semi-festival (Chol Hamoed), where only some activities are off-limits. And then again two days off all forms of work. "Can't you guys schedule your festivals in a more organized fashion?"
It isn't much easier for us either. Cooking, grating, cleaning, baking, cleaning. Peeling, peeling, and more peeling. And did I mention cleaning? So much work just to jam-pack the stomach with cholent, fish, meat, kugel, ice cream, salads and spirits (we're only mentioning necessities, okay?). Every day. Two or three times a day. And then next week all over again...
Couldn't the Master Planner of these holidays space them out a bit more?My wallet and credit cards are also starting to kvetch under the strain. Loads of lamb shoulder steak, outfitting the entire family with matching outfits from head to toe, and front-wall seats in the synagogue get the bills skyrocketing in no time.
Couldn't the Master Planner of these holidays space them out a bit more, giving us a bit of time to breathe and recuperate before the next one? Looks like time management is not high on the list of priorities there.
And then there is the concern of overdosing. Wouldn't a monthly conveniently-sized spirituality dispenser with a small dosage to boost our spiritual circulatory system be just fine?
Here's the formal answer: The month of Tishrei is full of festivals, joy, and intensity; the following month, Cheshvan, does not even have one minor holiday. You need an extra super-duper dose of holiday spirituality to help get you through the dull, dry, festival-free month of Cheshvan.
Somehow, this answer doesn't satisfy me. That sounds like really poor planning. Cram up all the major festivals in the first month of the year and then follow it with a vacuum -- a month devoid of any parties, new outfits and stomachaches. Feels like a spiritual roller-coaster ride. Couldn't the descent "back to earth" be gradual, avoiding unnecessary turbulence and a potential collision upon landing?
Clearly, this is part of a detailed, direct, and deliberate plan. Herein lies the paradox of life: The only way to survive and cope in the outback is by filling your suitcases to the brim prior to the journey. Yet, the only way to develop coping skills and experience true independent growth is by camping in a site devoid of any amenities, facilities and resources.
The packing and planning in Tishrei, the first month of the year, is crucial to the success of our journey later on. Tishrei can be seen as the "head" of the year (the Hebrew letters of the word Tishrei can also spell the word "reishit," beginning and head). The head contains the brain, mouth, nose, ears, eyes and face -- intelligence, speech, smell, hearing and sight. All that crammed in one section of the body, the head? Couldn't these vital senses be spread out over the entire body? But that just wouldn't work. In order for the head to conduct all the affairs of the body it requires those vital tools to work with. Each of Tishrei's special days is another section of the "head" -- a source of strength and inspiration for all the following days throughout the year.
Having a festival in Cheshvan would be akin to hitting concrete pavement while hiking...Yet, the actual journey is done with the legs, or more correctly the heels (the least sensitive limb of the body), which takes its cue from the head. And it's only the heels that actually "goes places." Cheshvan is traveling time.
To get the maximum experience out of our trip we need to stock up very well before we go, with food for the journey and some basic appliances -- i.e. acceptance of G‑d's Sovereignty and awe of Heaven (Rosh Hashanah), teshuvah (Yom Kippur), joy and festivity (Sukkot), and dedication to Torah (Simchat Torah).
But, then it's time for "real life" in the jungle. Having a festival in Cheshvan would be akin to hitting concrete pavement while hiking in the countryside. It ruins the experience. This is the time to put to use all our coping and camping skills.
So let's stuff those overweight suitcases, eat to our full and write out fat checks -- loaded with sanctity, joy, commitment, resolutions and aspirations.
But, remember: at the end of the month the bills need to be paid. Come Cheshvan, make sure those checks don't bounce.
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http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3963762,00.html
New halachic study says seducing enemy agents for the sake of national security is 'going above and beyond' and an 'utmost mitzvah'
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Guest Columnists
The Forty-Day Mikveh
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/61320/jewish/The-Forty-Day-Mikveh.htm
By Laibl Wolf
A nation's stories reveal its national psyche. What distinguishes the ancient Jewish spiritual tradition is its complete negation of fiction. With the rare exception of a small section of the ethical literature and one branch of Hassidic literature, the story is not a story -- it is a statement of reality, and truth is stranger than fiction.
Take the story of Noah and the global flood. A man hears a Divine instruction from Above and spends decades constructing a huge ferry that carries the species of the world across time into a new future. A mere story? Some will say so. Yet it is a curious fact that the account of the flood is contained in so many of the ancient pathways.
But the mystics of the Torah never doubted the veracity of the story. There was indeed a huge tidal destruction of the inhabited world. Why? Was it an act of cosmic wrath? Not really. Kabbalah teaches that the foremost energy that guides the cosmos is that of chessed -- goodness and compassion. Wrath is incompatible with this spiritual posture. There is clearly something much more sublime in the account of the flood.
Anyone who has been involved in renovating their house will recall those moments of self-doubt: I should have started right from scratch rather than tinkered with a bit here and bit there. But starting from scratch also destroys the memories and the emotions that are the fabric of our context and consciousness. What we would desire is the best of both worlds: a house with clean aesthetic lines and function, while retaining the warmth and hominess of its antecedent. We want to clean it up.
Something went wrong -- not with creation, but with the "wild card" -- the joker of the pack -- the human being. The cosmic house had to be renovated. Noah was chosen as builder-foreman.
That is why the Chassidic master, Rabbi Shneur Zalmen of Liadi, describes the flood as a cleansing process. The waters of the flood are like the waters of a ritualarium -- a mikveh -- where the waters spiritually cleanse the dross that accumulates in the course of our life's endeavors. The world received a spiritual cleansing, and this set the course of history on a course of hope and purpose.
Noah's is not a story. It is an account of spiritual redirection. Noah's very name reflects the positive nature of the events. The name "Noah" is etymologically connected to the word for inner peace and tranquility. This describes the mind and heart of the world after the "clean-up" of the flood. Just as a mikveh has to have 40 seah (an ancient measure of volume) of "living" waters, so did the rains of the flood last for forty days.
In all seeming adversity there is both opportunity and positivity. It may not always be apparent -- even if we look for it. But it is there. But that is only true of true stories. The fiction that derives from a finite human mind cannot contain the code for eternal truths. Hence the bias against fiction.
MASTERY: Every moment and place has a doorway for our entry. But we may not have the agility to enter with ease or elegance. Our clothes may become soiled. Our thoughts may become confused. Our feelings may be inappropriate. How many words do we say that later we would like to retract? How many thoughts do we think that we would like to recant? Therefore be pure in the spiritual clothes you wear. Be spiritually agile. Move elegantly through the trappings of life.
MEDITATION: Sit silently and recall your last meaningful conversation. What door did this episode open? Replay your words in your mind and determine what legacy they left -- both for you and the other. What feelings did that conversation awaken in you? Are these optimal? Could they be spiritually refined, even now, long after the conversation has ended? Every week, perhaps on Shabbat, enter your ark and rise above the turbulent waters of everyday affairs. Enter your spiritual spa and purify both body and soul.
Follow-up resources: The Healing Light (audio) and Relax and Breath (audio) available at Rabbi Wolf's Website (see link below)
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How to Stop a Crying Baby
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1288019/jewish/How-to-Stop-a-Crying-Baby.htm
By Aron Moss
Question :
I feel so hard done by. I hate feeling like this when I know that I have many blessings to be grateful for, like a great family and wonderful children. But no matter how hard I work, it always seems like others have it much easier than I do. They are left inheritances, win prizes, travel the world, and I just slog and slave to live a decent life. I harbor such negativity – it is unhealthy. How can I start feeling more grateful for my blessings and less resentful about my hardships?
Answer:
I hear your frustration. Let me offer you some wisdom that I was taught this morning. I learned it from my baby daughter.
She continued to sob, oblivious of my efforts to make her smileShe has been unwell and very moody and clingy over the last few days. This morning, for no apparent reason, she would not stop crying – nothing I did would placate her. I made funny faces, dangled her dolly in front of her and rubbed it in her face, sang silly songs, and made strange noises by cupping my hand underneath my armpit. But she continued to sob, oblivious of my efforts to make her smile.
So I changed tactics. I sat next to her on the floor and started crying myself.
It worked. She stopped crying immediately. First she looked at me a little surprised. But then, from behind her tears emerged a broad smile, and she started laughing. The more I cried, the more she giggled. She had finally snapped out of it, and we had some happy moments together for the first time in days.
Later I reflected on what had happened. What made her stop crying? Why was she laughing? Then it hit me. It is so simple.
The minute we focus on someone else's pain, we forget our own.
In her own babyish way, my daughter was doing what we all do sometimes, wallow in our own problems and feel miserable about them. This mindset is self-perpetuating. The more we think about our problems, the more miserable we feel, and the more we feel miserable, the more we focus on what we lack.
The best way to break this cycle is to look outside of ourselves and see if we can help someone else.She could now stop crying because she was freed from being stuck in herself As long as I was trying to take my baby daughter out of her sadness, it was her and her sadness that absorbed our attention. The second I shifted the focus and started crying myself, she was drawn out of her own sadness and became aware of my presence and my needs. She could now stop crying because she was freed from being stuck in herself. She was no longer the pitiful crybaby; she was the comforter and soother of a crying dad. So she laughed.
I think my baby girl is right. You may have good reason to feel down. But you need to stop soaking in self-pity and look around at what good you can do for others. Don't think of what you need, think of how you are needed. Don't look at what you are missing, see the gifts you can share with those who may be missing them.
You have so much to offer and so much good you can do. Don't let bitterness and envy prevent your soul from giving forth its light. It's time for your baby to stop crying and start smiling.
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Can I Pray With an iPhone?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1246504/jewish/Can-I-Pray-With-an-iPhone.htm
Chabad.org Staff
Question:
I have a siddur app on my iPhone. Some people say I should only pray with a real paper and cardboard siddur. Will G‑d still listen if my siddur is electronic instead?
Answer:
Aside from holding the entire Torah, Talmud, Maimonides, Code of Jewish Law and Tanya et al, providing access to thousands of classic works with the HebrewBooks.org app and allowing mobile surfing of Chabad.org, another way you can assist that little device to fulfill its true purpose in life is by praying with it.
You've got a built-in compass, so you know you're facing east. At least one siddur app adjusts to display the relevant prayers for that day. It's lighter than any hard-copy siddur, and some of us find scrolling easier than to page flipping.
There are also disadvantages: If you bow too deeply, the display turns upside down in an attempt to accommodate. Beyond that, a real siddur has a certain sanctity to it that a virtual siddur cannot attain. It’s not disposable--a siddur is buried when it’s done its term--and the text is an integral part of its hardware rather than cyberdust that goes poof into the world of electron charges every time you turn it off.
You definitely can't pray from an iphone on Shabbat. G‑d rested from electronics on that day as well--and He instructed us to do the same. That's great. Just as resting on the seventh day undermined the institution of slavery in the ancient world, so it releases us from our slavery to technology in the techno-world.
During the week, the only halachic issue with an iPhone is the distractions bundled with it. Attempting to engage the Ultimate Master of the Universe while texting back and forth with your buddies is not going to work. Same thing with those auto-notifications about your email, etc.. Prayer is entirely a one-on-one connection--it demands your absolute and undivided attention. Imagine standing before your boss asking for a raise or having a heart-to-heart talk with your beloved—and texting your friends while you're at it.
Then of course, there is the very annoying issue of ring tones—the latest plague upon all houses of worship. These tones, after all, are designed to distract and annoy. One slips into a mode of rapture and mystic union with the divine only to be rudely cast back into the harsh material world by a neighbor's pocket blasting the cancan. The entire ambience of prayer falls through the floor.
The ring tone issue is easily solved by switching to vibrate. Notifications can be turned off in Settings. But you're still going to have those incoming calls and text messages popping up over your siddur. To avoid these, the only trick I know is to switch to Airplane Mode. It seems to me that this is a must for proper praying. Look, if you can do it on the runways of Planet Earth, you can do it on the runway to heaven as well.
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What Is Love?
by Gila Manolson
Many people believe love is a sensation that magically generates when Mr. or Ms. Right appears. No wonder so many people are single. An excerpt from "Head to Heart."
A few years ago, I spoke to a group of high-schoolers about the Jewish idea of love.
"Someone define love," I said.
No response.
"Doesn't anyone want to try?" I asked.
Still no response.
"Tell you what: I'll define it, and you raise your hands if you agree. Okay?"
Nods.
"Okay. Love is that feeling you get when you meet the right person."
Every hand went up. And I thought, Oy.
This is how many people approach a relationship. Consciously or unconsciously, they believe love is a sensation (based on physical and emotional attraction) that magically, spontaneously generates when Mr. or Ms. Right appears. And just as easily, it can spontaneously degenerate when the magic "just isn't there" anymore. You fall in love, and you can fall out of it.
The key word is passivity. Erich Fromm, in his famous treatise "The Art of Loving," noted the sad consequence of this misconception: "There is hardly any activity, any enterprise, which is started with such tremendous hopes and expectations, and yet, which fails so regularly, as love." (That was back in 1956 -- chances are he'd be even more pessimistic today.)
So what is love -- real, lasting love?
Love is the attachment that results from deeply appreciating another's goodness.
The word "goodness" may surprise you. After all, most love stories don't feature a couple enraptured with each other's ethics. ("I'm captivated by your values!" he told her passionately. "And I've never met a man with such morals!" she cooed.) But in her study of real-life successful marriages ("The Good Marriage: How and Why Love Lasts"), Judith Wallerstein reports that "the value these couples placed on the partner's moral qualities was an unexpected finding."
To the Jewish mind, it isn't unexpected at all. What we value most in ourselves, we value most in others. God created us to see ourselves as good (hence our need to either rationalize or regret our wrongdoings). So, too, we seek goodness in others. Nice looks, an engaging personality, intelligence, and talent (all of which count for something) may attract you, but goodness is what moves you to love.
LOVE IS A CHOICE
If love comes from appreciating goodness, it needn't just happen -- you can make it happen. Love is active. You can create it. Just focus on the good in another person (and everyone has some). If you can do this easily, you'll love easily.
I was once at an intimate concert in which the performer, a deeply spiritual person, gazed warmly at his audience and said, "I want you to know, I love you all." I smiled tolerantly and thought, "Sure." Looking back, though, I realize my cynicism was misplaced. This man naturally saw the good in others, and our being there said enough about us that he could love us. Judaism actually idealizes this universal, unconditional love.
Obviously, there's a huge distance from here to the far more profound, personal love developed over the years, especially in marriage. But seeing goodness is the beginning.
Susan learned about this foundation of love after becoming engaged to David. When she called her parents to tell them the good news, they were elated. At the end of the conversation, her mother said, "Darling, I want you to know we love you, and we love David."
Susan was a bit dubious. "Mom," she said hesitantly, "I really appreciate your feelings, but, in all honesty, how can you say you love someone you've never met?"
"We're choosing to love him," her mother explained, "because love is a choice."
There's no better wisdom Susan's mother could have imparted to her before marriage. By focusing on the good, you can love almost anyone.
ACTIONS AFFECT FEELINGS
Now that you're feeling so warmly toward the entire human race, how can you deepen your love for someone? The way God created us, actions affect our feelings most. For example, if you want to become more compassionate, thinking compassionate thoughts may be a start, but giving tzedaka (charity) will get you there. Likewise, the best way to feel loving is to be loving -- and that means giving.
While most people believe love leads to giving, the truth (as Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler writes in his famous discourse on loving kindness) is exactly the opposite: Giving leads to love.
What is giving? When an enthusiastic handyman happily announces to his non- mechanically inclined wife, "Honey, wait till you see what I got you for your birthday -- a triple-decker toolbox!" that's not giving. Neither is a father's forcing violin lessons on his son because he himself always dreamed of being a virtuoso.
True giving, as Erich Fromm points out, is other-oriented, and requires four elements. The first is care, demonstrating active concern for the recipient's life and growth. The second is responsibility, responding to his or her expressed and unexpressed needs (particularly, in an adult relationship, emotional needs). The third is respect, "the ability to see a person as he [or she] is, to be aware of his [or her] unique individuality," and, consequently, wanting that person to "grow and unfold as he [or she] is." These three components all depend upon the fourth, knowledge. You can care for, respond to, and respect another only as deeply as you know him or her.
OPENING YOURSELF TO OTHERS
The effect of genuine, other-oriented giving is profound. It allows you into another person's world and opens you up to perceiving his or her goodness. At the same time, it means investing part of yourself in the other, enabling you to love this person as you love yourself.
Many years ago, I met a woman whom I found very unpleasant. So I decided to try out the "giving leads to love" theory. One day I invited her for dinner. A few days later I offered to help her with a personal problem. On another occasion I read something she'd written and offered feedback and praise. Today we have a warm relationship. The more you give, the more you love. This is why your parents (who've given you more than you'll ever know) undoubtedly love you more than you love them, and you, in turn, will love your own children more than they'll love you.
Because deep, intimate love emanates from knowledge and giving, it comes not overnight but over time -- which nearly always means after marriage. The intensity many couples feel before marrying is usually great affection boosted by commonality, chemistry, and anticipation. These may be the seeds of love, but they have yet to sprout. On the wedding day, emotions run high, but true love should be at its lowest, because it will hopefully always be growing, as husband and wife give more and more to each other.
A woman I know once explained why she's been happily married for 25 years. "A relationship has its ups and downs," she told me. "The downs can be really low -- and when you're in one, you have three choices: Leave, stay in a loveless marriage, or choose to love your spouse."
Dr. Jill Murray (author of "But I Love Him: Protecting Your Daughter from Controlling, Abusive Dating Relationships") writes that if someone mistreats you while professing to love you, remember: "Love is a behavior." A relationship thrives when partners are committed to behaving lovingly through continual, unconditional giving -- not only saying, "I love you," but showing it.
Reprinted with permission from "HEAD TO HEART" by Gila Manolson. Published by: Targum Press, Inc. http://www.targum.com
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=48952241§ion=/d/w
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Printed from Chabad.org
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/722430/jewish/The-Ultimate-Employee.htm
The Ultimate Employee
By Naftali Silberberg
Question:
You're looking for a manager to run a new store you've just opened. Two people apply for the job, both honest and upright individuals, both seemingly credentialed for the position. The resumes indicate that Applicant A was until recently employed as a manager of a successful retail establishment. Applicant B was an entrepreneur who had actually owned a similar store in the past—but had closed it when it failed to show a profit.
Whom do you hire?
Answer:
If you follow conventional reasoning, you will go with the guy who successfully managed in the past. Out-of-the-box thinking, however, dictates that you give the nod to the guy who went bankrupt.
A tzaddik is an indentured employee, someone accustomed to following ordersThere is a fundamental difference between a business owner and an employee. On average, an employee's primary function is to follow orders; he doesn't take risks and he's not expected to expand the business in completely new directions. An owner, on the other hand, answers to no one. He has only one concern, and that is increasing his company's revenues. Typically, an entrepreneur is more an independent and original thinker.
And while Applicant B failed in his last endeavor, with proper direction and oversight – with care taken that these directions not quash his entrepreneurial spirit – odds are that he can take your store to levels that Applicant A cannot even imagine.
The Ben Ish Chai (Chacham Yosef Chaim, 19th century Baghdadi scholar) uses this analogy to explain the Talmudic saying (Berachot 34b), "In the place that ba'alei teshuvah (penitents) stand, perfect tzaddikim (righteous individuals) cannot stand."
A tzaddik is an indentured employee, someone accustomed to following orders. He has never tasted independence, never been on his own. Though he honestly and industriously labors in G‑d's service, he has never felt the need to take a gamble, never felt the rush experienced by someone who goes out on a limb—he's always on the straight and steady.
In contrast, the baal teshuvah was hitherto self-employed. Yes he closed up shop when he realized that his company wasn't profitable, but in the interim he had tasted freedom and independence. He wasn't following any set of rules when he was pursuing his desires and pleasures. He learned how to think unconventionally and how to drum up business when it seemed that none was to be found.
They both make for nice employees, they'll both drum up business for their Employer, but...
"In the place that the ba'al teshuvah stands, the perfect tzaddik cannot stand."
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Israel's Man of Courage
By Deena Yellin
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1250674/jewish/Israels-Man-of-Courage.htm
Steve Averbach was riding the Egged No. 6 bus in Jerusalem on the morning of May 18, 2003 when a Palestinian terrorist disguised as an ultra-Orthodox Jew boarded the bus near the French Hill neighborhood. As a gun instructor, police officer and former Golani soldier, Averbach was trained to search crowds for suspicious people.
He noted the man's clean-shaven face and telltale bulge of explosives and reached for his weapon. His act scared the terrorist into detonating himself prematurely, saving an untold number of lives. He blew up a near-empty bus instead of waiting for the Downtown crowds. Hamas took responsibility for the attack.
A steel ball bearing tore into his spine, forever altering his lifeAverbach's severely wounded body was found in the wreckage. Glass had punctured his lungs. A steel ball bearing tore into his spine, forever altering his life. His hand was still on the trigger of his gun. He was barely conscious but he mustered enough strength to inform police that his gun was loaded. He didn't want anyone to get hurt.
An investigation confirmed that the bomber had planned an explosion in the center of town. Averbach had prevented dozens of deaths and was given a government award for bravery.
His heroism earned him fans the world over. He received letters and visitors from France, Australia and North Carolina. Actor Christopher Reeve visited Averbach as he was recovering at Sheba Medical Center to talk to him about stem cell research.
But Averbach's exhibition of courage wasn't over.
The strong and courageous soldier and gun instructor, whose prowess with weapons won him the nickname "Guns," now remained confined to a wheelchair, unable to even scratch his nose. He was paralyzed from the neck down, a prisoner in his body. Nevertheless, the 37-year-old father of four insisted on living his life without regrets.
"If I had to, I would do it all again," he said of his split-second choice to pull his gun on the terrorist instead of fleeing for his safety. "It was required of me… If I wouldn't have done anything, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."
He admitted in an interview in 2004 that he missed playing Frisbee with his four sons, taking them to the beach and teaching them to ride a bike. And yet, as his aide held a straw to his mouth so he could sip a drink, he asserted, "I made a choice. My choice was the correct one, so I can live with the outcome."
"He talked to everyone and they were changed from the experience"Not content to spend the remainder of his life as a quiet spectator, he became an activist. He spoke to crowds from Bar Ilan University, Young Judea, Birthright Israel, and at Jewish centers and synagogues throughout America. He talked about making a difference in the world and what it meant to sacrifice for the Jewish people.
He made an impact on everyone he met, said his sister, Eileen Sapadin of Englewood. "He was very much alive. Whatever he had left to give, he gave. He talked to everyone and they were changed from the experience."
Averbach saw beyond his personal suffering, and wanted to help the many people in Israel whose lives were affected by terrorist attacks. Although traveling was difficult for him, he opted to raise funds by speaking to groups throughout the world. Through speaking engagements, he raised thousands of dollars for Tikvot, an Israeli non-profit organization which helps rehabilitate terror victims and their families through sports activities. Averbach was appointed the organization's vice president.
Sapadin's husband, Allen Sapadin, a Hackensack dermatologist, said he was never surprised by Averbach's bravery on the bus in 2003. But he was amazed and awed by Averbach's courage every day since he became a quadriplegic.
"Even with his suffering, he said he would do it all again and meant it," he said. "He never expressed anger or bitterness about his situation. He felt his job was to protect Israel. That's something he would never have relinquished. That's how dedicated he was to Israel."
Eileen, added, "He suffered quietly. He didn't complain." After the attack, he didn't describe himself as a victim of terror, but as a survivor of terror.
Even before Averbach boarded Bus No. 6, he led a noble life, Eileen said. "He moved to Israel by himself when he was just a teenager. He joined the army, and not just any unit, but the most elite unit. He trained experts to fight terrorism. He had such a love for Israel. He wanted people to understand how important it was to support Israel. He wanted people to be educated about their duty to defend themselves."
Averbach grew up in West Long Branch, New Jersey and was a restless teenager, popular among his classmates at Hillel Yeshiva in Ocean Township. He visited Israel in 1982 at age 16 and instantly fell in love with the country. "He felt at home there," said his mother, Maida Averbach, a nurse in Long Branch. "Once he went to Israel, he felt he had to live there. He told me, 'These are my people.'"
Although he didn't know any Hebrew at the time, the moment he got off the plane, he realized Israel was totally unique and wanted to stay. "The love for the country fell right over me," he told a newspaper reporter years later.
He didn't describe himself as a victim of terror, but as a survivor of terrorHe made aliyah at age 18 and joined the elite Golani unit of the IDF, fighting in Lebanon and Gaza. He later worked in the Jerusalem Police Department's anti-terrorist unit and as an instructor at a school that trains police officers and security firms.
Rabbi Howie Jachter, Judaic Studies Instructor at the Torah Academy of Bergen County in Teaneck, New Jersey, dedicated a book to Averbach in 2003. The book is a compilation of original insights, by students, on the Talmud, said Jachter. Averbach spoke at the school and left a strong impression on everyone who heard his story. "We wanted to do something, so we decided to dedicate the book to him because of his heroism and dedication to the Nation and Land of Israel. We also did it in support of Steve's nephew, Daniel Sapadin, a member of the class."
Israel's fearless man of steel died in his sleep on June 3, 2010 at age 44, a result of complications from his paralysis… But not before inspiring hundreds around the world who met him, were saved by him, and heard the tale of his selfless love for Israel.
Several hundred mourners accompanied Averbach to his final resting place in Jerusalem's Har HaMenuchot cemetery. Among them were members of the Israeli police, IDF, people whose lives he saved, and friends and admirers from all walks of life.
"He was brave," Maida Averbach said. "He didn't like his situation but he was brave. He dealt with it as best he could. And he helped other terror victims too. He rose to the occasion. He inspired people."
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Lots of examples of bravery in Israel, many examples of people who chose to engage terrorists to protect others.
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Glenn Beck recently spoke of a conversation between Moses and God wherein God commanded Moses to accomplish something.
But how?
Use what you have in your hand.
But its only a stick/staff!
Use it.
Something like this. Anyone have the reference/story?
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While awaiting an answer to my previous question, here's this on monotheism in Judaism:
The History of Monotheism
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Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
The essence of Judaism is the belief in the One G-d. Indeed, all monotheistic faiths trace their origin to Abraham, the discoverer (or re-discoverer) of this truth.
The Jewish belief in G-d is expressed in the first two of the Ten Commandments. The first affirms the truth of His being. The second is the negative complement to the first--the disavowal of idolatry. Idolatry is not necessarily a lack of belief in G-d; indeed, the Second Commandment begins, "You shall have no other gods before Me..." Rather, idolatry also includes any denial of G-d's oneness -- his absolute singularity, unity and exclusiveness of being. To ascribe any divisions or compartmentalizations to the divine being, or to believe that G-d has any partners or intermediaries to His creation and sustenance of the universe, is to transgress the prohibition of idolatry.
The particulars of the laws of idolatry are spelled out by Maimonides in his Mishneh Torah, in a twelve-chapter section entitled Laws Concerning Idolatry and its Customs. Here Maimonides defines idolatry and examines the various forms of idol-worship and its accompanying practices, the penalties they carry, the status of an idolator, etc.
In the first chapter of Laws Concerning Idolatry, Maimonides outlines the history of man's recognition of the truth of the One G-d. Originally, man knew his Maker; but "in the generation of Enosh (Adam's grandson), humanity erred grievously, and the wisdom of that generations wise men was confused; Enosh himself was among those who erred. Their error lay in that they believed that it would be pleasing to G-d if they were to venerate the forces of nature which serve Him, as a king desires that his ministers and servants be venerated. Soon they were erecting temples and altars to the sun and the stars, offering sacrifices and hymns of praise to them, believing all this to be the will of G-d."
In later generations, Maimonides continues, "there arose false prophets... and other charlatans who claimed to have received communications from the various heavenly bodies as to how they are to be served and which images are to represent them. As the years went by, the venerable and awesome name of G-d was forgotten from the lips and minds of humanity; no longer were they aware of Him at all. The common folk knew only the wood or stone image in its stone temple which they had been trained from childhood to bow down to and serve and swear by; the wiser ones among them believed in the stars and constellations that these images represented; but none recognized or even knew of the Creator except for rare individuals such as Enoch, Methuselah, Noah, Shem and Eber. And so the world turned until the pillar of the universe, our father Abraham, was born.
"No sooner was [Abraham] weaned -- and he was but a small child -- that his mind began to seek and wonder: How do the heavenly bodies orbit without a moving force? Who moves them? They cannot move themselves! Immersed amongst the foolish idol-worshippers of Ur Casdim, he had no one to teach him anything; his father, mother and countrymen, and he amongst them, all worshipped idols. But his heart sought, and came to know that there is one G-d... who created all and that in all existence there is none other than Him. He came to know that the entire world erred...
"At the age of forty, Abraham recognized his Creator... He began to debate with the people of Ur Casdim... He smashed the idols, and began to teach the people that it is only fitting to serve the one G-d... He continued to call in a great voice to the world, teaching them that there is one G-d for the entire universe, and that He alone is it fitting to serve. He carried his call from city to city and from kingdom to kingdom... Many gathered to ask about his words, and he would explain to each according to his understanding until he had shown him the path of truth. Thousands and then tens of thousands joined him...and he implanted this great principle in their heart and wrote many books on it. After Abraham's passing, Isaac, and then Jacob, continued his work, until Jacob's descendents, and those who joined them, formed a nation that knew G-d.
"However, when the people of Israel dwelled in Egypt for many years, they regressed to learn from the behavior of the Egyptians and to worship idols with them... just a little longer, and the great principle implanted by Abraham would have been uprooted, and the descendents of Jacob would have reverted to the error of humanity and their contorted ways. But out of G-d's love to us, and His keeping of the oath He made to Abraham... G-d chose Israel as His, crowned them with mitzvot, and instructed them the way in which to serve Him, and the laws concerning idolatry and those who err with it."
History as Law
Thus Maimonides concludes the first chapter of Laws Concerning Idolatry. In the next eleven chapters he proceeds to spell out the legal particulars of "idolatry and those who err with it."
The Mishneh Torah is a purely Halachic, or legal, work. On the rare occasions on which Maimonides digresses with an historical fact or a philosophical insight, it is always revealed, upon closer examination, to be a legally instructive point. The same is true of the opening chapter of Laws Concerning Idolatry: every detail of this lengthy history is a Halachah, a crucial component of the Torah's prohibition of idolatry. In this essay, we will dwell on two of the important points that Maimonides is making in this chapter.
Maimonides' first point is that idolatry is not only a religious sin but also a rational error. Enosh's generation "erred grievously and the wisdom of that generation's wise men was confused"; humanity was deceived by false prophets and charlatans. Abraham arrived at the truth of G-d's oneness not by Divine revelation or supernatural powers, but in a process by which "his mind began to seek and wander... until he comprehended the truth and understood the righteous path by his sound wisdom." He gained adherents to his faith not by working wonders or prophesying in the name of G-d, but by explaining to each according to his understanding, until he had shown him the path of truth. Maimonides does not mention G-d's many revelations to Abraham (see Genesis 12:1, 12:7 15:1-21, et al); he also makes no mention of the many prophecies and miracles that accompanied the development of the nation that knew G-d in its formative years. For even if none of this had come to pass, man could still have come to recognize the oneness of G-d, and would have been expected to do so. Idolatry is irrational; man, using nothing more than his capacity to reason, can discern its fallacy and discover the truth.
[This is also emphasized by Maimonides' statement that "At the age of forty, Abraham recognized his Creator." There exist several accounts as to the year of Abraham's discovery. The Talmud states that Abraham recognized his Creator at age three; other sources cite his age at the time as 4; other as 50. Maimonides' source seems to be a variant version of the Midrash that states that he was 48t. As many commentaries suggest, there is no contradiction between these accounts -- each represents another level of recognition achieved by Abraham; indeed, Maimonides himself informs us that his quest began "soon after he was weaned, and he was but a small child." Why, then, does Maimonides choose to speak particularly of the recognition Abraham attained at age forty? Indeed, of what Halachic significance is Abraham's age at all? But Maimonides wishes to again underscore that Abraham's refutation of idolatry was a rational one. Forty is described by our sages as "the age of understanding" -- the point at which a person's cognitive powers attain full maturity. Thus, the level of discovery Abraham achieved at age forty represents his ultimate understanding of the divine truth.]
On the other hand, near the end of the historical account, Maimonides makes the very opposite point: without Divine intervention, the faith founded by Abraham would not have survived.
Human reason is not enough. It can expose fallacies, discover truth, transform a life, convince thousands, found a nation. But it is only as strong as the human self of which it springs. It can be distorted and suppressed by the tribulations of life: break the person, and you have invalidated his or her ideas. The exile and hardship experienced by the Israelites in Egypt almost destroyed the nation that knew G-d. If G-d had not revealed Himself to us at Sinai, the great principle implanted by Abraham would have been uprooted.
Mind and More
In the first chapter of Laws Concerning Idolatry, Maimonides is instructing us how the mitzvah "You shall have no other gods before Me" is to be observed.
It is not enough to say: "G-d revealed Himself to us at Sinai and told us that there are no other deities or forces that are partner to His being and His rulership of the universe. So I know that it is so. If He said so, that's enough for me: the logic of this truth is irrelevant." No, says Maimonides. The Second Commandment obligates the Jew that his mind, not only his convictions, should negate the possibility of other gods. He must not only accept that this is so, but also comprehend that, rationally, it cannot be otherwise. Every Jew is commanded to develop the recognition of Divine truth attained by Abraham: a recognition so absolute that it can, by the force of reason alone, dispel a universally entrenched doctrine and convince thousands to transform their lives.
On the other hand, a person might take this to the other extreme, and say: "The oneness of G-d is not a matter of faith, it's a fact. The nature of reality attests to it--I can prove it to anyone. It is the revelation at Sinai that is irrelevant. Monotheism is a rational truth, supported by irrefutable arguments."
That may be so, Maimonides is saying, but the Jew's denial of alien gods is more than an irrefutable philosophy. It is a faith implanted in the core of our souls, which endures also when logic ceases to function and reason is rendered impotent. To truly believe one must comprehend, but comprehension alone is but the mortal shadow of immortal faith. The philosophy-faith of Abraham barely survived Egypt; the supra-rational faith we attained at Sinai, where G-d chose Israel as His, crowned them with mitzvot, and instructed them the way in which to serve Him, has survived a hundred Egypts and every madness of history.
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Glenn Beck recently spoke of a conversation between Moses and God wherein God commanded Moses to accomplish something.
But how?
Use what you have in your hand.
But its only a stick/staff!
Use it.
Something like this. Anyone have the reference/story?
Hi Marc,
I'm not familiar with that story.
I am posting a couple of articles that are sort of related but are not what you wanted
Family Parshah
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/349077/jewish/Vaeira-Q-A.htm
By Moshe Bogomilsky
Moses said to G-d, "Behold I am of uncircumcised (closed) lips..." G-d's response: "See, I have made you master over Pharaoh; and Aharon your brother shall be your spokesman." (6:30-7:1)
Question: How did the fact that G-d had made Moses a master over Pharaoh and had appointed Aharon his spokesman refute Moses's argument that his speech difficulty made him an unsuitable messenger?
Answer: Every nation has its own language. Usually, when heads of governments meet, each speaks his native tongue with an interpreter between them. An exception to this rule is a meeting between the head of a small country and the head of a major power. Then it is customary to speak the language of the larger country.
When G-d told Moses to deliver a message to Pharaoh, he assumed that he was to speak in the Egyptian language. He therefore told G-d that since he had left Egypt at a young age and was now 80 years old, he lacked fluency in the Egyptian language and would have to stutter to find the proper words.1
G-d told him, "I have appointed you a master over Pharaoh. Thus, he is your inferior, and you are the head of a major empire. Consequently, in accordance with proper protocol, you will address him in Hebrew. Do not be concerned about his inability to understand Hebrew because Aharon will be your interpreter."
Moses said to G-d, "Behold, I am of uncircumcised (closed) lips." (6:30)
Question: He was referring to the injury which he suffered when he touched his tongue with a burning coal (see here for the full story). Why was his tongue injured and not his hand?
Answer: When Pharaoh's daughter Batya found the baby Moses in the Nile River, she asked a number of Egyptian women to nurse him. Destined to speak directly with G-d, "mouth to mouth,"2 Moses refused their milk.
However, during the process, some of the milk of the Egyptian nurses fell on his tongue and he spat it out immediately.
When non-kosher food comes in contact with a kosher utensil it needs to be made Kosher ("Koshering"). This is normally done by immersing the utensil in boiling water or using fire to make it red hot so that it will expel whatever it had absorbed. Thus, Moses's tongue was burned in order to remove all traces of Egyptian milk.
See, I have made you a master over Pharaoh. (7:1)
Question: It should have said, "I will make you" (in the future tense).
Answer: In the above-mentioned incident during Moses's childhood, in which Pharaoh tested the young lad who had taken off his crown, Pharaoh was unable to discover that Moses was the redeemer of the Jews, but Moses injured his mouth, affecting his power of speech.
There is no event that occurs accidentally. Every incident is governed by Divine Providence. When the episode with Moses and Pharaoh's crown occurred, G-d declared him Pharaoh's master and took away from Pharaoh the power to harm him.
Now, eighty years later, G-d said to Moses, "I have already made you a master over Pharaoh for many years, and just as he was unable to do you any harm then, now too, efforts to harm you will be of no avail."
Aharon threw his staff in front of Pharaoh and his servants, and it became a snake. (7:10)
Question: What message did Moses and Aharon want to give Pharaoh?
Answer: Pharaoh claimed that the Jews had sinned and that they did not deserve to be taken out of Egypt. Moses and Aharon responded that a person's environment plays a very important role in his development.
Even a holy staff can turn into a vicious snake in the company of Pharaoh. On the other hand, a "snake" in the company of Moses and Aharon can transform itself in to a holy staff.
FOOTNOTES
1. See Rashbam 4:10.
2. See Numbers 12:
Tzipporah
The Wonderful Staff
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/111923/jewish/Tzipporah.htm
Tzipporah, Yithro's daughter, was famous for her fine character and beauty. In Midyan, where she lived with her father and six sisters, people often talked of Tzipporah's kindness and wisdom. Many were the princes who came to Yithro, seeking the hand of his daughter in marriage.
To all suitors Yithro had but one answer: "In my garden there grows a wonderful staff. If your Royal Highness will get it out of the ground, Tzipporah will be yours."
Eagerly the suitor would go into the garden and up to that wonderful staff glittering in the sun with a million colors and hues. His first attempt to pull the staff out of the ground would bring no results. Again and again he would try to pull at the staff with all his might, but of no avail. The staff simply could not be dislodged from the ground. Thus the princes came hopefully, and left abashed and mystified. Tzipporah would often go into the garden, admire the wonderful staff and wonder who her husband would be.
But how did this wonderful staff come to be there? Well, it is quite a story.
The staff was as old as the world itself. When G-d created the world, He created that wonderful staff out of pure sapphire. On it were engraved the Hebrew letters of G-d's Name, and ten other mysterious letters.
G-d gave this staff to Adam to walk with it in the Garden of Eden. Later it turned up in the hands of the pious Noah, and he passed it on to Shem.
Shem passed it on to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob treasured it greatly, and before Jacob died in Egypt, he gave it to Joseph. When Joseph died, Yithro, who was one of Pharaoh's chief counsellors, took it. Returning to Midyan, Yithro planted it in his garden, and there it stuck in the ground and nobody could get it out again.
When Moses fled from Egypt and finally found refuge in Midyan, in the house of Yithro, he took a walk in the garden and saw the Divine staff. He barely touched it, when the staff almost jumped out of the ground. There he was, holding that Divine staff, and he brought it into the house.
Yithro knew then that Moses was a G-dly man. He offered him to become his son-in-law, and Moses gladly agreed.
It was with this Divine staff that Moses later performed all the miracles in Egypt at G-d's command. With this staff, too, Moses split the Red Sea, and brought water out of the rock.
This Divine staff will turn up again in the hands of Messiah, a descendant of David, who will once again perform wonderful miracles with it at G-d's command, when the hour of Israel's complete Redemption will come.
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Why?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1154/jewish/Why.htm
By Yanki Tauber
It's probably the oldest question in the history of human thought. It's surely the most disturbing, the most frequently asked and the least satisfactorily answered: Why, oh why, do bad things happen to good people?
Everyone asks the question: philosophers, theologians, butchers, bakers and candlestick-makers. No one really answers it. The Bible devotes the 41 chapters of the Book of Job to the subject, offering several interesting explanations only to refute them all, the conclusion being that finite man cannot fathom the ways of G-d.
For most, the protest against evil is something that rises out of one's own encounters with the rough spots of life. To a true leader who feels the pain of his people as his own, it is a bottomless cry issuing from the seemingly bottomless well of human suffering.
It didn't take long for Moses to issue that cry. Shortly after G-d appeared to him in a burning bush to appoint him liberator of Israel, Moses was back.
And Moses returned to G-d and said: "My G-d, why have You done evil to this people?! Why have You sent me?! For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has done worse to this nation; and You have not saved Your people!'' (Exodus 5:22-23).
And what does G-d say? Hold on just a little longer and you'll see that it all turns out right at the end. Encouraging words, especially when coming from G-d Himself; but still no answer for the ultimate Question.
Was it a failing on the part of Moses that he protested G-d's way of doing things? A cursory reading of the Talmudic and Midrashic expositions on Moses' dialogue with G-d would suggest that it was. Moses is criticized for not measuring up to the unquestioning faith of the Patriarchs; by some accounts, he is even punished for his outburst.
But a fundamental rule of Torah scholarship is that "the Torah does not speak negatively even of an impure animal" unless there is a positive, constructive lesson to be derived. To what end does the Torah tell us about Moses' "failing"?
Some would say that this is to teach us that even great men such as Moses can experience doubt and despair. The Lubavitcher Rebbe, however, takes a different approach. Moses' protest to G-d , says the Rebbe, was not a breach of faith, but an act of faith of the highest order.
Indeed, the question/protest/outcry, "Why have You done evil to Your people?!" can issue only from the mouth of a true believer. The non-believer, too, may be outraged by the cruelty and suffering our world abounds with, but just who is he outraged at? The blind workings of fate? The oblivious and apersonal god of physical law and evolutionary process? The random arrangement of quarks that make up the universe?
Even people who believe in G-d are not necessarily driven to confront Him as Moses did. They may not believe that He is truly responsible for all that transpires in the world. They may not be convinced of His ultimate goodness. They may think that it's pointless to protest to Him, since He doesn't really care how they feel about it. Or maybe everything's just fine in their lives, and what's happening to the rest of the world just doesn't concern them.
The true believer, on the other hand, knows that everything that happens happens only because it is ordained from Above. He knows that G-d is the essence of good and that only good flows from Him. And he also knows that man can talk to G-d and expect a response to his entreaties. So he cannot but cry out: "My G-d, why have You done evil to Your people?!"
This is what we must learn from Moses. We must speak to G-d, confront Him, ask Him: Why is there evil and suffering in Your world? We do not know enough to comprehend the answer; we must, however, believe and care enough to ask the question.
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Friends Don't Grow on Trees
by Rabbi Yaakov Salomon
Why are some people blessed with wonderful, caring friends while others seem destined for loneliness?
Friends.
I have a gut feeling that 'Friends' is something more than a trendy sitcom. I mean Google just gave me 63,000,000 references for friends, in .28 seconds. That should tell us something.
And it does. Our search, our desire, and our need to surround ourselves with people we can share our lives with, begins when we are not yet verbal and seems to never ever end.
At times, it seems that our very existence is frequently dominated by the friends we have -- or have not. We long for friends; we require friends. We yearn for friends; we pine for friends. Friends can give us reason to live… to cry… to emulate… to strive… to show off… to play… to be silly… and to be somber.
What power!
And yet, defining exactly where this immense might really emanates from is elusive. Think of your three closest friends and try to identify the role they play in your life. Not so easy, is it? Now try to imagine experiencing any event of your life, of even minor significance, without any good friend with you. What could be more sad?
But attaining success in this most critical pursuit is far from automatic. We are all familiar with people who are surrounded with loads of good, loyal friends, while others know of no such circle. Instead, they shuffle along, pretending to love their autonomy and solitude ("You can't really count on anyone but yourself…"), while they suffer in silence -- alone, dispirited, and secretly afraid of tomorrow.
The question is, "Why?" Why are some people seemingly blessed with wonderful, wise, and caring friends while so many others somehow appear destined for loneliness?
The question is a troubling one. Not only because it affects so many people so profoundly, but because it calls into focus the ageless quandary about God's role in pre-determining our lives vs. our own efforts in causing our successes and failures. What is the reality? Are some people really blessed with those great relationships? Are others actually destined for a life of insipid isolation?
GOD'S WILL VS. FREE WILL
Great minds have grappled with this most central life question throughout the millennia. Philosophical literature and responsa are replete with attempts at unlocking the mystery of exactly how much God intervenes and determines our destiny and our decisions in life. While far from being an authority on this most confounding topic, I can state one truism about it. Not too many of us ever did or ever will fully understand it.
What does seem clear, however, is that few, if any, events in our personal lives occur without both of these dynamics at play. In other words, just about everything that happens to us, happens as a result of a combination of God's will and our own efforts.
For example, no one ever became a millionaire by collecting tolls on the Bayonne Bridge. Becoming exceedingly wealthy usually requires a plan of action, a failure or three, and a heck of a lot of effort. And then some divine intervention, as well (or a very rich and dead uncle). And yet, many follow the exact same formula and still come up empty-handed.
Similarly, it's unfair to expect to live a long, healthy life while you constantly feast on pastrami burgers, Cajun fries, deep chocolate mousse, and pancake syrup, never leave your couch except to meander over to the microwave, smoke three packs a day, and face constant financial and emotional stress. Of course, we all know people, some of them in their 80's or above, who seem to be doing just that. (We probably can't stand them!)
In other words, there are no guarantees. Usually we just play the percentages. In finances, health and countless other crucial areas in life we realize God has the final say, but we need to do our fair share. And then we pray and hope for the best. Very reasonable.
But not everything should be approached that way. There are certain facets of our existence that seem to be weighted more to one side or the other.
For instance, while cosmetics, clothes, style, and grooming can certainly help, a person's good looks are probably more dictated by God than by his own efforts. Frustrating, perhaps, but true nonetheless. And you might think you have 'lucky' numbers or are privy to some incredible "system," but whether or not you win the lottery is clearly more in the Divine domain than in yours. Sorry. And perhaps even more obviously, whether someone is prone to allergies or not has very little to do with how many vitamins he takes. These things -- and others -- have more to do with God's choices for us than our efforts for ourselves.
Conversely, it could be argued that while people may be born with predispositions toward certain character traits (kindness, sensitivity, patience etc.), more often than not, we are responsible for our behavior. The more work we put into perfecting our temperament and disposition the more perfect they are likely to become. Sure, God's help is always important, but it seems that when it comes to our moral fiber, we hold the needle and thread.
So sometimes God's mainly running the show, sometimes we are, and sometimes it seems more equally balanced.
ACQUIRING FRIENDS
And now we come to friendship. Which category does that seem to best fit into? Many or most people appear to have referred this department to the supervisor Himself. As we said earlier, some of us are blessed with many wonderful friends; others are destined to relative solitude.
Frankly, I disagree.
Akiva, a friend of mine, heard that a rabbi of note was moving into his neighborhood some years ago. He had enjoyed a casual and infrequent relationship with him, but always dreamed of developing it into a true friendship. He didn't wait for the rabbi to move in and then "see what happens." He didn't count on serendipity (God) to orchestrate their paths crossing. He actually sat down and wrote him a letter before he moved -- welcoming him to the neighborhood and suggesting they plan a once-a-week study session for an hour, after the move.
Fact is, for some reason the rabbi turned down Akiva's initial request. But the letter was heartily appreciated and it launched their current friendship of note.
Friendship is neither a luxury, nor a burden, nor a symptom of unresolved childhood dependency issues. It is an essential component of the human condition. Yes -- some need friends more, some less. But even the Sages of the Mishna -- some 1800 plus years ago -- implored us to, "Accept a teacher upon yourself and acquire a friend (Ethics of the Fathers, 1:6)."
And acquiring friends does not mean waiting at home for your cell phone to vibrate, and then deploring your bad fortune when you feel alone. Acquisitions of this kind require serious motivation, very specific strategies, and the courage to risk. It isn't easy to lay bare your vulnerabilities and chance rejection. Often you need to summon up some hefty doses of chutzpah to approach someone you barely know and strike up a conversation, ask a question, or invite him/her to an event. And circumstances -- real ones, like age, time, neighborhood, cliques, financial standing, shyness, bad breath etc. -- frequently present formidable obstacles to overcome. But it's worth the effort.
Life is just too complicated and fragile to go it alone. Everyone needs at least a mini Advisory Board these days. And hoping, praying, or expecting these friendships to breed and develop on their own is unrealistic, at best; precarious at worst.
Taking an active role in this crucial hunt means sitting down with pen, paper and brain and thinking through who, within your personal radar, would be a really valuable addition to your address book. Crude and unromantic as it may sound, specific tactics then need to be formulated and implemented in order to increase your chances of establishing a meaningful friendship.
"But doesn't God just sort of put people together if they belong together?"
Yes… sometimes. But more often than not, you need to do most of the work. And the same work ethic certainly applies afterwards -- when you want to make the friendship meaningful, satisfying, and lasting.
God can help. But you must make it happen.
That's just the way it is.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ci/s/48909152.html
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How To Be A Father
By Tzvi Freeman
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/762533/jewish/How-To-Be-A-Father.htm
Dear Rabbi,
I'm a father and I have no idea how to bring up a Jewish boy. All I know is not to do as my father did. Although that's generally exactly what I end up doing. I want my son to grow up strong in his Jewishness and confident about his own self.
A. Dad
Shalom Dad,
There's only two short lines you need to know. It's the first dialog there is between a father and his son in the written Torah:
Then Isaac said to his father, "My father?"
And Abraham said, "Here I am, my son."
There's more, but we need to stop here first, so you can see the forest.
We've had those words before—only once before—at the beginning of this same tale. Abraham is answering his son with the same words he used earlier to answer G‑d:
So it was, after all these things, that G‑d tested Abraham, and He said to him, "Abraham!" And Abraham answered, "Here I am!"
And then G‑d asks Abraham to do something that goes against every cell of his body and soul: To harden his heart, turn off his mind, take his son and "raise him up for a sacrifice on one of the mountains I will show you.."
Men know the modality. Numbness. "Gotta do what I gotta do." We do it when we go to war and when we go to work, when we fire an employee and when we discipline a child. There's a small voice inside, screaming, "This is not who I am! How can I do this?" And we just tell it to shut up so we can get the job done.
We've all been there. You've got a deadline at work. A major meeting about a big contract. Nudniks to deal with, driving you nuts. Rush hour traffic stuns your nerves. 7:30 AM the next morning, and you don't want to go. Not a cell in your body wants to go. But you have to.
Okay, it's not who you are—you're a family man with family priorities. But to feed a family, a man's got to make sacrifices. Don't feel what you feel, don't think what you think. To do so would be to drive yourself insane. Smother that voice inside. Be a man, as men have been ever since their feet met the cold, hard earth. Just do.
The dad inside gets turned off. And along with him, so do his kids.
"Dad?"
"Dad?"
"I'm busy now."
"Dad?"
"Sorry, son, I'm busy. Go talk to Mom."
That's what this bizarre world can do to a man: On the way to provide for his family, he sacrifices them on their own altar.
So here is Abraham, in the midst of his greatest test. He can only have one focus: To do what he was told. And that's where he is, 100%. After all, this isn't just about making a living. This is about hearing G_d's voice. And so, Isaac calls out to him, not certain that his father is really there.
"My father?"
"Here I am, my son. All of me. For all of you What's up?"
Perhaps that was the whole test. Perhaps with that alone, Abraham proved that he was fit to be the father of the nation that would bring G‑d's compassion into the world.
Perhaps. But this I know for certain: With those words, Abraham passed on the torch to the next generation. Because when Isaac saw that his father was all there for him, in the same way and to the same degree as he was there for G_d when G_d spoke to him, then he was ready to be all there for his father and for his father's G_d.
Those words are all you need to know to be a real Jewish dad. The rest will follow.
"Here I am, my son. All of me."
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A Pillar of Salt
By Sara Esther Crispe
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/209353/jewish/A-Pillar-of-Salt.htm
So I'm told we should "live with the times" and find how our lives are connected to the Torah portion (parshah) of the week. That only when we see ourselves in the Torah can we say we've truly learned.
I read the parshah and I learn of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. I learn of how Lot is saved and how his wife is turned into a pillar of salt. And I search to see my life in these words. I'd rather not see it, of course, as the connection is too intense, too real, too true. I'd rather pretend that this is merely a story, a lesson about universal evil needing to be removed. How do I relate to a pillar of salt? And yet I do -- all too much.
So this is the story. An evil community is destined to be destroyed. It is to be totally annihilated and Abraham is foretold of the destruction. He argues with G-d, begging him not to destroy the land and those who inhabit it. He begs that the people be spared in the merit of fifty righteous people. Yet he cannot find fifty. He tries to find forty-five. Forty. Thirty. Twenty. Ten. Still he cannot. The city is utterly evil, and it is to be destroyed. Only Lot and his family will be saved. There is one condition. Don't look back. But the temptation is too great. And Lot's wife looks. And she is turned into a pillar of salt.
So I too am often that pillar of salt. Stuck and hardened between where I never should have been and where I need to go. If only I could have the strength to let go. I try to reason, to rationalize why certain things are good for me. And even if they aren't good for me, they are good for someone, right? At least one person, right? Wrong. There is no good there. There is nothing to be redeemed. It must be destroyed. The relationship cannot exist. The only thing that can be saved is me. And only if I leave and don't look back. Never look back.
Yet I can't help it. I take the first step away. I leave where I never should have been towards where I must go. If only I can make it there and leave this behind. Truly leave behind me what aims to bring me down and destroy me with it. If I can keep going it will be gone forever. If I can let go, it will lose its power to hurt me. And yet, time and time again, I look back. And I am once again as frozen as that pillar of salt.
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Death Trap
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=99823249§ion=/jw/id
by Yehuda Yifrach
The situation seemed hopeless. We were sitting ducks inside a tin, rolling coffin.
If a miracle hadn’t happened that Friday afternoon as we were driving to our Shabbat destination, this article would never have been written. Instead you would have read the standard description of a horrible terror attack. “Six Family Members of Amona Killed.” The political reactions would have been immediate; the eulogies short and heart rending.
But a guiding hand from Heaven made things happen differently, so that I am here and able to relate what happened that day.
We were on our way to spend Shabbat in the pre-military training program in Neve Zuf. We had just passed the intersection near the old British police station when out of the blue I started thinking about a number of terror attacks that had occurred and wiped out entire families. I thought of the Zur Family, the Secheveschovs, the Hutiels -- and then wondered why in the world I was bringing up these depressing incidents now.
About two kilometers west of the intersection, I had to slow the car because of a sharp swerve in the road. Suddenly I heard gun shots at close range. I yelled at my wife and kids, “Get down! We’re being shot at!” At the same time I stepped on the gas to gather speed and get out of danger’s range. To my horror the motor didn’t react. I lowered the gear and pressed on the gas pedal again and again, but realized, in shock, that the motor had died. The first bullet must have hit the mechanics inside the hood. (I later found out that the bullet passed through the radiator and oil pump, emptying the oil tank within seconds.)
The situation seemed hopeless. We were sitting ducks inside a tin, rolling coffin.
The terrorist continued firing at us methodically, another bullet every two, three seconds. Our vehicle had turned into a death trap in which my wife and our four panic-stricken children sat captives. We were likely to get hit any minute.
It was a lose-lose situation: If I get out of the car and start firing my small revolver at my unseen assailants, I’ll expose the family even more. And there is no way to flee the scene with a dead motor.
I figured that the firing was coming from the southern mountain to my right, so I turned the steering wheel and guided the car into the opposite lane, as close as possible to a rock outcrop at the side of the road, to get out of the Palestinians’ vision.
When the car stopped I quickly got out, grabbed the kids and literally threw them, one after the other, into the bushes around the edge of the mountain. The little one started to cry, “Ima!” and ran into the middle of the road hysterical. I ran after her, scooped her up and pushed her into the arms of her sister. Only then did I have a chance to release the trigger of my gun and look around for the terrorists.
There was a lull in the shooting and I imagined that they must have cut back to check on the number of victims they’d killed. So I advanced in their direction to prevent them from reaching my family when they started up again. As I crouched my way back across the road I was thinking, “How exactly am I going to conduct a shoot out with an unknown number of assailants and my small 26 Glouck revolver which has only ten bullets in it?"
I couldn’t see any sign of the attackers, so I returned to the car and decided to stop the first car that passed by to get my family out of there. The first two cars that I tried to flag down were Palestinians. They almost ran me over as they simply picked up speed and fled the scene instead of stopping for us. Right after them, a Rabatz (security officer) from one of the settlements drove up, evaluated the situation and helped me evacuate my wife and kids. Then a patrol of border police arrived, closed the road and began to sweep the area. At that point, for us the incident was finished.
But I couldn’t get over the experience. We had clearly been spared by an outright miracle. When I survey the lay of the land and the distances involved, I simply cannot understand how they didn’t hit us. They stood above the road, several meters from our slow rolling automobile, methodically shooting fatal bullets, one after another into our vehicle. Yet they missed every time (except for that first bullet which damaged the car).
For me, this was an unnerving experience. I’ve had my baptism by fire in the Army, but this was something completely different. That Shabbat eve we faced the Angel of Death and looked into the very whites of his eyes.
Even now as I’m sitting at the computer writing these lines, they could have been conducting our funerals. They could be eulogizing us, and relating how Ayelet was finishing a course in coaching and had begun her new book; how Maayan was an outstanding student and wrote the weekly family newspaper, how Ateret had finally learned to ride a two wheeler without the help of auxiliary supports, how Raanana loved to sing, and how Malachi, the baby, started to walk only this week.
When I think about that fateful Friday, how humdrum and conventional what could have been the last day of our lives. Like other people who have had near death experiences, I realize how short and precious life is and how important it should be to live it to its fullest, without wasting time and energy on day dreams, false desires and nonsense.
But beyond my personal story, I’m thinking there is the bigger one. Usually we’re all taken up with our personal lives, what I call the Small Story. We’re completely involved with our careers, our family, and the constant urgent demands on us. News and politics pass over our heads, and don’t really bother us or interest us that much. But in the background the Big Story is always there, the story of the Jewish nation, which after 2,000 years of exile finally returned and established an independent government of its own. And, as in all generations, there are no lack of those who are trying to destroy us.
There are moments in one’s life when the Big Story pushes its way into the Small Story. These are moments of clarity, when matters become crystallized, and the essence of our collective fate takes over.
The Big Story comes on the screen and reminds us of the difficult truth that we try so hard to ignore: we live in a bad neighborhood, surrounded by real and dangerous enemies, and if we don’t stand up and protect ourselves, we cannot survive.
Translated from Hebrew by Leah Abramowitz
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Note: The Glock 26 is a semi-automatic handgun, not a revolver. I very good one, I might add.
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GM,
It was translated article and that may have been lost in translation
Rarick I interpreted the whole article to be about the importance of action when dealing with one'e enemies. Sometimes there can be a struggle between faith and action but I'm pretty sure the author would agree with the idea --pray as if there is only God and act as if there is only you. However if you are not into praying or seeing miracles that is your right but the story sounds pretty miraculous to me.
Parshah Messages
The Marriage Prerequisite
By Naftali Silberberg
"Isaac was forty years old when he married Rebecca the daughter of Bethuel" (Genesis 25:20).
At the age of ninety, after many decades of childlessness, Sarah gave birth to her only child, Isaac. We can only imagine how happy she would have been had she been given the opportunity to rock one of Isaac's children, her very own ainikel, on her knee. Sarah, the very first yiddishe mama, would certainly have taken great pleasure in showing all her friends the baby pictures and videos of her grandchildren... And besides the nachas which every grandparent has from a grandchild, Sarah would also have had great spiritual satisfaction from watching her grandchildren as they grew up, as Isaac's progeny represented the future of the Jewish nation. Sarah and Abraham toiled their entire lives to proclaim the importance of the belief in One G-d. Isaac's child would be the one to ensure that this legacy would continue and flourish.
But Sarah never lived to see any grandchildren. She passed away when Isaac was 37 years old -- three years before he married Rebecca. Why did Isaac wait so long to marry? Why didn't Abraham, years earlier, consider sending his servant to fetch a wife for him from his hometown in Mesopotamia?
Why did Isaac wait so long to marry?The major event which occurred shortly before Isaac and Rebecca's wedding was the binding of Isaac on Mount Moriah. Credit for passing this test is usually attributed to Abraham. But Isaac was 37 at the time,1 was certainly aware of his father's intentions, and willingly submitted himself to be sacrificed as per G-d's command. Since Isaac's wedding plans commenced immediately upon returning from this "traumatic" event, there certainly is a correlation between the two. The fact that the first wedding in the Torah is preceded by a tremendous sacrifice is a message for every Jewish bride and groom for all time.
People are naturally self-centered. Our own physical and spiritual development and growth are foremost on our minds. This is not necessarily evil; in fact, Jewish law recognizes the primacy of a person's own welfare over all other concerns -- including the interests of others. This preoccupation with self, however, comes to a crashing halt when a person walks down the wedding aisle. At that point, bride and groom wholly commit themselves to each other. When a single person is on a sinking boat, no one will blame him for running for the life boats to save his own life, even if his friend might be asleep in their cabin. But such a move is unthinkable for the married person whose spouse is in need of assistance. Aside for their commitment to each other, husband and wife are also committed to an ideal which they both share and wish to perpetuate -- the establishment of a Jewish home, a home suffused with holiness, a home where the Divine Presence is always welcome. At this point, even the personal spiritual development of the bride and groom becomes secondary to the goal for which they are "sacrificing" themselves. The mundane task of changing a diaper suddenly takes priority over the mother's prayers or the father's study!
Isaac was not ready for marriage until he experienced firsthand the concept of total self-sacrifice. Only then was he able to appreciate marriage for what it really is, and create a marriage which was the paradigm which all his descendents attempt to emulate.
FOOTNOTES
1.
the Binding coincided with Sarah's death – and according to the Midrash, it actually caused i
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Yeah, I figured it was a translation issue. As a gun nut, I was forced to point it out. :-D
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Aging with Grace
By Mendel Kalmenson
Once there was a man who filmed his vacation. He went flying down the river in his boat with his video camera to his eye, making a moving picture of the moving river upon which his sleek boat moved swiftly toward the end of his vacation. He showed his vacation to his camera, which pictured it, preserving it forever: the river, the trees, the sky, the light, the bow of his rushing boat behind which he stood with his camera preserving his vacation even as he was having it so that after he had had it he would still have it. It would be there. With a flick of a switch, there it would be. But he would not be in it. He would never be in it."—Wendell Berry1
Seizing the Moment
V'Avraham v'Sara zekeinim ba'im bayamim. "Now, Abraham and Sarah were old, well on in years."2
If Abraham and Sarah were old, isn't it obvious that they were well on in years?3
They were always totally "there"But the Hebrew word ba'im literally means "entering." And the literal translation of bayamim is "in the days."
Hence the literal translation of the verse is: "And Abraham and Sarah were old, they entered in the days…"
They entered each day as one would enter his home, fully and without reserve. They connected with each moment and held it close. They embraced time and allowed themselves to be embraced by it.
They were always totally "there," whenever and wherever they were.
Thus, the first half of the verse refers to the amount of years, very many of them, that Abraham and Sarah lived. The second half informs us of the manner in which those years were lived.
They were no stranger to hardship; they were often its host—but they never sought escape. They didn't hide when faced with difficulties; they dealt, as best as they could.
Ignoring a moment's call, they believed, is ignoring its caller.
They truly lived life in the here and now.
Wrinkle Free
Chassidim are wont to say that age isn't told by your ID card.
Ever noticed that two people could be the same age, perhaps born on the same day, even led similar lives—yet one of them is wrinkle-free, while the other one looks ancient?
The former never let things get to him; the latter rarely did not.
The former built impregnable walls around him, afraid to fight a war; the latter's face is filled with furrows, his battle scars.
The former has an intricate defense system, mechanisms to ward off pain; the latter decided to never build one, viewing such a system – not the pain – as the enemy.
To him any form of blocking out life equals death.
Painkillers – literal or figurative – also numb joyBecause the impenetrable walls built for security don't distinguish between hate and love. They do their job indiscriminately, keeping out friend and foe alike.
Painkillers – literal or figurative – also numb joy.
Wrinkles are often a sign of hardship and grief, but they also tell the story of laughter and joy.
Time to rethink Botox?
Keeping Young
V'Avraham zaken ba bayamim. "Now, Abraham was old, well on years…"4
This verse is stated a full forty-one years after the first verse describing Abraham's (and Sarah's) age.5 Why the need for a second report?6 Isn't obvious that, unless you're Benjamin Button, someone old and well on in years only gets older and weller on-in-years as time passes?
Were this verse to refer to the quantity of years Abraham had lived, the question would stand. But it does not; it refers, again, to the quality of Abraham's life.
It is within the nature of man to grow less excitable the more he ages. For excitement and novelty are closely related. Since very little is new to him – he's seen it all – things, good or bad, rarely affect him. His mode of existence, views, and reactions are pretty much set in stone.
But Abraham was different.
He never grew old in that sense. He might have aged in years but not in spirit. He was as open to learning and change like a youngster on his first day of school.
This is the Torah's point in stating the same verse twice.
Thirty-seven years had passed between them, years filled with suffering and joy. Yet, Abraham was still young at heart.
In those nearly four decades, the entire region of Sodom had been destroyed. Sarah had been abducted by Abimelech and released.
After a lifetime of barrenness, Sarah bore him a son!
He had been brought to drive Hagar and Ishmael out of his home. There was the dispute over his property with Abimelech. Then the truce.
He opened an inn in the meantime. Then embarked on a groundbreaking campaign to promote monotheism.
He was reunited with his penitent son, Ishmael.
He was tested by G‑d many times over, culminating with the traumatic Binding of Isaac.
Most recently, his life companion and rock, his beloved Sarah, had died.
So many challenges, so many milestones, so much change… So many challenges, so many milestones, so much change… Yet, Abraham still hadn't grown old. Older in years perhaps, but not old in character.
He had every right, by now, to stop "entering" his days; but he considered that right to be wrong.
He had every excuse in the world to retire from vigorous living; But to retire would mean to expire.
Until his last day he would never stop taking messages from life.
He wore his flowing white beard and matching head of hair as one would a badge of honor. The crinkles around his eyes that hinted of countless smiles, he considered beauty marks.
What's in It for Me?
Sometimes we're so busy making a living that we forget to live. Sometimes we're so busy doing that we forget about being.
Sometimes we're so busy dodging life's curveballs that we forget to swing at its strikes.
Time passed does not mean time lived. Time managed does not mean time well spent.
Always remain open—in mind, spirit, heart, and soul, for learning never ends.7
Every day has its song. Every hour its call. Every second offers something unique and fleeting.
Every moment is heaven knocking at your door.
To be sure, the hurts of life are sometimes excruciating, and rightfully call for a needed respite, but the keys to the gates erected must always be retained, otherwise one's castle can become one's prison.8
FOOTNOTES
1.
From Entries, by Wendell Berry. New York: Pantheon, 1994.
2.
Genesis 18:11.
3.
See Midrash Rabbah, Genesis 49:16 for alternative answers. See the Rebbe's talk, upon which this essay is based, for a lengthy discussion regarding those answers.
4.
Genesis 24:1.
5.
See Likkutei Sichot vol. 35 pg. 89 footnote 3 for the calculation.
6.
See Kli Yakar and Nachmanides for alternative answers. See the Rebbe's talk for more discussion of Nachmanides' answer.
7.
Many have puzzled about the paradoxical term ascribed to a Torah scholar, "talmid chacham," which literally translates as "student-sage." Is he a student or is he a sage? I'd like to suggest, possibly the obvious, that the point here, influenced by Judaism's take on scholarship, is that a true scholar must always remain open to study, never ceasing to be a student. The two are synonymous, one and the same. The moment one concludes his studies and views himself as an established sage, he loses that very title.
8.
Based on a talk by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Likutei Sichot vol. 35 pg. 89f
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The Dry Cleaner Syndrome
The Dry Cleaner Syndrome
by Rabbi Yaakov Salomon
A new definition for insanity.
It all started a few years ago when a new dry cleaner, Kno-Washee (fictitious name, but pun intended), opened up near my house. Being the posh kind of guy that I am, I wear a fresh dress shirt every day – ironed, pressed, and starched. That means frequent trips to the dry cleaners, and being a very busy fellow, I valued the convenience that Kno-Washee was bringing to my life.
The first time I subjected my unsuspecting 100% cottons to this establishment I noticed that the Chinese clerk/alterations-lady was not, shall I say, overly-friendly.
I’m not inviting her over for Boggle, I thought. Who cares how friendly she is? Maybe if I worked in a store that was not much larger than a medium-sized toaster-oven I wouldn’t be so friendly either?
The first few deposits and withdrawals were uneventful. The starch content was a bit paltry and some English language skills could have helped matters, but the turnaround time was swift, the price was in the acceptable realm, and best of all there was no line (always important for BUSY people). I kept going.
Trouble began soon after. Unwelcome yellowed spots began to invade my wardrobe. I brought it to the attention of Miss Toaster-Oven, thinking she would be pleased to be notified that perhaps some of the laundresses in her factory were eating bananas on the job. I was mistaken.
“YOU did this,” she suggested, subtlety pointing her index sewing finger surprisingly close to my midsection.
“OIL STAIN!” she declared.
Apparently, the preparatory classes she attended concentrated on certain key phrases that would be most useful for her enterprise in my neighborhood. But “Our fault,” “We’ll try again,” and “No charge,” were not high on the list. “Oil stain,” “No understand English,” and “Next!” were all seen as more serviceable.
In my early naiveté, I would foolishly argue as to the culpability of the infraction, and occasionally she would even agree to wash them again (it didn’t help). But, by and large, I became accustomed to expecting the occasional yellow visitors every now and then.
But a short time later, Kno-Washee upped the ante – they lost one of my shirts. I liked that Hilfiger button-down. They did promise me $30 if the shirt was not found, but it took them over a month and about a dozen reminders before they declared the item irrecoverable.
I began getting more and more annoyed with them, but strangely unwilling to change venues. I asked friends which dry cleaner they frequented, but each one had his own unique tale of dissatisfaction:
“My shirts are never ready on time.” “Parking near there is impossible.” “A little pricey…”
While those annoyances seemed less severe than spots and lost shirts, I still couldn’t seem to make the obvious and necessary move. It was almost as if I preferred to complain than remedy – not entirely rational.
Related Article: Free Will: Our Greatest Power
While mired in my funk of complacency, I then received a new opportunity to make my exit – a small, but quite noticeable hole found its way about four inches from the bottom of a Hart, Schaffner, Marx selection of mine. Depending on the size of my girth on any particular day, my belt either did or didn’t cover the unwelcomed aperture. My annoyance was morphing into plain old anger, which was exacerbated by Miss Toaster-Oven’s refusal to accept responsibility for their recklessness.
Time marched on and I experienced a streak of several consecutive weeks without incident. But instead of enjoying my good fortune, I couldn't shake a sense of foreboding doom. I knew it was just a matter of time. About a week later, the shoe dropped. A gash near button number four infected the center of a Joseph A. Bank beauty that was less than three weeks old! It looked like someone had used a box cutter to iron my poor defenseless shirt. What was wrong with these people!?
This time I wasn't going to wait. I stormed out of the house and headed straight to Kno-Washee. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Once and for all I would give them a piece of my mind.
But when I hit my corner, I suddenly stopped in my tracks. This is going nowhere, I lamented. They don't even understand English. Other than just letting off some steam, there really was no point. It was then that the anger finally shifted from them to me. If I chose to suffer, I had no one to blame but myself. I declared that I simply could not, and would not go back there ever again. If the true definition of insanity is repeating the same behavior and expecting different results, I was more than qualified for the loony bin.
Related Article: Moments of Choice, Lives of Greatness
But believe it or not, four days later I went back to Kno-Washee with shirts in tow. Before you dispatch the men in the white coats to come and get me, permit me to explain. I did a lot of thinking during those four days. I had gone through a saga that was enormously frustrating and seemingly irrational. What normal, self-respecting person would subject himself to constant, predictable abuse? To be irritated with them is normal. To be upset with myself seemed also to be rational. But why couldn't I just leave? What kind of masochist had I become?
Strange as it may sound, it was my answer to these questions that told me to go back. It's not that I wanted to punish myself or that I was too timid to make the switch. I kept going back because I decided that convenience was really the number one, top priority for me. I decided that bringing my shirts to a place so close to my home, with no line (you now understand why), was actually worth the occasional mishap, misplace, or misfortune that I suffered. It was a cost that I was willing to pay, for the convenience that I desired. There was no point getting angry or upset – not at them; not at me. With that simple yet profound realization, my attitude changed completely.
We all experience our own versions of the Kno-Washee syndrome. We moan about the lousy pay, the obnoxious supervisor, or the long hours that we face at work, but more often we don't quit. First we get angry at the boss or the owner, then we get angry at ourselves for accepting the less than desirable conditions, but rarely do things change. The point is that it is really okay. In most cases, you are not a self-loathing, dysfunctional masochist. You are simply deciding that after all is said and done, the job is still worth it – despite all the travails and tribulations. It is a true expression of your free will.
We argue with our spouses and decry all the changes that they need to make, but usually we conclude that the problems we face are still worth staying in the marriage. We complain about the horrors of living in the city, but most of the loudest complainers never leave. Psychotic thinking? No. It's called prioritizing. When we keep a keen eye on what our real priorities are, our decision making process comes into sharper focus. I had discovered with a newfound clarity that getting angry at anybody was misplaced and totally unproductive.
The key to mastering this reaction is setting aside time to think through matters before they occur:
What are my priorities in this marriage/job/dry cleaner/contractor/class/computer/purchase/date etc.?
How much imperfection will I accept? Where will I draw the line?
How will I prevent frustration from morphing into useless anger?
Naturally, there are cases where real abuse does occur. And sometimes people do punish themselves and accept more suffering than is healthy. Definitely there are lines that should never be crossed. But with a little prior preparation and some clear understanding of what is most important to you in each situation, you can save yourself a lot of headaches and frustrations.
So if you can't help but snicker the next time you see me walking down the street holding my dirty shirts, I'll forgive you. Why not? I even forgave Kno-Washee.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/so/The_Dry_Cleaner_Syndrome.html
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How Rebecca Learned to Fly
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/444172/jewish/How-Rebecca-Learned-to-Fly.htm#comment
By Stacey Goldman
We all have limitations. Some of us are stagnating, feeling unable to overcome the hurdles life has placed in front of us. Some of us thrive as a result of a challenging environment -- our struggles refine our characters and make us even greater people. And sometimes, no matter what we do, we cannot seem to rise above the circumstances of our birth. Alone, we do not know how to harness the necessary tools to arrive at the next level of our spiritual journey.
A person in this situation must decide: do I stay where I am, unfulfilled yet knowing I tried my best, or do I seek help, do I attach myself to someone who can see beyond my limited vision and allow them to pull me up with them? Some of us thrive as a result of a challenging environment As much as we know we need to constantly strive, reaching out to someone else to help enable us to reach our spiritual potential takes a great deal of humility, especially if that person is your husband. This was the case with Rebecca and Isaac early on in their marriage.
The first two sentences of our Torah portion, Toldot, inform us of the familial relationships of Isaac and Rebecca:
Verse 19: These are the descendants of Isaac, son of Abraham. Abraham was the father of Isaac.
Verse 20: Isaac was forty years old when he took Rebecca, the daughter of Betuel the Aramite, of Padan Aram, the sister of Lavan the Aramite, for a wife.
We are well aware of Abraham’s righteousness, but who were Betuel the Aramite and Lavan the Aramite? We will become all too familiar with Lavan and his evil ways in the Torah portions of the coming weeks. The Midrash relates to us stories of Betuel’s evil doings as well. Despite this negative family environment, last week we read just how far Rebecca’s chesed, lovingkindness, extended with regard to Abraham’s servant Eliezer when she watered all of his camels for him. Rashi tells us that the only reason Rebecca’s lineage is mentioned here is to praise her, “She was the daughter of an evil person, the sister of an evil person, from a place of evil people, and yet, she did not learn their deeds.” She clearly rose above and beyond the circumstances of her birth!
Her limitations, however, become apparent in the next sentence:
Verse 21: Isaac prayed to G-d on behalf of his wife, for she was barren. G-d granted his prayer and his wife, Rebecca, conceived.
Is it possible, as the verse implies, that only Isaac prayed for their ability to conceive? Can you imagine a woman struggling with infertility not pouring her heart out in her own prayers? Rashi assures us that she most definitely prayed as well. Based on the Talmud, Rashi illustrates for us how they each stood in their own corner and prayed to G-d to be blessed with a child. Yet even though Rebecca was proactive and they worked together as a couple to overcome their difficulties, the text begs the question: why is Isaac’s prayer the only one mentioned and the only one explicitly answered?
Rashi’s explanation provides its own set of questions: “The Torah says ‘his prayer’ and not 'her prayer.' This is because the prayer of a Tzaddik (a righteous person) who is also the child of a Tzaddik is not the same as the prayer of a Tzaddik who is the child of a wicked person.”
What limited Rebecca was actually thinking she had limitations Is Rashi telling us that there is a qualitative difference in the prayers of Rebecca and Isaac? Actually, yes. Rebecca thought she had limitations. She did not grow up in a home of G-d-fearing people. While she was born with certain innate qualities, she had to make a conscious effort to be good and do the right thing, constantly battling the norms surrounding her. Isaac was surrounded from his time in the womb with righteous people. There was nothing to slow down his rise to great spiritual heights. There was only encouragement and continued growth. How could Rebecca’s prayer ever match that of her husband?
What limited Rebecca was actually thinking she had limitations. The Lubavitcher Rebbe tells us that while Rebecca was praying to G-d on behalf of her husband’s illustrious lineage, Isaac was praying on behalf of her incredible growth and continued potential! He said to G-d, “Please G-d, my wife grew up in the home of such wicked people as Betuel and Lavan, yet she is so righteous. She certainly deserves to be blessed with a child."
The Torah is telling us that Isaac’s prayer was the only one explicitly accepted not because of who he was, but because of who Rebecca was. Rebecca’s prayer was ineffective because she did not have enough trust in her own qualities and her own ability to achieve greatness. She could not achieve her proper role until she was able to see herself through her husband’s eyes, that she was a woman with the innate capability to reach tremendous spiritual heights both because of and in spite of her background!
Just as Isaac was able to look beyond Rebecca’s background to see the amazing qualities that would make her his ideal partner in forging the Jewish people, Rebecca was able to see how Isaac would help her to achieve what she could not do alone. He, with his pure upbringing, could open her mind to the spiritual heights she was capable of, but not fully aware of because of her background. He also knew that because of where she came from and how she was raised, she had traversed many more miles of spiritual growth than he would ever experience. With these mutual feelings of humility and respect, they were blessed with a child.
So we learn that often, to truly know who we are and what we are capable of, we have to see ourselves through the eyes of another. And that ultimately the only limitations we really have are the ones we put on ourselves.
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http://www1.yadvashem.org/exhibitions/album_Auschwitz/mutimedia/index.HTML
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Weekly Sermonette
A Ladder to Heaven
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/221035/jewish/A-Ladder-to-Heaven.htm
By Yossy Goldman
So what's the best way to get to heaven? Walk across a busy highway? Perform some amazing act of faith? Save a thousand lives? Well, a pretty good answer may be found in this week's Parshah.
We read the story of Jacob's dream and the famous ladder with its feet on the ground and head in the heavens. "And behold the angels of G-d were ascending and descending on it."
Let me ask you what they might call in Yiddish, a klotz kashe (simplistic question). Do angels need a ladder? Everyone knows angels have wings, not feet. So, if you have wings, why would you need a ladder?
There is a beautiful message here.
In climbing heavenward one does not necessarily need wings. Dispense with the dramatic. Forget about fancy leaps and bounds. There is a ladder, a spiritual route clearly mapped out for us; a route that needs to be traversed step-by-step, one rung at a time. The pathway to Heaven is gradual, methodical and eminently manageable.
Many people are discouraged from even beginning a spiritual journey because they think it needs that huge leap of faith. They cannot see themselves reaching a degree of religious commitment which to them seems otherworldly. And yet, with the gradual step-by-step approach, one finds that the journey can be embarked upon and that the destination aspired to is actually not in outer space.
When I was growing up in Brooklyn, I would pass a very big building on my way to school every morning. It was the King's County Savings Bank. All these years later I still remember the Chinese proverb that was engraved over the large portals at the entrance to the bank. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step." Now that's not only Chinese wisdom; we Jews agree. And it's not limited to starting a savings plan. It is a simple yet powerful idea that it need not be "all or nothing."
What do you think is a rabbi's fantasy? A guy walking into my office and saying, "Rabbi, I want to become 'frum' (fully observant), now tell me what I must do"? Is that what I lie awake dreaming of? And if it did happen, do you think I would throw the book at him and insist he did every single mitzvah from that moment on? Never! Why not? Because a commitment like that is usually here today and gone tomorrow. Like the popular saying goes, "Easy come, easy go." I'm afraid I haven't had such wonderful experiences with the "instant Jew" types. The correct and most successful method of achieving our Jewish objectives is the slow and steady approach. Gradual, yet consistent. As soon as one has become comfortable with one mitzvah, it is time to start on the next, and so on and so forth. Then, through constant growth, slowly but surely we become more knowledgeable, committed, fulfilled and happy in our faith.
When my father was in yeshiva, his teacher once asked the following question: "If two people are on a ladder, one at the top and one on the bottom, who is higher?" The class thought it was a pretty dumb question -- until the wise teacher explained that they were not really capable of judging who was higher or lower until they first ascertained in which direction each was headed.
If the fellow on top was going down, but the guy on the bottom was going up, then conceptually, the one on the bottom was actually higher.
And so my friends, it doesn't really matter what your starting point is or where you are at on the ladder of religious life. As long as you are moving in the right direction, as long as you are going up, you will, please G-d, succeed in climbing the heavenly heights.
Wishing you a safe and successful journey.
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Parshah Musings
Do You Remember?
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/331917/jewish/Do-You-Remember.htm
By Elisha Greenbaum
Parshah Musings
Do You Remember?
By Elisha Greenbaum
Remember doing something so embarrassingly stupid as a child that even now the memory of that moment makes you blush? Or do you remember being bullied? Think back to that sharp agony of ignominy and I bet you can even now taste the bile, and smell the sickly smell of your own humiliation.
Memories are powerful. They can pull you back into the moment with such clarity that you would swear you are still there.
I remember as a 14-year-old, away from home for the first time, studying in an overseas yeshiva. I had received a birthday/Chanukah present from my parents and wanted to write a thank-you note, which would simultaneously demonstrate that I was really studying Torah and not wasting my time.
I found a verse in this week's Torah portion where Jacob expresses his thanks to G-d for the kindnesses he'd received to date: kotonti mikol hachasodim -- "I have been humbled from all the kindnesses."1 And thus I started off my letter to home: "Dear Daddy and Mommy, kotonti mikol hachasodim..."
My stupidity was in leaving the unfinished letter lying around for others to read and make fun of.
Thinking back, I can see the humor of a 14-year-old starting a letter with such affected pomposity but at the time I was mortified by the teasing I received.
Interestingly, according to one of the explanations of the above verse, Jacob too was at that time summoning up remembrances of past humiliations.
Jacob was seemingly riding high. The down-at-heels pauper who had stumbled into the country but a few short years before had been transformed into a wealthy magnate with an excess of possessions, four wives and a host of children. Strange, then, for Jacob to declaim Kotonti -- "I feel low, unworthy, diminished."
For a person to grow, to develop, one first must undergo a process of diminishment. Every accomplishment is preceded by a period of struggle. Strength, for example, is developed by tearing one's muscles during exercise. Over the following few days the body repairs itself and larger muscles grow. Similarly, any new intellectual achievement demands focusing one's total concentration on the task at hand, during which time all one's previous knowledge is not only useless but distracting.
Some people can't do it. They get stuck in a zone of comfort. They remain so entranced by their previous accomplishment, their self-image is so locked into their vision of self as is, that they don't have sufficient breadth of vision to dream of what may be.
Jacob had previously experienced a process of self-development when he first left the comforts of home to travel out into the big wide world. Now, years later, he was traveling back to Israel a self-made man, with the opportunity to relax, comfortable in his past achievements and at ease with his new station in life. By declaring kotonti, Jacob was challenging himself to stay hungry. He was purposely summoning up those powerful memories of previous humiliations and discomfort to guarantee that he enter this new phase of life still unsatisfied, and with a reawakened drive to achieve new success.
His declaration kotonti symbolized a figurative purge of past triumphs. "I revoke everything I have strived for and attained till now," said Jacob, "and commit myself to humbly starting again."2
FOOTNOTES
1. Vayishlach 32:11.
2. Based on a talk of the Rebbe, Lekutei Sichot volume 20, page 166.
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The Garments of Marriage
By Hanna Perlberger
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1175532/jewish/The-Garments-of-Marriage.htm
Until my mid‐thirties, I was one of those Jews who thought being Jewish was a mere accident of birth, and that it was completely irrelevant and unrelated to my life. I had no Jewish radar. I didn't seek out or spot the Jewish students at college or law school. I didn't play Jewish geography, because it wasn't my landscape.
And then I went to a funeral of a Jewish woman I had never met.
Her husband was a judge, and my fiancé had gone to high school with him some thirty years ago. It was just one of those unfortunate things one has to do ‐ I wasn't expecting my world to change.
At first, I was surprised at the number of people who came to pay their respects. There were easily a few thousand people jammed into the hall. Speaker after speaker after speaker told of the untold dedication and fervent love of this woman, and the immeasurable and seemingly irreplaceable service she had rendered to the Jewish community.
I had no Jewish radarI had never known anyone like that. I was greatly moved and suddenly very afraid ‐ how could the community survive this loss? How could "we" endure it, I wondered, and I was startled that I included myself in that "we". What could I possibly do? How could I help? I felt completely inadequate. Me? Help the Jewish people? When I didn't even identify as a Jew?
So what does someone do who doesn't know the Hebrew alphabet, who hadn't even observed Yom Kippur or Rosh Hashanah for the past twenty-five years?
Not being one who ever likes to start with the basics, I took a Kabbalah class.
My plan was that for twelve weeks I would plumb the deepest and most esoteric mysteries of Judaism, and then I would volunteer for something.
I had to write a paper (this was no slouch course) on something from the Zohar. I wrote about the idea that after death, a soul is wrapped in a garment, but that the garment is comprised of all of the holy deeds that were performed during one' s lifetime. It could be like a magnificent robe, or, G‐d forbid, a small patch of cloth, or worse.
This was sixteen years ago, but this idea has guided and inspired me countless times, and I have used the imagery in other ways. After doing divorce law for years, and then, unfortunately, doing more and more divorces in the religious community, I became very interested in trying to teach the Jewish concept of "shalom bayit" (marital harmony, as it is defined).
The most powerful image for me is that marriage is a protective garment, which we must, in turn, protect. First of all, how are garments made? I don't know much about textiles, but I do remember making a potholder in camp. We all made that potholder, weaving those colorful loops in and out. The point is you need things going in both directions in order to unify them into one whole piece of cloth.
There is no coincidence that we hear the phrase "the fabric of society" or the "fabric of marriage." It's meant to harmonize disparate things into an enduring foundation, and if it falls apart, the consequences are discord and are often disastrous.
You need things going in both directions in order to unify them Without getting into the many examples of obvious bad behavior, the garments of our marriages can be ripped apart by many behaviors that we think are innocent or justified. Often, it's the little things that make it unravel. When we "innocently" make fun of our spouses, roll our eyes and "out" their idiosyncrasies, usually in their presence, we are not poking fun, we are poking holes in our garment.
When we defend our every behavior and maintain an incessant need to be right, we are tearing. When we nag, belittle and endlessly complain, the garment will lose its shape. When we don't listen to what hurts the other person, especially when we are the source of the pain, or when we don't confront our own areas where we need to grow, we are shredding.
When we don't stand up for our spouse, and insist that our children speak respectfully to him or her; when we forget that our spouse is number one and when we let other people forget it also; when we don't get off the phone or the computer when our spouses come home, so that we give the message that his or her presence doesn't make a difference and causes no shift in reality, then we are staining our garments.
Years ago, the primate exhibit at the Philadelphia Zoo burned down. At the entrance to the new and rebuilt exhibit, there is a slab of wood from one of the charred trees, on which is inscribed a quote by Margaret Mead, the famous anthropologist, who said, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful people can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."
The Torah takes this further. The Torah takes this responsibility out of committees, and drops it into our individual laps. After we left Egypt, a census was taken, and instead of counting the people, each person had to contribute a coin to charity and then the coins were counted. In my opinion, this was a defining moment. G‐d was not counting people, He wasn't counting heads, or men who could serve in the army – He was counting givers.
The nature of a slave is not to be a giver. One can't give what one doesn't have. But how many people do you know who went through the Depression and then became compulsive hoarders? How many people didn't suffer deprivation, but are afraid to give because they think it will diminish them?
G‐d set the Jews of Egypt free along with the wealth of Egypt and then taught them the lesson that in order to be really free, they must learn to give. Givers are not afraid to look illusion in the eye. I have always maintained that if you want to know who someone is, just look at his or her checkbook (I guess these days it would have to be their on‐line banking). And how are they "spending" their days and their hours? What are they doing for others? Are they making a positive difference in this world?
Giving is how we weave the very fabric of our lives. Every positive deed we perform, every act of kindness, is enduring. And that is why G‑d taught us to be givers when He counted us through giving that coin.
Givers are not afraid to look illusion in the eyeBut there was another lesson as well. The coin we gave was not a full coin. It was called machzit hashekel, half a shekel, for we were counted in pairs. We each gave a half to show that as much as we have something to give, our true ability to impact this world and produce is when we work with others, and specifically when we find and join with our soulmates, our other half.
Therefore, every time we withhold a criticism, every time we show gratitude, every time we cause someone's face to light up with a genuine compliment or lessen their pain, when we stand up for and build up our children and our spouses, and when we take the high road in our professional and business dealings, we are being givers and we are being partners. And we are getting so much more, in that we are clothing our souls by creating moments of ultimate reality that enshroud us with eternity.
Sixteen years ago, a woman named Miriam died. That day, I woke up and decided I wanted to be like her. I wanted to be a giver and I wanted to give to the Jewish people. That day, I decided that I was a Jew. That day, I began to leave Egypt and that day, I started to weave my own garment of light that I hope awaits me.
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Rachel,
What's the Jewish concept(s) of the afterlife?
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GM,
Jewish Concepts of the afterlife are lacking in details and emphasis. Here is a brief answer.
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2970/jewish/Do-Jews-Believe-in-an-Afterlife.htm
Do Jews Believe in an Afterlife?
By Tzvi Freeman
Answer:
There isn't anything after life, because life never ends. It just goes higher and higher. The soul is liberated from the body and returns closer to her source than ever before.
The Torah assumes this in its language many times -- describing Abraham's death, for example, as going to rest with his fathers and similar phrases. The Talmud discusses the experiences of several people who made the trip there and back. Classic Jewish works such as Maavor Yabok describe the process of entering the higher world of life as a reflection of the soul's experiences while within the body: If the soul has become entrenched in material pleasures, she experiences the pain of ripping herself away from them so that she can experience the infinitely higher pleasure of basking in G-dly light. If she is soiled and injured by acts that sundered her from her true self while below, then she must be cleansed and healed.
On the other hand, the good deeds and wisdom she has gained on her mission below serve as a protection for her journey upwards. You want a real good spacesuit to make this trip.
The Zohar tells us that if it were not for the intercession of the pure souls above, our world could not endure for even a moment. Each of our lives is strongly impacted by the work of our ancestors in that other world. Grandma's still watching over you.
Why should souls basking in divine light above be at all concerned about what's happening in your mundane life below? Because, there they feel the truth that is so easy to overlook while down here: that this lowly, material world is the center-stage of G-d's purpose in creating all that exists.
That is also why, at the final resolution, all souls will return to physical bodies in this world.
Here is a longer answer
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/282508/jewish/What-Happens-After-We-Die.htm
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Thanks.
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"The soul is liberated from the body and returns closer to her source than ever before. , , , If the soul has become entrenched in material pleasures, she experiences the pain of ripping herself away from them so that she can experience the infinitely higher pleasure of basking in G-dly light. If she is soiled and injured by acts that sundered her from her true self while below, then she must be cleansed and healed. On the other hand, the good deeds and wisdom she has gained on her mission below serve as a protection for her journey upwards."
Why the use of the feminine pronouns here?
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I have a very brief answer. In Hebrew, there is no "it." Every noun is either of male or female gender. In Hebrew, God is masculine and the soul is feminine.
There is probably a longer mystical answer but I don't know it .
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OK, , , but this is English, not Hebrew. I can tell because I know I can't read or speak Hebrew, but I can read this. :lol:
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I missed a piece in my explanation.
It is traditional in Jewish thought because of the Hebrew (The Holy Tongue) to refer to the soul as feminine or use no pronouns at all. It would be kind of disrespectful to call the soul an it.
Weekly Sermonette
“How Are You Today?”
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/233918/jewish/How-Are-You-Today.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Would you think that “how are you today?” can be a religious question? And that it plays an important role in a major Biblical narrative?
In this week’s Parshah, Vayeishev (Genesis 37–40), we read the dramatic story of Joseph—the technicolor dream coat, the sibling rivalry in Jacob’s family, and Joseph’s descent to Egypt, sold into slavery. After being framed by his master’s wife for scorning her attempts at seduction, young Joseph finds himself incarcerated in an Egyptian jail. There he meets the Pharaoh’s butler and baker, and correctly interprets their respective dreams. Later, when Pharaoh himself will be perturbed by his own dreams, the butler will remember Joseph, and Joseph will be brought from the dungeon to the royal court. His dream analysis will satisfy the monarch, and the young Hebrew slave boy will be catapulted to prominence and named viceroy of Egypt.
How did Joseph’s salvation begin? It began with the imprisoned Joseph noticing that the butler and baker were looking somewhat depressed. “And Joseph came to them in the morning and he saw them, and behold, they were troubled. He asked Pharaoh’s officials . . . ‘Why do you look so bad today?’” (Genesis 40:6–7). They tell him about their disturbing dreams, he interprets the dreams correctly, and the rest is history.
But why did Joseph have to ask them anything at all? Why was it so strange to see people in prison looking sad? Surely depression is quite the norm in dungeons. Wouldn’t we expect most people in jail to look miserable?
According to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the answer is that Joseph was exhibiting a higher sense of care and concern for his fellow human beings. Torn away from his father and home life, imprisoned in a foreign land, he could have been forgiven for wallowing in his own miseries. Yet, upon seeing his fellow prisoners looking particularly unsettled, he was sensitive enough to take the time to inquire about their well-being. In the end, not only did he help them, but his own salvation came about through that fateful encounter. Had he thought to himself, “Hey, I’ve got my own problems, why worry about them?” he might have languished in prison indefinitely.
Sometimes, says the Rebbe, a simple “how are you today?” can prove historic.
It’s a lesson to all of us to be a little friendlier. To greet people, perhaps even to smile more often.
Some years ago, after studying in the Talmud how one of the great sages declared that he had never allowed anyone else to greet him first but always made a point of initiating the greeting, I made a personal resolution to try and put this approach into practice. Every Shabbat I walk quite a few kilometers to and from our shul here in Johannesburg. I pass by many fellow pedestrians, mostly local black residents. Rarely had any of them greeted me, but now I am the one to say “good morning” to them. They always respond, though I must confess that some do look rather surprised. In a country where for many years they were not acknowledged as full-fledged citizens, a simple “hello” can become a very humanizing experience. Conversely, I am sometimes unpleasantly surprised when, ironically, a fellow Jew will walk right by me without even so much as a nod.
When we meet someone we know and ask, “Hey, how are you doing?” do we wait for the answer? Try this experiment. Next time you are asked how you are doing, answer “Lousy!” See if the other person is listening and responds, or just carries on his merry way, oblivious to your response.
Aside from Joseph’s many outstanding qualities which we ought to try and emulate, in this rather simple passage Joseph reminds us to be genuinely interested in other people’s well-being. And that it should not be beneath our dignity, nor should we be inhibited, to make an honest and sincere inquiry as to their condition. Who knows? It may not only change their lives, but ours.
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"I missed a piece in my explanation. It is traditional in Jewish thought because of the Hebrew (The Holy Tongue) to refer to the soul as feminine or use no pronouns at all. It would be kind of disrespectful to call the soul an it."
Thank you.
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Image and Influence
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/455031/jewish/Image-and-Influence.htm
By Yossy Goldman
How much do our parents and grandparents influence us? Of course, the genes we inherit from them determine lots of important things about us – from our cholesterol levels to when we will go grey. But what about emotionally or spiritually?
I'd like to suggest that they influence us more than we might care to admit. We also tend to underestimate the potential they have in molding the value systems of the next generation.
A powerful case in point is the story in this week's Parshah. Joseph is sold into slavery down in Egypt and winds up in the house of Potiphar. His master's wife casts her lustful gaze on the handsome young man and repeatedly attempts to seduce him. Joseph is consistent in his refusal to even consider her advances. Then one day, the entire household goes to the temple for a special occasion. She feigns illness in order to be home alone with Joseph. He comes to the house "to do his work" (Genesis 39:11). Rashi offers two interpretations: the simple--that he came to work; and another, that he actually came to do his work with her!
Determined as he was, on this occasion Joseph was beginning to falter. Morale and morality were weakening and it seemed as if he was about to succumb to the temptress' entreaties.
Then suddenly something happened to help Joseph regain his senses and self-control. What was it--did they come home early? Did the postman ring the bell? Says Rashi, there appeared before Joseph an vision, an vision so potent that it restored his composure there and then. What was that image? Quoting the Talmud, Rashi says it was "the image of the visage of his father." Joseph suddenly saw his father Jacob's face, and with that his moral resolve was restored.
Was this a telepathic message transmitted from the Holy Land? According to the simple reading, at that stage Jacob didn't even know that Joseph was alive. He had been missing and presumed dead, devoured by a wild animal. The straightforward understanding of this Talmudic passage is that Joseph remembered his father and envisioned his patriarchal face, the classical image of the sage with the long, white beard. And with that image in his mind, Joseph found renewed spiritual stamina to resist temptation.
Some might understand this episode as Joseph not wanting to disappoint his aged father. Others might see the image as a catalyst evoking in Joseph his own latent spiritual resources. Either way, with Jacob's visage in his mind, Joseph wasn't prepared to lose the moral high ground. He couldn't and wouldn't do it to his dad. And, through his father; Joseph remembered who he was--a proud son of Jacob and grandson of Isaac and Abraham.
Such was the effect Jacob had on Joseph and such is the effect every father and mother, grandfather and grandfather, can potentially bring to bear on their offspring. Of course, they would have to be respected by their children as men and women of stature for their image to represent any kind of moral symbolism. If the image of a parent or grandparent would send a signal to the young person to, say, "go for it, my boy!" then clearly the system will fail. I can safely say that if not for the image of my own father and grandfather and their subtle influence on me, I would never have become a rabbi. They didn't push me at all but their influence was profound. Just their image, their character and very being, was enough to guide me in the right direction during my own wavering moments of youthful indecision.
Joseph was nearly lost way down in Egypt land but that one image of his father saved him from sin and helped him go on to achieve greatness. May we all be good role models and may our own images help inspire our children and grandchildren
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Chanukah-- Starts at sundown tongiht! How did that happen??? Happy Chanukah!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDV_reO930A&feature=related
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDV_reO930A&feature=related[/youtube]
What is Chanukah?
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/98951/jewish/What-is-Chanukah.htm
By Tzvi Freeman
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/98951/jewish/What-is-Chanukah.htm
Did Chanukah happen years ago? Or is it happening now? Was there ever a time when it was not happening? The story of a little candle pushing away the monster of frightening darkness is ever-alive within each of us—and in the world outside of us.
You might call it the cosmic mega-drama. Watch it happen at the dawn of each day and at every winter solstice, with every breath of life, every cry of a newborn child, every blade of grass that breaks out from under the soil, every flash of genius, every stroke of beauty, every decision to do good in the face of evil, to build where others destroy, to move humanity forward when others pull us toward chaos. All those and more are Chanukah.
Some History
You would have thought the Jewish people and the ancient Greeks would get along. After all, they had so much in common. Both valued wisdom and beauty. Many Greek philosophers even acknowledged a single, great Mind behind all the cosmos, similar to Jewish monotheism.
Well, they did manage somewhat—at first. The Jews tolerated Greek rule from the time of Alexander of Macedonia. Many Jews studied Hellenistic philosophy, and King Ptolemy had the Jewish Torah translated into Greek. But when King Antiochus attempted to force Hellenism down our throats, we rebelled.
Antiochus forbade ritual circumcision. Mothers openly circumcised their infant boys in defiance. Antiochus forbade the keeping of the Sabbath. Jews were forced to leave Jerusalem so they could keep the day of rest holy. Antiochus forbade the study of Torah as a sacred text. Jews found ways to teach classes of children and adults in secret. When the Greeks raised up idols in the cities and towns and demanded that the Jews worship them, all-out war ensued.
It was the first time in history that a people had fought not for their country or their lives, but for their beliefs and their right to religious freedoms.
Problem was, the Syrian-Greek army was the most powerful in the world. Their soldiers marched in a compact formation of overlapping shields and long spears, almost invincible in those times. They had advanced weapons, were highly trained and, even brought elephants to the battlefield. The Jewish resistance, on the other hand, began with a handful of brothers of the priestly class, calling themselves the Maccabees.
There were many acts of courage, but the Maccabees firmly believed that their victory came from Above. Eventually, they received a sign that it was so: When they took back Jerusalem and the Temple, they searched and found a single flask of undefiled olive oil—just what was needed to light the sacred menorah. Although the flask held only enough for a single day, the light of the menorah miraculously burned for eight complete days, providing just enough time to prepare new oil. To the Jewish people, this was like a nod from Above that yes, He was with us all along.
Chanukah Insights:
Miracles
Without miracles, we might come to believe that the laws of physics define reality. Once we witness the inexplicable, we see that there is a higher reality. And then we look back at physics and say, “This too is a miracle.” The miracle of a small flask of oil burning for eight days was this sort of miracle.
Then there are those small miracles that occur every day. Those acts of synchronicity we call “coincidence” because in them G‑d prefers to remain anonymous. But when we open our eyes and hearts, we see there is truly no place void of this wondrous, unlimited G‑d. These were the sort of miracles the Maccabees saw in their battles against the mighty Greek army.
The Power of the Individual
Chanukah was a victory of few over many. Each Maccabee was a hero, essential to the victory.
One could think that in those days, when the population of the world was so much smaller, a single individual would have more power to change the world. In fact, just the opposite is true. Technology and information have put enormous power in the hands of whoever wants it.
Just sixty and some years ago, one madman came to the verge of destroying the world. His failure to develop atomic weapons on time is still inexplicable—it can only be attributed to the great mercies of the One Above who takes care of His world and promised that it would always stand. Today we have seen that not even an army is needed, nor warheads or missiles—but only an obsessive will to destroy.
Such is the power of darkness. A thousand times more is the power of light, of any one of us to transform the entire world to good. A small child kissing the mezuzah on the door of her house, an act of kindness asking nothing in return, a sacrifice of convenience to benefit another—each of these things are like bursts of light in the nighttime sky. True, they make less noise. Rarely are they reported in the daily news. But while darkness passes like the shadows of clouds on a windy day, this light endures, accumulating until it leaves no room for evil to remain.
The Mind and Beyond
Today’s Western society is built on the foundations of these two cultures, the Jewish and the Greek. Both treasured the human mind. The Greeks reached the pinnacle of intellect at their time. But the experience of Mount Sinai had taught the Jew that there is something greater than the human mind. There is a G‑d, indescribable and inexplicable. And therefore, a world could not be built on human reason alone.
The idea annoyed the Greeks to no end. While they appreciated the wisdom of the Torah, they demanded that the Jews abandon the notion that it was something Divine.
Ethics, to an ancient Greek, meant that which is right in the eyes of society. To a Jew, it means that which is right in the eyes of G‑d. The difference is crucial: ethics built solely on the convenience of the time can produce a society where human beings are treated as numbers in a computer, or where the central value is the accumulation of wealth. At its extreme, it can produce a Stalinist Russia or a Nazi Germany.
A healthy mind is one that recognizes that there will always be wonder, because G‑d is beyond the human mind. And a healthy society is a balanced one, whose soil nurtures human accomplishment but whose bedrock is the ethical standard of an Eternal Being.
Last Word
Some people are waiting for a final, apocalyptic war. But the final war is not fought on battlefields, nor at sea, nor in the skies above. Neither is it a war between leaders or nations. The final war is fought in the heart of each human being, with the armies of his or her deeds in this world. The final war is the battle of Chanukah and the miracle of light.
Also by Tzvi Freeman:
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Thank you for that Rachel.
Anyone have the Adam Sandler version?
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The Power of the Individual
Chanukah was a victory of few over many. Each Maccabee was a hero, essential to the victory.
One could think that, in those days, when the population of the world was so much smaller, a single individual would have more power to change the world. In fact, just the opposite is true. Technology and information has put enormous power in the hands of whoever wants it.
In recent history, one madman came to the verge of destroying the world. His failure to develop atomic weapons on time is still inexplicable -- it can only be attributed to the great mercies of the One Above who takes care of His world and promised it would always stand. Today we have seen that not even an army is needed, nor warheads or missiles -- but only an obsessive will to destroy.
Such is the power of darkness.
A thousand times over is the power of light, of any one of us to transform the entire world to good. A small child kissing the mezuzah on the door of her house, an act of kindness asking nothing in return, a sacrifice of convenience to benefit another -- each of these things are as bursts of light in the nighttime sky. True, they make less noise. Rarely are they reported in the daily news. But while darkness passes as the shadows of clouds on a windy day, this light endures, accumulating until it leaves no room for evil to remain.
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A really fun parody,Chanukah story
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSJCSR4MuhU&feature=player_embedded
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSJCSR4MuhU&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
Light One Candle/The Holiness of Chanukah
This is more somber --One of my favorite Rabbis followed by my favorite Chanukah song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucFvlXOdlgY
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucFvlXOdlgY[/youtube]
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The Dog Tag Dilemma
By Doron Kornbluth
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/1372053/jewish/The-Dog-Tag-Dilemma.htm
Do you know what a Protestant B is? I know what a Protestant is, and I know what a Catholic is, and I know what a Jew is . . . but until recently, I had never heard of a Protestant B.
I learned what a Protestant B is from an essay by Debra Darvick that appeared in an issue of Hadassah Magazine. It is a chapter from a book she is working on about the American Jewish experience. And this essay is about the experience of retired Army Major Mike Neulander, who now lives in Newport News, Virginia, and who is now a Judaic silversmith. This is his story.
Then, as now, Jews were forbidden by Saudi law to enter the countryDog tags. When you get right down to it, the military’s dog tag classification forced me to reclaim my Judaism.
In the fall of 1990, things were heating up in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. I had been an Army captain and a helicopter maintenance test pilot for a decade, and received notice that I would be transferred to the First Cavalry Division, which was on alert for the Persian Gulf War. Consequently, I also got wind of the Department of Defense “dog tag dilemma” vis-à-vis Jewish personnel. Then as now, Jews were forbidden by Saudi law to enter the country. But our Secretary of Defense flat-out told the king of Saudi Arabia, “We have Jews in our military. They’ve trained with their units and they’re going. Blink and look the other way.”
With Kuwait occupied and the Iraqis at his border, King Fahd did the practical thing. We shipped out, but there was still the issue of classification. Normally the dog tags of Jewish servicemen are imprinted with the word “Jewish.” But Defense, fearing that this would put Jewish soldiers at further risk should they be captured on Iraqi soil, substituted the classification “Protestant B” on the tags. I didn’t like the whole idea of classifying Jews as Protestant-anything, and so I decided to leave my dog tag alone. I figured if I were captured, it was in G‑d’s hands. Changing my tags was tantamount to denying my religion, and I couldn’t swallow that.
In September 1990 I went off to defend a country that I was prohibited from entering. The “Jewish” on my dog tag remained as clear and unmistakable as the American star on the hood of every Army truck.
A few days after my arrival, the Baptist chaplain approached me. “I just got a secret message through channels,” he said. “There’s going to be a Jewish gathering. A holiday? Simkatoro or something like that. You want to go? It’s at 1800 hours at Dhahran Airbase.”
Simkatoro turned out to be Simchat Torah, a holiday that hadn’t registered on my religious radar in eons. Services were held in absolute secrecy in a windowless room in a cinder block building. The chaplain led a swift and simple service. We couldn’t risk singing or dancing, but Rabbi Ben Romer had managed to smuggle in a bottle of Manischewitz. Normally I can’t stand the stuff, but that night, the wine tasted of Shabbat and family and Seders of long ago. My soul was warmed by the forbidden alcohol and by the memories swirling around me and my fellow soldiers. We were strangers to one another in a land stranger than any of us had ever experienced, but for that brief hour, we were home.
The wind was blowing dry across the tent, but inside there was an incredible feeling of celebrationOnly Americans would have had the chutzpah to celebrate Simchat Torah under the noses of the Saudis. Irony and pride twisted together inside me like barbed wire. Celebrating my Judaism that evening made me even prouder to be an American, thankful once more for the freedoms we have. I had only been in Saudi Arabia a week, but I already had a keen understanding of how restrictive its society was.
Soon after, things began coming to a head. The next time I was able to do anything remotely Jewish was Chanukah. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe it was G‑d’s hand that placed a Jewish colonel in charge of our unit. Colonel Lawrence Schneider relayed messages of Jewish gatherings to us immediately. Had a non-Jew been in that position, the information would likely have taken a back seat to a more pressing issue. Like war. But it didn’t.
When notice of the Chanukah party was decoded, we knew about it at once. The first thing we saw when we entered the tent was food, tons of it. Care packages from the States—cookies, latkes, sour cream and applesauce, and cans and cans of gefilte fish. The wind was blowing dry across the tent, but inside there was an incredible feeling of celebration. As Rabbi Romer talked about the theme of Chanukah and the ragtag bunch of Maccabee soldiers fighting Jewry’s oppressors thousands of years ago, it wasn’t hard to make the connection to what lay ahead of us. There, in the middle of the desert, inside an olive green tent, we felt like we were the Maccabees. If we had to go down, we were going to go down fighting, as they did.
We blessed the candles, acknowledging the King of the Universe who commanded us to kindle the Chanukah lights. We said the second prayer, praising G‑d for the miracles He performed, in those days and now. And we sang the third blessing, the Shehecheyanu, thanking G‑d for keeping us in life and for enabling us to reach this season.
We knew war was imminent. All week we had received reports of mass destruction, projections of the chemical weapons that were likely to be unleashed. Intelligence estimates put the first rounds of casualties at 12,500 soldiers. I heard those numbers and thought, “That’s my whole division!” I sat back in my chair, my gefilte fish cans at my feet. They were in the desert, about to go to war, singing songs of praise to G‑d who had saved our ancestors in battle once before.
The feeling of unity was as pervasive as our apprehension, as real as the sand that found its way into everything from our socks to our toothbrushes. I felt more Jewish there on that lonely Saudi plain, our tanks and guns at the ready, than I had ever felt back home in synagogue.
That Chanukah in the desert solidified for me the urge to reconnect with my Judaism. I felt religion welling up inside me. Any soldier will tell you that there are no atheists in foxholes, and I know that part of my feelings were tied to the looming war and my desire to get with G‑d before the unknown descended in the clouds of battle. It sounds corny, but as we downed the latkes and cookies and wiped the last of the applesauce from our plates, everyone grew quiet, keenly aware of the link with history, thinking of what we were about to do and what had been done by soldiers like us so long ago.
Silently, he withdrew the metal rectangle and its beaded chain from beneath his shirt The trooper beside me stared ahead at nothing in particular, absentmindedly fingering his dog tag. “How’d you classify?” I asked, nodding to my tag. Silently, he withdrew the metal rectangle and its beaded chain from beneath his shirt and held it out for me to read. Like mine, his read, “Jewish.”
Somewhere in a military depot someplace, I am sure that there must be boxes and boxes of dog tags, still in their wrappers, all marked “Protestant B.”
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The idea of Jewish religious ceremonies and Manischewitz being consumed on Saudi soil just makes me very, very happy.
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A Little Bit of Oil Can Go a Long Way: How Jews Defeat Defeatism
http://www.jewinthecity.com/2010/12/a-little-bit-of-oil-can-go-a-long-way-defeatism-and-judaism/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+JewInTheCity+(Jew+in+the+City)
Would you set out on an important road trip if you only had enough gas for the first 20 miles and no forseeable way of filling your car up for a week? If you were a Maccabee you would.
I recently started wondering why the Jews decided to light the menorah with the paltry sum of oil they found. Why bother lighting an eternal light that you know you can't keep burning? Why not just wait a week until you have enough oil to do the mitzvah properly?
Because when the chance to fulfill a mitzvah comes up, we're supposed to jump on it, even if it can't always be done perfectly. So often in life, we miss out on wonderful opportunities because the conditions surrounding them aren't ideal.
Only problem is, if you wait around for the perfect scenario to come about, you may end up waiting indefinitely. Perhaps one of the reasons the Maccabees weren't defeated is because they weren't defeatists.
They gave all they had when it came to the war even though their chances of winning were impossible. They jumped on the opportunity to rekindle the menorah even though they knew their resources were insufficient. Then they let go and relied on God for the rest.
The story of Chanukah is remarkable because God did come through in those two instances (the oil and the war) and repaid the efforts of the Maccabees with miracles, but truth be told, life doesn't always work out so well.
So why start a task if there's a good chance that it will get derailed along the way by events that are out of our control - or if you know you don't have the fortitude, ability, or resources to complete it yourself? Our sages tell us "lo alecha hamlacha ligmor v'lo atah ben chorine le'hebatel meemenah" - we're not obligated to finish the work, but we're also not allowed to neglect it. We can't let the audaciousness of the task intimidate us and prevent us from doing whatever we can.
What that means on a practical level is that when it comes to accomplishing, the key is jump right in with all of the resources and talents that we do have. God will (or won't) step in to do the rest - by miracles or through the help of others - but we'll have done our part. If we focus only on the end result, we'll never take that first, trail-blazing step, and the journey will be over before it's even begun.
Happy Chanukah!
MATISYAHU ON ICE ("MIRACLE")
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gv-7WdpB72o&feature=player_embedded
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gv-7WdpB72o&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
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They say the most profound darkness comes just before the dawn. The harshest oppression of our forefathers in Egypt came just before their liberation.
That was a coarse darkness of slavery of the body. Today it is a darkness of the soul, a deep slumber of the spirit of Man. There are sparks of light, glimmerings of a sun that never shone before --but the darkness of night overwhelms all.
Prepare for dawn.
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Re-Defining Normal
My Brother Josh
By Ariella Sunny Levi
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1360703/jewish/Re-Defining-Normal.htm
The author with her brother
I spent twenty years of my life wishing he were “normal.” Imagining. Yearning. Wondering about ordinary things like—what would he be like? What would he look like? Would we get along, and what would we have in common? I tried to picture us going to the same school. I fantasized about bumping into him in the hallways and meeting up inadvertently at the water fountain. I reveled in the imagined sibling coziness of sharing snacks at recess, playing tag on the playground, and laughing out loud about our teachers.
As I got a little older I began to wonder if he would be cool, what his style would be like, and if my friends would have crushes on him like they did on my other two brothers.
I spent twenty years of my life wishing he were “normal”But growing up with Josh, my blind and severely disabled older brother, did not come with the usual perks of riding in the same carpool, playing tag, or sharing a granola bar bite-for-bite. Growing up with Josh came with, among many other emotions, a feeling of being cheated out of a sibling. Sure, he was my big brother, but due to his condition it was impossible for us to have a “normal” relationship. He couldn’t see me. Couldn’t understand me. Couldn’t have a coherent conversation with me. And couldn’t even argue with me.
As we grew up and I became more independent, he didn’t. It was hard for me to accept that he would never “get better” and learn to see or think. There I was starting to read, write, cross the street and pour myself a cup of juice—basic things that most people take for granted—and my older brother couldn’t—and wouldn’t—ever be able to do any of those things.
Instead, Josh taught himself to unscrew doorknobs and cabinet handles, climb up bookshelves, and splash barefoot in the toilets. He made lots of strange, loud noises, hurled nuts and bolts through the air at dangerous speeds, and repeatedly waved his arms around his head as if he were trying to swat a hundred flies at once.
By the time Josh turned twelve years old, his needs were so great that my parents decided to place him in a group home that would provide a 24/7 controlled environment. When I was told about his upcoming move I was both relieved and heartbroken. Even though living under the same roof with Josh was difficult, I was sure going to miss him. Plus, watching a totally helpless sibling get—from my young perspective—evicted, was not an easy pill to swallow. I felt bad for Josh, mad at G‑d, and frustrated with every aspect of the situation.
How could it be, I wondered, that a loving G‑d would do such a horrible thing to my brother? How could it be that a merciful G‑d, who can perform all sorts of amazing miracles, was refusing my simple, pure-hearted request for my brother to heal up and be normal? It didn’t make any sense to me. Therefore, I reasoned, it must be that G‑d wasn’t actually all that loving or merciful after all.
While I was busy struggling with divinity and spiritual disillusionment at the age of nine, Josh’s life was being packed up in boxes and moved out. His new “home” was a thirty-minute drive from our house, and on Sundays my family and I would pile into the car and drive out to visit him. Seeing him in his new place, among a bunch of other evicted, disfigured, disabled and generally scary-looking boys, was heart-wrenching for me. For a while I was too sad to even go inside. I would wait in the car for him to come out. But Josh didn’t seem to mind the new situation too much. This was his new home. These boys were his new friends. And this was something I was going to have to accept.
How could it be, I wondered, that a loving G‑d would do such a horrible thing to my brother? And I did. Sort of.
Life went on as usual. Our noisy house quieted down in some ways, but it was still as bustling and busy as ever. The rush of daily life with four teenagers in the house was dynamic, even deafening at times. And before I knew it, so much had changed. We were all growing up. There were bar and bat mitzvahs, driver’s tests, SATs, high school graduations, summer jobs, college graduations, weddings, and then babies!
We were all moving on and moving away, going off into the world to pursue our dreams and follow our hearts. But not much had changed in Josh’s life. There were no major milestones to celebrate. No bar mitzvah, no graduation, no driver’s license, no job. He did move into a different group home in a neighboring suburb of Chicago, but that was about it.
The six of us kids have now all grown up. Three of my siblings live in Israel, one lives in New York, and Josh and I live in Chicago. Aside from Josh, we are all busy with our lives, families, friends, and jobs. Communication with one another is infrequent and rushed. A short email every now and then, or a phone call before a holiday, has become the norm.
But being Josh’s only sibling in Chicago, I feel a deep responsibility to be there for him. I make an effort to follow in my parents’ footsteps, pile in the car on Sundays with my husband and kids, and make the trek out to the suburbs to visit him. We pick him up and take him out in nature to picnic, play, and walk arm-in-arm through big empty fields.
My kids enjoy holding his soft, delicate hands and feeding him pretzels. They are not afraid of their uncle Josh, not even when he screams loudly, shakes his arms, or waves his hands around his head in hot pursuit of a hundred invisible flies. They have learned to accept and understand his differences, and they have become sensitive to people with disabilities.
I have learned to slow down and appreciate the little things, especially the little triumphs my kids make and the ways they play with each other. My husband has learned to take his brother-in-law, a man older than himself, to the bathroom, respectfully and humbly.
My kids enjoy holding his soft, delicate hands. They are not afraid of their uncle Josh, not even when he screams loudlyReflecting on my Sundays with Josh, I find that in many ways I actually have “more” of a relationship with Josh than with my normal siblings. Who else can I walk with arm-in-arm through the forest at a snail’s pace? Who else can I sit with silently and enjoy the sound of the chirping birds and the rustling leaves? Who else wants to sit on the ground and eat a picnic of trail mix and leftover Shabbat food with me and my kids? Which other sibling of mine has this kind of time? And if they did, which one of them would ever want to spend it in this way?
No, instead we use our ability to speak—to rush through a trivial conversation. We use our gift of vision to look at each other and comment on our superficial appearances. But with Josh, there is so much more than words. So much more than what meets the eye. It’s pure arm-in-arm, hand-in-hand, silent, sincere, spiritual togetherness. There is nobody in the world, other than Josh, with whom I have such a relationship. It's the most grounding and profound relationship that I know.
So I no longer wonder what life would be like if Josh were “normal.” I have four other siblings, and I know from them that if Josh were normal he too would probably be too busy with work and family to spend quality time with me, and therefore we wouldn’t really have much to do with each other. I deeply appreciate our special connection, and I see G‑d’s blessing in it. After so many difficult years of wishing I could change reality, I finally accept it with love and see its purpose and beauty. I have redefined my definition of normal. And most importantly, I see that for all those years, I was the one who couldn’t see. Josh has remained constant in so many ways. It was I who was living in my own world, unable to communicate with him. It was I who made it impossible to have a relationship. Josh was always there.
Thank G‑d for giving sight to the blind. That He opened my eyes before it was too late.
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The Mark Madoff Tragedy
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
Do the sins of the fathers get transmitted to the children?
The handsome prince had it all.
It was a life of luxury that knew no limits. Private jets, magnificent mansions, unlimited funds to satisfy every whim. The ending? Death by suicide, hanging from his dog’s leash, the body unceremoniously cremated without so much as a kind word recited by way of final eulogy.
That is the remarkable story of Mark Madoff, son of Bernie Madoff responsible for the multibillion-dollar Ponzi scheme that left thousands of unsuspecting investors defrauded of much, if not all, of their life's savings.
Related Article: The Madoff Madness
The life and death of Mark Madoff is truly a powerful morality tale. But there's one part of the story that begs for clarification from a Jewish perspective.
Journalists and media commentators have been all too quick in declaring that what we've seen here is a perfect illustration of "biblical justice." Whether Mark himself was guilty or not is beside the point, they say; doesn't the Bible itself teach us in the Ten Commandments that God “remembers the sins of the fathers upon the children”?
According to the Torah, does liability for sin get transmitted from generation to generation even if the descendents have done no wrong?
Unequivocally no. The Torah itself clearly rejects this approach. When God instructs judges on how to ethically and morally fulfill their divine task he tells them in no uncertain terms, “Fathers shall not be put to death for the sins of children, neither shall children be put to death for the sins of the fathers; every man shall be put to death only for his own sin” (Deuteronomy 24:16).
The prophet Ezekiel put it beautifully. “Shall the parents eat sour grapes,” he castigated the people, “and the children's teeth be set on edge?” (Ezekiel 18:1– 3). There is no way God would allow the results of sin to affect the innocent, just as only those who choose to eat sour grapes suffer the natural consequences.
So what is the meaning of the sentence that God “remembers the sins of the fathers upon the children”? While there are a number of different possibilities for what the verse is actually teaching, the explanation that has always spoken most powerfully to me is the one offered by Samson Raphael Hirsch, the prominent 19th century rabbinic scholar.
Whenever God sees someone sin, the Torah tells us the first thing He does is to “remember the sins of the father.” What made the child commit the crime? Was it solely his own fault or was his waywardness due to the fact that he had no proper parental guidance? Was he denied a decent role model by his father and mother? Did he grow up without the benefit of ethical counsel from his elders that could have helped him to lead a life in accord with Torah law? What were the sins of the father that must become part of the total picture determining the extent of the son’s guilt?
In short, what God does is to take into account the nature of one's upbringing before passing judgment on the severity of that person's sins. God remembers - not to punish the innocent but to find a measure of exoneration for the guilty, to mitigate their culpability.
Ironically, the very verse that demonstrates such a great measure of divine compassion is all too often misunderstood as implying a cruel and unjust heavenly system that allows for penalizing the innocent simply because of their biological antecedents.
That is why no one deserves to be condemned for parental crimes, no matter how severe. As of now neither I nor anyone else knows for sure whether Mark Madoff was party to his father's transgressions or not.
We do know that Mark and his brother turned their father into the FBI. We do know that Mark cut off all communication with his father and never spoke to him from the time the Ponzi scheme became public knowledge.
Is it possible that he was a co-conspirator in the greatest theft of private investment funds in history? Of course. But without the certainty we need to withhold our final judgment. Mark did not deserve his horrible end simply because he is his father's son.
Let's try to remember the sins of the father as we think about Mark, and perhaps that will allow us to show a little more compassion for him.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ci/s/The_Mark_Madoff_Tragedy.html
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My Mother’s Candle for Me
By Abraham J. Twerski
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1235774/jewish/My-Mothers-Candle-for-Me.htm
Paiting by Zalman Kleinman
One Friday evening the conversation at the table turned to the Shabbat candles, whose kindling is in itself a beautiful way of ushering in the sacred day of rest. Lighting a candle is rich in symbolism.
There are acts which we do totally for ourselves, and others which may be completely altruistic. Generating light, however, defies such limitations. I may light the candle for myself, but I cannot contain the light, because of necessity it illuminates the room for others. If I create light for the benefit of another, I too can see better.
What better way to begin the Shabbat, the final step in creation of the universe and its ultimate goal, than by lighting the candles, an act which symbolically binds the inhabitants of the world together. None of us can be an island; what I do affects you, and what you do must have bearing upon me. If we could only realize this, we would well understand why the candle lighting is referred to by our sages as an essential for peace in the household. Dissension can occur only when individuals believe they are separate and distinct and can each go their own particular way, untouched by one another.
Our Shabbat guest asked why there were six candles burning on our table rather than the usual two.
One of the lights Mother kindled each Friday night was for me. I told him it was traditional in many families to begin lighting two candles after marriage, and to add an additional candle for each child. One of the lights Mother kindled each Friday night was for me. I recall how much this had meant to me as a child, when I used to watch the flames flicker and realize that the house, nay, the world, was a brighter place because of my existence.
The full impact of this message did not occur until many years later, when it became evident to me in my psychiatric practice that countless people have emotional problems and varying psychological symptoms because of deep-seated feelings of inadequacy.
There are numerous reasons why people have unwarranted feelings of inferiority, and this is not the place to elaborate on these. Suffice it to say that anything that can be done to counteract these influences contributes to a person's sense of adequacy and wholesomeness, and allows a more satisfactory adjustment to life.
Non-verbal communications are frequently more impressive than verbal. The weekly message to a child, delivered at the initiation of Shabbat, that his being has brought additional brightness into the home can be a powerful ingredient in one's personality development.
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A Transformed Identity
Parshat Shemot
By Chana Kroll
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/592570/jewish/A-Transformed-Identity.htm
Determining right from wrong is something that we are constantly challenged with throughout our lives. Yet nothing is harder to face and acknowledge than when the "wrong" is happening in our own homes and the "right" is something that we were raised to believe is completely foreign, and if anything, evil.
She is a prime example of someone who faced this challenge
In the Torah portion, Shemot, we are introduced to a woman known as Bat Pharaoh, simply, the daughter of Pharaoh. She is a prime example of someone who faced this challenge and taught us that we all have the strength to overcome it. And once she does, she is then referred to by her true name, Batya.
She gets up while it is still night, sustaining her household and giving a portion to her maidens. – A Woman of Valor, Proverbs 31:15.
According to one interpretation of our Sages, each verse of A Woman of Valor, composed by King Solomon, refers to a uniquely outstanding Biblical or historic woman. Two of these women, Batya and Rachav, were women who converted to Judaism as adults. Both came from cultures - indeed, from families - steeped in idolatry and licentiousness, yet each managed to see past the lives they were born into, recognize holiness and embrace it.
What makes Batya's story all the more compelling is that, as her corresponding verse states, "She gets up while it is still night." Night is always a symbol for exile, for during the night we are surrounded by darkness, unable to see what is real, even if it is right in front of us. In the dark, everything loses its proper form, its proper place. It is easy to get lost and confused. And yet, when we know that following the night will come the day, that right after the dark there will be light, we are not only not scared of it, but able to face it and work through it, confident that in time the truth will show itself.
Growing up as the daughter of Pharaoh, she saw firsthand her father's immense cruelty and abuse of power, while hearing every decree uttered against the Jewish people. When Pharaoh contracted a severe type of leprosy, his "healers" told him that the only cure would be to bathe in the blood of Jewish infants every day, and without hesitation he ordered hundreds of babies to be killed. In order to save the lives of the babies, G-d healed his disease, yet Pharaoh soon issued another decree, this time that all male Jewish infants be killed and all females kidnapped and raised in Egyptian idolatry.
Perhaps there were others in the world who heard what was happening and felt pity for the Jewish people. If there were, however, they didn't act on their feelings and they are never mentioned. Regarding Batya, not only were genuine feelings of compassion aroused, feelings she would soon act on, but something else was awakened. When she looked at the environment she was growing up in and contrasted it with the nobility of the Jewish people even in the darkest part of Egyptian exile, there was no doubt in her mind who possessed true royalty or where G-d could be found. She chose to join the very people her father had set out to destroy.
She chose to join the very people her father had set out to destroy
The Talmud relates that Batya set out one morning to immerse herself in the Nile in order to convert to Judaism. She heard the distinctive cry of an infant, and finding a small ark floating in the water, she stretched out her arm to reach it.
Seeing a baby boy inside, she immediately recognized that he was a Jewish baby, set adrift in an effort to escape her father's murderous decree. Already, her Jewish soul had begun to guide her although her conversion was not yet complete, and she dared to not only save the baby, but take him into Pharaoh's own palace to raise him, despite the fact that his Jewish identity would be obvious.
She named him Moses which means, "For I drew him from the water."
Though Moses had seven names, it is by the name that he received from Batya that he is remembered. More significantly, it is only by this name that G-d Himself addresses Moses. So extraordinary was Batya's act of kindness that she was willing to risk death at the hands of Pharaoh in order to save the child. It was specifically this action that became the basis for the name of the greatest prophet who has ever lived.
As one contemporary Chassidic Rebbe pointed out, it is significant that the name given to Moses by Batya, is a word based on the act of saving his life, and not on the feelings of mercy that Batya experienced. This detail conveys one of the Torah's central lessons quite beautifully: we can claim to feel a variety of things, but it is our actions in this world that have lasting impact.
A person's Hebrew name is intimately connected with the person's soul, both its source and its mission in this world. Not only is Moses's name homage to the woman who raised him, but also reflects the way he led his life. When G-d threatened to destroy the Jewish people after the sin of the Golden Calf, Moses demanded "Erase me from Your Book." In fact all his actions were based on self-sacrifice for his fellow Jews—a trait that he acquired from Batya's daring rescue of him as an infant.
All his actions were based on self-sacrifice for his fellow Jews
Moses’ parents were righteous leaders of their generation. They risked their lives countless times on behalf of their brethren. Yet our Sages credit a great deal of what Moses became to Batya, the daughter of Pharaoh.
When Moses was born, the room became filled with light. This is the unique spiritual power he received as the son as of Yocheved and Amram. Yet it was Batya who nurtured that light and helped him to internalize it and manifest it to the degree that he reached an even higher level, a level where his face radiated G-dly light. The colleagues of Mar Ukva (a Sage of the Talmud) referred to him as "He whose countenance shines like the son of Batya." In other words, they accredited this achievement of Moses to Batya's influence.
Moses is known for his extreme humility and his intense compassion - not only for people but even for the sheep entrusted to his care. As great as were the spiritual gifts he was born with, it was only through disciplined efforts that he was able to transform himself into a man of such refinement. It was Batya's own act of incredible self-transformation that the Sages say influenced Moses, inspiring in him the conviction that significant change is possible.
Without a doubt, the positive influence was mutual. Jewish mysticism speaks of the symbiotic relationship between converts (primarily during the conversion process) and Balei Teshuvah (a reference to anyone in a process of spiritual growth, in its broadest sense). Both are aiming to transform themselves, yet each is approaching this challenge from a different direction and drawing on his or her own unique resources. At every moment, this relationship is tugging at all of us on a subconscious level, and each of us helps the other towards achieving their goal. The advantage of the Balei Teshuvah is in their inheritance, a set of spiritual riches they carry inside but may not always be aware of. The advantage of converts is in their vision of, and almost explosive desire to be a part of, the Jewish people.
She nurtured and raised the child who would eventually lead us out of Egypt
In Batya, we can perhaps see what this relationship looks like when brought into consciousness. She arose while it was still night, when the Jews had no allies in the world other than a G-d who had not yet redeemed them. She recognized the beauty and power of Jews and of Judaism, and she risked her own life to shield what she knew to be sacred. She nurtured and raised the child who would eventually lead us out of Egypt, while no doubt learning and growing as a result of what she saw in her interactions with Moses and, in isolated instances, his family.
It was Batya’s ability to act on the truth that she recognized which elevated her from being Bat Pharaoh, the daughter of Pharaoh, to being truly Batya, the daughter of G-d.
By Chana Kroll More articles... |
Chana Kroll is an alumna of Machon Chana Yeshiva for Women in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Prior to moving to New York, she taught at a boarding school/shelter for runaways and young people whose families were homeless.
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Weekly Sermonette
Great Expectations
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/463463/jewish/Great-Expectations.htm
We never really know why things happen. Do we always deserve everything life throws at us, good or bad? Allow me to share a message from this week's Parshah which may shed a little light on the mysteries of life and our higher destinies.
This is the Parshah that describes the beginning of bondage for the Jewish people in Egypt. Moses experiences his first official Divine revelation at the Burning Bush. There he is charged with the formidable mission to confront the Pharaoh and demand that he "Let My people go." Moses is full of questions and repeatedly seeks G-d's reassurances.
It was not necessarily for what they had done in the past that G-d would redeem the Jewish people, but for what He anticipated for them in the future... In one exchange at the Bush, Moses asks, Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should take the Children of Israel out of Egypt? Rashi interprets the first part of the question as Moses doubting his own qualifications to suddenly become a player in the king's court. In his typical humble way Moses didn't see himself worthy of challenging the mighty monarch of Egypt. The second part of the verse is explained by Rashi to be questioning the worthiness of the Jewish People. What have they actually done to deserve such a miraculous redemption?
To which the Almighty answers, firstly, have no fear and have no doubts, I will be with you. And secondly, this is your sign that I have sent you: when you take the people out of Egypt, you will serve G-d on this mountain.
Now it's very nice to know that this mountain was, in fact, Mount Sinai and that the Burning Bush encounter occurred on that very same mountain. But wherein lies G-d's answer to Moses' second question? He asked "who am I?" so G-d replied to the point and said don't worry "I will be with you." But to the question of by what merit did Israel deserve redemption we don't see any answer. That they "will serve G-d on this mountain" doesn't seem relevant to the discussion at all.
Here it is that we find a fascinating insight into the intriguingly infinite ways of Providence. G-d was saying that it was not necessarily for what they had done in the past that he was ready to redeem the Jewish people, but for what He anticipated for them in the future. On this very mountain they would receive His Torah; they would become His chosen messengers to be a light unto the nations; they would be the moral standard bearers for the entire world. Never mind what they did or didn't do in the past. G-d had big plans for this nation and it would all begin with the impending Exodus.
What a powerful message for all of us. Sometimes, the kindness G-d does for us is not because of what we've been but rather what it would enable us to become. It's not for what we have already done but for what we still will do.
I know a man who in mid-life experienced a near fatal coronary. Fortunately, his life was saved by the prompt medical intervention of paramedics and surgeons. When I visited him in hospital he was overwhelmed by one idea: his indebtedness to G-d, the Healer of all flesh. "Rabbi," he said, "I was a goner. What did I do to deserve this gift of life?"
So I shared with him the Rashi mentioned above and told him it might not be something he had done in the past but something he would still do in the future. Perhaps G-d gave him a new lease on life for a reason. Not only to enjoy more years with his family but to do something significant for G-d, for His people, for the world.
The Almighty's confidence proved justified. The man went on to deepen his personal spiritual commitments and also made a meaningful contribution to Jewish communal life.
So should any of us be the beneficiaries of a special blessing from Above, instead of patting ourselves on the back and concluding that we must have done something wonderful to be thus rewarded, let us rather ask ourselves what G-d might be expecting us to do with this particular blessing in the future. How can we use it to further His work on earth? Special blessings carry with them special responsibilities.
May each of us successfully develop all the potential G-d sees in us and use it for our own moral development and to somehow better the world around us.
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The Quill of the Soul
The Power of Music
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1388688/jewish/The-Quill-of-the-Soul.htm
By Samantha Barnett
We sat in a circle, eyes closed. All was dark except for the glow of the small candle burning on the desk in the middle of the room.
Our teacher began to sing, "Yahy dai dai dai dai dai." Slowly but surely the group of students picked up the tune. At first, I felt a bit uncomfortable. I let out a small giggle intended for my friend sitting next to me. After some muffled laughter, we both silently decided to concentrate on the singing.
Soon no one was there but the music and me. I felt carried away in song. I heard my voice aloneI closed my eyes more tightly and listened. The music became more familiar, the repetition of the melody got stuck in my head. I knew where the song was headed next. I anticipated the low notes at the beginning and the high notes in the middle. Soon no one was there but the music and me. I felt carried away in song. I heard my voice alone. Then I heard it surrounded by everyone else. We were in unison. Individual voices sang the same melody. No real words backed up our song. There were no words that could. I wanted to sing forever.
It was over too soon. We opened our eyes. No one said anything.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"I feel relaxed," said one student.
"Everything feels more in focus," said another.
It was true. My eyes highlighted the soft glow of the candlelight on the faces around me. I heard the steady hum of the room and the murmured sounds of people walking outside. I felt the comfortable cushion beneath me. My senses took in the moment in slow motion.
Our teacher smiled. She told us the song was called a "niggun". A niggun, she continued, is a song without words. It was a powerful form of Jewish meditation.
Even now, years later, the tune of that melody is still in my head. I access it when I need to unwind. I connect to it like the words of a lover's poem. Yet it went beyond what words could express. It was as if the rhythm of my soul could be found in between the notes.
What was it about the niggun that drew me in? I wondered. What is it about music that is so alluring?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized the importance of music. When someone likes the same music I do, I bond with them. When "my" song is playing, I want to dance. When a song has good lyrics, I often quote it.
Movies utilize music all the time. Reexamining the emotionally gripping scenes that have made me cry, I discovered that it wasn't so much the action of the movie but the tearful music in the background that dictated my reaction. I realized, even when I'm not cognizant that there is music around me, it affects me nevertheless.
Music is everywhere. The owl hooting in the silence of the night, the tip tap tap of my keyboard, and the whooshing of flowing water are life's music.
Music connects me to my past, present and futureI don't just hear music. I use it. At the gym, the upbeat songs I play on my iPod get me moving. If it was not for the rhythm of the beat, I would not be able to run as fast. My friends feel the same way. They are always looking for new workout playlists.
Music connects me to my past, present and future. I'll hear a song and suddenly I'm back in my friend's car singing uninhibitedly on our way to school. Sometimes I'll be in a certain mood and crank up a song that echoes my emotions. Other times I will listen to a song and hope that I will one day feel the way the singer does.
Music transcends language. Perhaps that is why mothers sing to their babies. The sound of their mother's voice soothes their cries when nothing else will. Sometimes the baby will even smile. Why does a song bring joy when we fail to comprehend the words behind it?
Miriam, Moses's sister, illustrates the answer to these questions. She brought along a tambourine when the Jews escaped Egypt. Why would anyone pack an instrument in their bag, something that isn't necessary for survival in the desert, when she could have packed something a little more substantial? I would have chosen to pack more matzah!
Miriam had faith that G‑d would save her people from Egyptian slavery. Music conveys emotion too difficult for even our conscious minds to comprehend. It is beyond the rational. It is something more--and that is how it can connect us to something beyond ourselves.
When the Jews crossed the Sea of Reeds and the Egyptians did not, Miriam whipped out her tambourine. She played, sang, and danced with the other women. The music they played symbolized their faith and their joy more than words could ever express. Perhaps only music can adequately convey the feelings of shock and the utter excitement we felt from being freed from slavery. There were no words for our mixed emotions and so, we sang. In song, our individual experiences get expressed in a unified way. We understand that the song that is the human experience connects us even when our stories may be somewhat different.
An even stronger reason for Miriam's song was the connection she must have felt at this moment. G‑d was now keeping His promise that He would create the Jewish nation. We had just gone from slavery to freedom. Singing represents movement and newness. This is essentially, the power of creation.
Sound is not finite. It can't be written down and thus, can never dieSound is not finite. It can't be written down and thus, can never die. Written words are stagnant whereas spoken words are moving. Sound is a link to the eternal. It connects us to G‑d.
According to Torah, the earth was created in seven days. There are also seven notes on the musical scale. Seven is a very special number in Judaism. It represents completion. Seven symbolizes the spiritual reality of the physical world.
Maybe that is the reason for music's power to make us happy, relax us, and add meaning to our lives. When we listen to music, we connect to something beyond ourselves. We feel united with other human beings and to our deepest selves as souls. Judaism teaches that the mouth, the instrument of our bodies, connects the heart with the soul. When we join body with soul, we are complete. The music creates a state where we are in tune with our essential spiritual selves and can feel united with our Creator.
At its essence, music can be an expression of prayer. Perhaps this is why the Hebrew word for prayer, tefilla, and the word for song, shira have the same numerical equivalent. Through song we can access the true yearnings of our soul, our prayers.
The most famous musical prayers are King David's psalms. Interestingly enough, the last psalm tells us to praise G‑d with music. Jewish prayers are set to music because it is impossible to put into words what we truly are praying for. Sometimes, when praying, I don't know what to say to G‑d. All I can muster is "please help me". Music expresses that longing to say what is in my heart.
Music is the language of the heart and soulMusic is the part of myself I may not comprehend but when I connect to it, I feel whole. It's not the words that matter. Words can limit our understanding. Music is deeper than words. Music is the language of the heart and soul. Music brings us to an entirely new and deeper dimension of our connection with our Maker.
Although music is always there, sometimes we need to remind ourselves to listen. When we tune into our hearts, we lift our spirits and feel empowered. Suddenly, like when I experienced that power of the niggun, we elevate ourselves to higher frequencies than our limited understanding of the world. We move to a new beat.
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http://www.usatoday.com/news/opinion/forum/2011-01-05-column12_ST_N.htm
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The Exodus, Part II
By Yanki Tauber
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/67977/jewish/The-Exodus-Part-II.htm
Some people experience freedom canoeing across a pristine lake in the unspoiled wilderness. I feel free when my excuses run out.
There's something I very much want to do. But I also don't want to do it. So I blame my wife, my kids, my age, my youth, my childhood, my landlord and my employer. It works for a while -- a day, a month, a year -- but finally, inevitably, there comes the point at which there are no excuses left.
What a relief! I take a deep, exhilarating breath. I feel fifty pounds lighter. Now it's just me and me in the ring -- my inner self and my outer self, my motivated self and my inert self -- and let the better man win.
This week's Torah reading, Beshalach (Exodus 13:17-17:16), can be termed "The Exodus, Part II." In last week's reading, Bo, we read how the last of the Ten Plagues finally broke the spirit of the Egyptians and, after four generations of slavery, the Children of Israel marched triumphantly out of Egypt, matzahs baking in the sun.
Time for the credits to start scrolling up the screen? Not quite. Instead we get a frame reading "Seven Days Later" and the opening scene of Beshalach. The Israelites are walking serenely through the desert, when they look over their shoulders to see the Egyptians chasing after them. Seems that marching out of Egypt is not going to do the trick. We're going to have to split a sea first before we can proceed on to Sinai.
What's going on? Haven't the Egyptians been decisively defeated, their gods shown to be worthless, their proud Pharaoh utterly humiliated? Hasn't he come running in his pajamas in the middle of the night, literally begging Moses and Aaron to take their people out of his land as quickly as possible? Who, then, is this mighty Pharaoh materializing like a mirage in the desert, hot on our heels with an army of war chariots and horsemen?
Chassidic teaching explains that there are, indeed, two distinct stages to the human quest for freedom. That's why we have Bo and Beshalach. That's why we have the first and latter days of Passover. That's why we have the Exodus from Egypt and the Splitting of the Sea.
There are two types of slavery. There's a kind of slavery in which the chains that shackle our souls are externally imposed -- like when your boss fires you, your landlord raises your rent and your mother-in-law invites herself for the weekend. Then there's the internal slavery that comes from our own, self-imposed shackles -- our anger, our vanity, our laziness, our greed.
It's easy to think ourselves free when we overcome an externally-imposed limitation. We're shocked and surprised to discover Pharaoh pursuing us after we've escaped his Egypt. But the Pharaoh we see closing in on us in the desert is a Pharaoh that we took out of Egypt with us. We've been freed from the Egypt that closed us in from without, but we have yet to transcend the Egypt in ourselves.
To do that, we have to split open our sea, penetrating the depths of who and what we are to uncover our truest self.
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Murky Depths
Why G-d gave us a subconscious
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/67978/jewish/Murky-Depths.htm
By Yanki Tauber
"If only I'd have known!" Scarcely a day goes by in which we do not bewail the limitations of our understanding. "If only I'd known why she said the things she said... If only I'd known why he acted the way he did... If only I knew why I'm behaving the way I am..."
Of course, there's a lot to be said for the boundaries of human knowledge. The fact that we don't know everything gives us the space and the freedom to make decisions in our lives. Poets and prosaists alike would agree that it is the ambiguities of life that make it worth living.
But not knowing also limits us. Isn't there some way to know and not to know at the same time?
Indeed there is. That's why G-d gave us a subconscious.
"Everything that exists on land," says the Talmud, "also exists in the sea." The Kabbalists apply this law in a broader sense as well, explaining that the whole of reality can be divided into two realms: "the revealed worlds" and "the hidden worlds."
The sea is the mystical twin of land. The sea has mountains and canyons, rivers and weather systems, and living organisms of every type and form imaginable; but everything is submerged within its watery depths, almost completely hidden from inquisitive eyes (we know more about the surface of the moon than we do about the ocean-floors of our own planet). By the same token, the physical world is mirrored by a hidden spiritual universe, and our conscious mind is but a reflection of the hidden, sub-conscious chambers of our souls.
"Everything that exists on land also exists in the sea." Every element in the revealed worlds has its corresponding reality in the hidden worlds. The two may be as externally different as horses and sea-horses, yet they are nevertheless linked in some mysterious way. Thus, when we negotiate our lives with the "terrestrial" part of our psyche, we are also drawing on the vast reservoir of knowledge and intuition stored in its oceans.
What joins these two worlds? An old, old memory: a memory of the day when the sea split open to reveal what lay within.
Our sages tell us that when the Red Sea split for the Children of Israel, all the waters of the world split as well. The waters of the Amazon split and the waters of the Mississippi split, as did the waters in all the swimming pools in the Hamptons and all the hot tubs in California, all the water coolers in Manhattan and all the tea-kettles in China, The great murky sea of heaven split open to reveal its secrets to all. And the deep, deep sea of the human soul split in two, and for a brief moment, all its contents were exposed to the light of day.
Then the waters of creation returned to engulf their sea-worlds, and life reverted to the glorious ambiguity which it is. But the memory of that day lingers on, forming a tenuous bridge between the hidden and the revealed.
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This sounds like a wonderful program.
Helping Jewish kids learn about their religious, cultural identity
Each month the PJ Library sends Jewish-themed bedtime stories to 65,000 families across the United States and Canada.
By Raja Abdulrahim, Los Angeles Times
January 15, 2011
At a Passover Seder years ago, Harold Grinspoon noticed with surprise that the younger attendees were absorbed in holiday children's books.
A dinner that's as much about reading as eating, Passover can sometimes be a bit tedious for young children. But instead of being listless, these children, Grinspoon saw, were deeply engaged in books given to them by the hostess and asking their parents to read aloud parts of the story about the liberation of the Israelites from slavery.
The scene inspired Grinspoon, an 81-year-old real estate developer turned philanthropist, to begin a literacy program modeled after the Imagination Library, the program started by singer Dolly Parton, but through a Jewish prism. The books help Jewish children learn about their religious and cultural identity.
The program, called the PJ Library, (a reference to the pajamas young participants may wear while perusing their books) began by sending 500 books to families in western Massachusetts. Five years later, the program each month sends Jewish-themed bedtime stories, targeted at children ages 6 months to 8 years, to 65,000 families across the United States and Canada. Next month, the number of member families is expected to reach almost 70,000.
The PJ Library is a partnership between the Harold Grinspoon Foundation and local Jewish centers. They share the cost of sending the books, which are free to families.
"I asked myself … are the Jewish people in America in trouble? Are the Jewish people in America being demographically challenged?" Grinspoon said during a recent visit to Los Angeles. "I see a crisis in the Jewish world, the Jewish American world."
At a time when many Jews marry outside the faith and a significant percentage choose not to raise their children Jewish, Grinspoon said he felt the Jewish identity was being diluted. He saw a way to reach children at a young age through Jewish-themed stories and positive memories of bedtime reading.
Sharon Litwak, a Tarzana mother, has enrolled her three children in the program, which she said exposes them to books they couldn't find in the local library or neighborhood bookstore.
"We're in a Jewish school and we keep our Jewish faith, but it definitely helps to bring new ideas into the house, like new ideas of what you can do during Shabbat," said Litwak, whose kids range in age from 2 to 7.
Children enrolled in the program receive 11 books and one CD a year. And although the monthly packages come addressed to the child, which those involved in the program say gives them pride and ownership over the books, they are intended to engage the whole family. The packages include reading guides, conversation starters and activity suggestions.
"What the PJ Library does is turn those special moments into Jewish moments," said Marcie Greenfield Simons, the program's executive director.
Involvement in the program may, or may not, lead families to become interested in attending weekly services at a synagogue, Greenfield Simons said. For some, the Jewish-themed books may inspire an interest in baking challah, an egg bread traditionally eaten on the Sabbath, or lighting menorah candles at sundown Friday, when the Sabbath begins.
"This program is absolutely a family engagement program," she said. "This is really bringing Judaism into the home in a very significant way."
The books are not all overtly religious. They may be about a religious holiday or ritual or about such broader values as being kind to someone or why helping out is good, she said.
Often, the parents themselves may not be very knowledgeable about Judaism and its various rituals, Greenfield Simons said, and the books can be a way for them to learn, along with their children, in the privacy of their own homes. A survey commissioned by the PJ Library last year found that more than half the families had fewer than 10 Jewish books in their homes before joining the program.
The program was introduced in 2008 to the Los Angeles area, although it was initially limited to the San Fernando and Conejo valleys, and has enrolled 2,800 children. In September, it expanded further into Los Angeles and has already signed up an additional 1,000 children, said Carol Koransky, executive vice president of the Jewish Federation of Greater Los Angeles.
Koransky said more than 70% of the participating families were not known to the federation and not active in the Jewish community, before they enrolled.
raja.abdulrahim@latimes.com
Copyright © 2011, Los Angeles Times
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Good find JDN. I've emailed the reporter asking for contact info for these folks.
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Beneath A Mountain of Love
By Mendel Kalmenson
A young man who was befriended by Lubavitcher yeshivah students in France was quite taken with Chassidic teachings and ways, with one exception. He was uncomfortable with the level of reverence some of his new friends showed towards the Rebbe. The young man's friends proposed that he travel to New York and pose his concerns to the Rebbe himself. He did so, and asked the Rebbe, "Why is it that the chassidim adore you so much?"
"I love every Jew debordement," The Rebbe answered, using a French word for "overflowing." "Perhaps their love for me is a reflection of my love for them."
When love overflows its vessel,
It fills other vessels to overflowing.
Mountain Overhead
It was a wedding to remember; a union of Biblical proportions.
G‑d and Israel were to be married.
The wedding procession was about to begin. "The Shechina [Divine presence] went out towards them [the Israelites] like a bridegroom who goes out to greet his bride…1"
And what a wedding procession it was:
"It came to pass on the third day when it was morning that there were thunder claps and lightning flashes, and a thick cloud was upon the mountain, and a very powerful blast of a shofar sounded, and the entire nation that was in the camp shuddered [bridal jitters?]."
The bride set out to meet her beloved.
"Moses brought the people out toward G‑d from the camp, and they stood at the bottom of the mountain."
The Sages of the Talmud take the words "at the bottom of the mountain" literally.
R. Abdimi ben Hama ben Hasa said: "This teaches that the Holy One, blessed be He, overturned the mountain upon them like an [inverted] cask, and said to them, 'If you accept the Torah, good; if not, here shall be your burial.'"
Whoa!
Not exactly what you'd expect to hear from a groom to his beloved bride on the way to their chupah…
Besides, forced marriage just doesn't seem like the Divine thing to do.
Trepidation or Trapidation?
The courtship had been brief but intense. So much had happened, and so fast. Like Cinderella, overnight the Israelites had been lifted from servitude to freedom, from rags to riches, from obscurity to renown.
Overcome by excitement, the charming maiden-of-a-nation Israel accepted G‑d's marriage proposal. "And the people answered together and said, 'Everything that G‑d has spoken we shall do!'"
And then, not surprisingly, she developed cold feet.
The commitment was huge, very long-term, and all-encompassing. Part of her marital responsibilities included being the moral compass and conscience of the world. She was to be the crier of truth, the beacon of ethical light and right, the shining star of faith to direct the ship of history though its dark and turbulent voyage across many stormy seas.
There would be periods of concealment from her Beloved; she would be exiled from their home and blissful life together. She would be beaten, humiliated, and ravaged by the jealous beasts of mankind, intolerant of her unwavering fidelity to G‑dliness and goodness. Persecution and then freedom would eat away at her national innards. She would be humbled and hardly recognizable at journey's end.
Is this what she really wanted?
No wonder she balked.
But was that a reason to hold a mountain to her head?2
A Shot of Love
Here we come to a charming and illuminating Chassidic insight.
In Chassidic lore, the mountain is a symbol of love. Like a mountain which stands tall and protrudes above the ground, one who loves experiences an expansion of spirit and a broadening of self.
Conversely, fear is represented by a valley. Like a space carved out in the ground, fear carves out a space in the ego. When one is afraid of a person or animal, for example, his or her own sense of self is replaced or invaded by a deep sense of the other.
Fear and dread tend to dry and diminish our feelings of desire, ambition, and drive; love is often credited with the reverse.
On the physical level, fright actually causes the blood vessels in many parts of the body to constrict.
Related is the contrast between Gladness and Sadness, respective cousins of Love and Fear. Happiness can actually cause physical growth and enlargement, while sadness or irritation can initiate contraction and reduction.
Consider the following anecdote, related in the Talmud, about a meeting between Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakai and Vespatian:
"At one point a messenger came to Vespatian from Rome, saying: The Emperor is dead, and the notables of Rome have decided to make you head [of the State]. He had just finished putting on one boot. When he tried to put on the other, he could not. He tried to take off the first, but it would not come off. He said: What is the meaning of this? R. Yochanan said to him: Do not worry: the good news has done it, as it says, 'Good tidings make the bone fat.' What is the remedy? Let someone whom you dislike come and pass before you, as it is written, 'A broken spirit dries up the bones.' He did so, and the boot went on."
Thus, according to the mystical take of a mountain, our brush with G‑d at Sinai takes on new meaning: we tangoed, not tangled, at the foot of that mountain. G‑d didn't scare us into a relationship, he loved us into one. He dispelled our doubts and fears through an abundance of affection.
The Talmud's choice of "an inverted cask" as a metaphor for G‑d's mountain dangling is precise and telling. At that delicate and critical moment, in the midst of a crisis of identity, mission, and even faith, the Jewish people found themselves embraced by, and ensconced within, a virtual edifice of unconditional warmth and acceptance. Like the airtight space beneath an inverted cask, the space G‑d created for Israel at that fragile point in their relationship was vacuum packed with tenderness and devotion.
So declare the mystics: At (or under) Sinai, G‑d injected His cherished people with an extra dose of love.
Is it any wonder then that, reciprocally, His loving bride continued on her epic walk down the aisle?
What's in It for Me?
Recent generations have unfortunately seen an increase in those not just ready for the march to Sinai. Jewish illiteracy and lack of experience have greatly contributed to that hesitancy or lack of interest.
One way of dealing with those who are going through moments, phases, or lifetimes of religious doubt or denunciation - in the throes, woes, or no's of religious bridal jitters - is to wave a mountain over their heads. "If you accept the Torah, good; if not, here shall be your burial." Burial by excommunication or disownment is still practiced by some.
More common today is the replacement of Mt. Exclusion by Mt. Guilt. The "you're-breaking-a-link-in-the-chain-of-our-people" argument is just one common agent of guilt.
But then there's another way. The Chasidic way, as taught by the Holy Baal Shem Tov. Embrace and shower with love those who aren't quite ready to commit themselves to a life of faith and observance. Create a space tightly packed with acceptance and laced with nonjudgmental regard.
To quote the Lubavitcher Rebbe, one of the inaugurators of Mt. Love, and the creator of the Chabad House, "They should specifically be called Chabad houses, not centers, for at home one is welcome and provided for without any strings attached…"
And in the broader sense, if/when those we hold dear don't live up to our expectations for them, if/when they depart from the principles and value system we worked so hard to instill in them, and even if/when they come to ridicule the things we hold sacred, in those instances, more, not less, of our love is called for. And then, as the Sages say3, "As in water, face answers to face, so is the heart of a man to a man."
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You’re Covered: God’s Presence is Closer Than You Think
http://www.jewinthecity.com/2011/01/youre-covered-gods-presence-is-closer-than-you-think/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+JewInTheCity+(Jew+in+the+City)
With four kids, ages seven and under, my husband and I have been exhausted for basically seven years straight. We've found that the best way to manage our sleep deprivation is by taking shifts and fortunately, the division of labor comes naturally in our house.
When darkness falls on nights that he has nothing in particular to do, the moment my husband stops moving - and this can literally be while he's standing - the man will fall asleep. If left alone - and I must confess, I have a hard time leaving him alone if it's before, say, 9pm - he will fall deeper and deeper asleep until he reaches a land that's far, far away.
In other words, I take the night shift. This works out well, since the sound of a door opening or a kid coughing is enough to stir me. My nighttime duties these days involve nursing a newborn every couple hours, but also sometimes include rocking a toddler back to sleep, getting medicine for a sick five year old, and comforting a seven year old with a bad dream.
By the time morning comes, I dread wakefulness, so my dear husband takes over. The morning shift can sart as early as 5AM at times. Nowadays it often begins something like this: "Daddy, Mommy, I need yaw help...Mommy, Daddy, I'm stuck." My husband will then stumble down the hall and open our two year old son's door at which point he'll declare, "I wanna watch Dora."
During the periods that I'm nursing a baby, my morning sleep is almost always pierced by the distant sound of crying. At that point I'll call out to my husband to let him know that I'm awake and that he can bring me the baby.
Many times when this happens the baby is cold to the touch, and there's nothing I love more than taking my cold, crying baby under my covers and enveloping him in the warmth and the comfort that is his mommy.
While nursing him in bed like this the other day, I started thinking about God's feminine traits. In Judaism,we believe that God is gender neutral, but has attributes that we can relate to from both genders.
We talk about God as a King when we try to conjure up images of power and majesty in our relationship with Him. But God has a feminine side as well which we refer to as the Shechinah. The Shechinah is the mother-like presence of God that is said to dwell upon us.
The wording used in conjunction with the Shechinah is usually resting "upon us" or being "spread over us," which I used to picture as having God's presence be above us like a ceiling. And to tell you the truth, such imagery has always been a bit disappointing to me.
Don't get me wrong, to merit having God's presence as close as my ceiling would be a huge deal, but having God's presence rest only above me seems to lack the nuturing aspect that I assumed would come along with the maternal side of God.
When I brought my baby into bed the other day, though, I realized that my blankets were "spread over" him and "rested upon" him. Suddenly, my ceiling imagery came crashing down and turned into a warm, enveloping blanket.
The next time we are crying out from one of life's challenges, may we feel God's comfort and embrace, like a baby snuggling up close to his mother. And the next time a baby snuggles up close to his mother, may that baby let his mother sleep.
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Change?
When All Excuses Fail...
By Mendy Wolf
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1116573/jewish/Change.htm
A recovering alcoholic described the catalyst to his rehabilitation and recovery. “I thought alcohol could drown my sorrows,” he said, “until I realized that sorrows float.”
Human tendency is to blame our problems, mistakes and failures on everyone but ourselves: “If only I had grown up with more loving parents, I would have more self-esteem...” “If my teacher hadn’t embarrassed me in second grade, I would have never ended up like this...” “If I hadn’t been surrounded by such bad friends, I would be different...”
The giving of the Torah at Sinai was a monumental event. It was a moment in time that radically changed the world and left its mark on every human being. G-d had revealed Himself! G-d Himself appeared to millions of people and declared, “I am the L-rd your G-d.”
No room for doubts or ambiguity: it was the “If only G-d would tell me He exists...” moment we all wish for.
But the continuation of the dream we all have – “...then I would never do anything wrong!” – did not materialize. Mere days after this awesome experience, the Jews succumbed. Afraid that Moses had abandoned them, they created a golden calf and began worshiping it. Never mind the “You shall not serve any other gods” they had just heard from the A-lmighty’s voice. Forget the certainty and intense belief with which they had been filled. They were the same fallible human beings with doubts and temptations as always—and they failed.
For ultimately, no one can change our lives but we. Just as alcohol can not solve one’s emotional challenges, inspiration can not take the place of effort. Just as the giving of the Torah could not prevent the Jews from sinning, neither can better parents, teachers, friends or financial conditions. We, and we alone, are the creators of our destiny. We have been granted free choice.
As a child, a famous Jewish sage watched as his home went up in flames. As he stood beside his mother, watching the last remnants of their house reduced to ash, he saw that she was crying inconsolably. “The family tree!” she exclaimed over and over. “The book that records our beautiful lineage! It is lost forever.” The little boy comforted his mother, declaring, “Don’t worry about that book. I will create a new family tree. I will establish a new lineage that you can be proud of."
Let us abandon the “if only I had...” and begin replacing it with “I will establish a new lineage.” Let us not look past at what could have been, but rather forward at what must be. What could have been would not have changed things anyway. What will be is in our hands.
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It Don't Cost Nuthin'
At a Touchdown Club meeting many years ago, Coach Paul "Bear" Bryant told the following story:
I had just been named the new head coach at Alabama and was off in my old car down in South Alabama recruiting a prospect who was supposed to have been a pretty good player, and I was having trouble finding the place.
Getting hungry, I spied an old cinderblock building with a small sign out front that simply said "Restaurant." I pull up, go in, and every head in the place turns to stare at me. Seems I'm the only white fella in the place. But the food smelled good, so I skip a table and go up to a cement bar and sit. A big ole man in a tee shirt and cap comes over and says, "What do you need?"
I told him I needed lunch and what did they have today?
He says, "You probably won't like it here. Today we're having chitlins, collard greens and black-eyed peas with cornbread. I'll bet you don't even know what chitlins are, do you?"(small intestines of hogs prepared as food in the deep South)
I looked him square in the eye and said, "I'm from Arkansas , and I've probably eaten a mile of them. Sounds like I'm in the right place."
They all smiled as he left to serve me up a big plate. When he comes back he says, "You ain't from around here then?"
I explain I'm the new football coach up in Tuscaloosa at the University and I'm here to find whatever that boy's name was, and he says, "Yeah I've heard of him, he's supposed to be pretty good." And he gives me directions to the school so I can meet him and his coach.
As I'm paying up to leave, I remember my manners and leave a tip, not too big to be flashy, but a good one, and he told me lunch was on him, but I told him for a lunch that good, I felt I should pay. The big man asked me if I had a photograph or something he could hang up to show I'd been there. I was so new that I didn't have any yet. It really wasn't that big a thing back then to be asked for, but I took a napkin and wrote his name and address on it and told him I'd get him one.
I met the kid I was looking for later that afternoon and I don't remember his name, but do remember I didn't think much of him when I met him.
I had wasted a day, or so I thought. When I got back to Tuscaloosa late that night, I took that napkin from my shirt pocket and put it under my keys so I wouldn't forget it. Back then I was excited that anybody would want a picture of me. The next day we found a picture and I wrote on it, "Thanks for the best lunch I've ever had."
Now let's go a whole buncha years down the road. Now we have black players at Alabama and I'm back down in that part of the country scouting an offensive lineman we sure needed. Y'all remember, (and I forget the name, but it's not important to the story), well anyway, he's got two friends going to Auburn and he tells me he's got his heart set on Auburn too, so I leave empty handed and go on to see some others while I'm down there.
Two days later, I'm in my office in Tuscaloosa and the phone rings and it's this kid who just turned me down, and he says, "Coach, do you still want me at Alabama ?"
And I said, "Yes I sure do." And he says OK, he'll come.
And I say, "Well son, what changed your mind?"
And he said, "When my grandpa found out that I had a chance to play for you and said no, he pitched a fit and told me I wasn't going nowhere but Alabama, and wasn't playing for nobody but you. He thinks a lot of you and has ever since y'all met."
Well, I didn't know his granddad from Adam's housecat so I asked him who his granddaddy was and he said, "You probably don't remember him, but you ate in his restaurant your first year at Alabama and you sent him a picture that he's had hung in that place ever since. That picture's his pride and joy and he still tells everybody about the day that Bear Bryant came in and had chitlins with him..."
"My grandpa said that when you left there, he never expected you to remember him or to send him that picture, but you kept your word to him and to Grandpa, that's everything. He said you could teach me more than football and I had to play for a man like you, so I guess I'm going to."
I was floored. But I learned that the lessons my mama taught me were always right. It don't cost nuthin' to be nice. It don't cost nuthin' to do the right thing most of the time, and it costs a lot to lose your good name by breaking your word to someone.
When I went back to sign that boy, I looked up his Grandpa and he's still running that place, but it looks a lot better now. And he didn't have chitlins that day, but he had some ribs that would make Dreamland proud. I made sure I posed for a lot of pictures; and don't think I didn't leave some new ones for him, too, along with a signed football.
I made it clear to all my assistants to keep this story and these lessons in mind when they're out on the road. If you remember anything else from me, remember this. It really doesn't cost anything to be nice, and the rewards can be unimaginable.
Coach Paul "Bear" Bryant
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My Escape from Child Abuse
by Leah Kravitz
Setting boundaries with abusive (or difficult) parents.
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=114268244§ion=/ci/s
My parents announced they were coming to stay with us for an extended visit. That would be fine except that I'm barely speaking to them. My father is abusive both verbally and physically. He took every opportunity, privately and publicly, to insult me and humiliate me. If I fled to my room, he would grab me and pull me around the house, continuing to rant at me. He had to have the last word, and he had to make sure I was listening. My mother is a passive abuser, an enabler. She made empty threats to my father whenever she reached the limits of what her own psyche could tolerate. She never once took action to defend me. I lived in constant terror. When I finally went away to college, the thought of going home for the summer gave me six weeks of migraines and bouts of vomiting. I moved far away from my dysfunctional childhood home to build a new, healthy, Jewish-oriented life (I am now happily married with three wonderful children).
I moved to escape my parents, but now they were making demands. It felt like an invasion.
At first, I tried to convince them not to come, and tried my best to be respectful. "We're sorry, but it's not such a good time for us." That didn't work, so I tried to persuade them at least to shorten their trip. But they were unstoppable. I felt like I was being steamrolled. I sought advice from a Torah coach who is an expert on abuse. She made everything sound ridiculously simple:
"They respect no boundaries. As a child, you were unable to set boundaries and enforce them. So now you need to work on this. State your limits and boundaries very clearly: 'Due to the circumstances, we are unable to visit with you in our home.' And for yourself, decide what to do if those boundaries are violated.'"
With my husband's help, we sent them a letter that clearly stated our limitations: "Due to our circumstances, you will have to find other sleeping accommodations during your visit. We will only be able to meet with you a few times, and only for a few hours each time, only outdoors in public places. We are not willing to discuss money, politics, religion, or the details of our private situation."
Yes, their feelings were hurt. But with people who are overtly controlling and abusive, our only healthy choice (short of shutting them out completely, which we hope never to do), is to place our own safety, and especially our children's safety, first.
I thought their reaction might crush me, but instead I felt empowered. I couldn't make them be more reasonable; they are free to make their own decisions. But I don't have to passively stand by and be victimized. Instead, I can set up my boundaries and defend myself. I never realized this before. Also, I don't have to waste my time and energy worrying, "What will I say if they say this..." My answer can be simply, "I can't discuss this right now. If you continue, I'm going to hang up the phone." This was a new level of freedom for me, a new level of emotional health.
Guilt-Free Daughter
In doing all this, however, am I being disrespectful to my parents? Do I still have to honor them? Abusive parents know this part of the Ten Commandments: "You must listen to me because God says so! Ha ha ha!" Hard to argue with that, isn't it? Especially if you're a child; you really want to do what's right, to do what God says.
I have now learned that this (and every) mitzvah is much more sophisticated than I thought as a child. From the moment of infancy and beyond, the way a parent acts toward their child forms in the child's consciousness a paradigm for how God relates to us. The primary role of a parent, therefore, is to communicate to the child: You are loved and cherished. You are unique and special, creative and talented. You are cared for and protected. You are never alone.
If a parent is untrustworthy and uncaring, it subconsciously sets into the child's mind that God must somehow be the same. This is an emotional handicap that can be difficult to overcome later in life.
I don't have to reimburse or compensate my parents for raising me, I don't need their permission to follow my dreams, and I certainly don't have to put myself or my children in danger, physically or emotionally, because of their insensitivities. To the contrary, I need to protect myself and others. In short, I could be guilt-free for the first time in my life.
As a child, I felt trapped by the abuse and insensitivity. As an adult, I can learn to cope differently. I yearn to have a relationship with my parents on adult terms, on healthy terms. Someday, with God's help, this will be possible.
This article was prepared in collaboration with Yaffah daCosta-Sacks, a director of a Jerusalem high-tech firm who has been a business coach and management consultant for 30+ years, and more recently has been involved with Torah Life Coaching and Torah Transition Coaching (for the terminally ill).
The author is writing under a pseudonym.
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Are Chinese Parents Superior?
by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=113268019§ion=/f/p
A Jewish response to Amy Chua's extreme parenting.
When Amy Chua was a little girl, she was extremely disrespectful to her mother. Her father angrily called her “garbage” in their native dialect.
Today, Amy is a mother herself. When her daughter, Sophia, acted extremely disrespectfully, Amy called her “garbage” in English. One evening at a dinner party, Amy mentioned what she had done. She felt immediately ostracized. A guest even broke down, cried, and had to leave early. The host and guests who remained tried in vain to convince Amy to change her ways.
Amy is a Yale Law professor and advocate of Chinese parenting methods. A recent piece she authored in the Wall Street Journal (1/8/11 Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior) explained how Chinese parents raise such stereotypically successful children.
Here are some things that Sophia and Lulu, her now tween daughters, have never been allowed to do:
attend a sleepover
have a playdate
be in a school play
complain about not being in a school play
watch tv or play computer games
get any grade less than an A
not be the number 1 student in any subject except gym or drama
play any instrument other than piano or violin
not play the piano or violin.
Whew!
Not only that, but Amy writes that Chinese mothers can say to their daughters, “Hey fatty – lose some weight.” She bemoans the fact that Western parents veil the weight issue by speaking about ‘health’; never mentioning “the f-word.’ And still their children end up with eating disorders that require years of therapy to combat negative body images.
When it comes to school, Amy again feels that Western parents fall short.
An A- brings praise, a B may bring praise or disapproval but never will a child be made to feel insecure by being called “stupid”, “worthless” or “a disgrace.”
Even if parents worry about their child’s skills, they will do so privately and may eventually speak to the principal about the teacher’s methods and the school’s curriculum.
What would Chinese parents do?
Chinese mothers would be horrified by an A-. Chinese children never get a B. But if they would, there would be a “screaming, hair-tearing explosion.” Then, the mother who feels devastated by her child’s failure would get hundreds of practice worksheets until the child moved up to an A.
There is no such thing as a child not doing well. If perfection is not achieved it must be that the child is not working hard enough. The solution is always punishing or shaming the child. Children are believed to be strong enough to take the shame and be better for it.
Amy concludes her article with proof of her parenting methods.
She tells a story that she believes reinforces her belief in Chinese-style coercion.
Lulu was about 7 and working on an incredibly difficult piano piece.
After one week of trying, Lulu announced that she was giving up. She stomped off and refused to return to the piano. Forced to return, she not only punched, thrashed and kicked, she also tore up the score. Amy pasted it back together and protected it in a plastic sheath. Lulu was threatened with “no lunch, no dinner, no Christmas, no Hannukkah (her father is Jewish), no birthday parties for 2, 3, 4, years.” She was called lazy, cowardly, self- indulgent and pathetic.
Lulu’s dad decided to get involved. He told his wife that he didn’t think the threats were helpful and maybe she just couldn’t do it.
Amy replied that Lulu’s sister Sophia was able to play the piece at this age.
When told that they were two different people, Amy rolled her eyes.
“Oh no, not this,” I said. “Everyone is special in their special own way,” I mimicked sarcastically. “Even losers are special in their own special way. Well don’t worry, you don’t have to lift a finger. I’m willing to put in as long as it takes, and I’m happy to be the one hated. And you can be the one they adore because you make them pancakes and take them to Yankee games.”
They worked at it all night, no permission granted even for a bathroom or water break. There was so much yelling, Amy lost her voice.
Amy concludes her piece triumphantly with the news that Lulu finally mastered the piece. She felt confident and played beautifully at her recital.
End of story.
But not in my book.
Sure there are too many times that we allow our children to give up. Of course we sometimes let our kids off too easily and try to shield their self-esteem. Anyone who has ever read my articles or attended my classes knows that I often speak about our raising a generation of entitled kids who are raised with an inflated sense of self. Parents who applaud and praise their children’s every act and do not hold them accountable teach kids to rely on egos instead of effort.
But in this entire article there has been no mention of character.
How do we define a successful child?
What are the values that I am trying to transmit to my children about who they are and who I hope they will one day grow up to be?
Can I call myself an accomplished parent if my child masters a piano piece while at the same time I have conveyed to my child that it’s okay to stomp on the heart of another?
Calling a child “garbage” or “fatty” is mean. Shaming a child may bring immediate results but what about the effects on one’s soul? Embarrassing another human being goes against the dictates of our holy Torah. We believe that every person is created in the image of God, Himself. When you shame someone you are actually disrespecting the holiness that God placed within each one of us.
And what kind of parent will this child grow up to be? How will she speak to her own spouse and children?
At what price do we feel triumphant?
If I would have a conversation with Amy, I would share my own story about raising children successfully.
When my daughter, Shaindy, was in kindergarten, we were new to the neighborhood. I wanted my daughter to make friends with her classmates, so I asked her teacher for a class list. After going over the various names, we set up a play-date with Sora Leah.
The next day the little mini bus pulled up after school. The bus counselor wished me luck as both girls stepped down. The next three hours were a puzzle to me. Sora Leah said not one word. She sucked her thumb and had difficulty walking. She held onto Shaindy’s dress.
After Sora Leah was picked up, I called Shaindy into the kitchen.
“Is Sora Leah your friend, sweetie?” I asked.
“No, Mommy, Sora Leah doesn’t really have any friends,”
“Well, do you play together in school?” I wondered.
“No, Mommy, Sora Leah doesn’t play”.
I could not understand.
“Oh, Mommy,” Shaindy said sadly. “Every day the teacher calls out names of who is going to who after school. And every day Sora Leah cries because the teacher never calls her name. I just didn’t want her to cry anymore, Mommy.”
This little child looked up at me and I felt as if I had been touched by something indescribable; something pure and holy. Call it soul, spirit or heart of hearts. It really does not matter. Isn’t this the essence of who we strive to be – adult or child?
Today, Shaindy is a mother herself. She lives in Jerusalem and continues to reach out to fellow Jews and touching hungry souls.
We are here as parents to teach compassion, kindness and goodness. We are the greatest examples, our homes are our classrooms. Our goal is for each child to reach her potential. Not by calling her garbage nor through shame. But rather, through raising a child with soul.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/f/p/Are_Chinese_Parents_Superior.html
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Knowing What’s Important
By Elana Mizrahi
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1397907/jewish/Knowing-Whats-Important.htm
Ten, eleven, twelve. I get to the top of the staircase, say a short prayer and brace myself for the greeting that I am about to receive as I open the door. Every morning it's the same as I arrive at the Eating Disorder clinic where I work. "Elana, either you conquer them, or they will conquer you." I call my work "kodesh" holy as I muster all the strength I have to greet my students with a smile and cheerful, "Good morning".
Either you conquer them, or they will conquer youWhy does it take so much energy? Well, one reason is because I know that when I walk in, I will meet blank faces, laptop screens, and cell phones that form barriers between me and my students. A life-less crowd can be more than just a little bit discouraging. Second, it's hard work, to be a teacher, to teach women going through so many struggles and who live in a time of so much confusion. And yet, day after day I continue as I try to shift the distorted focus of these women from their bodies to their beautiful souls. Either I conquer them, or they conquer me. No matter what happened yesterday I remind myself, "today is a new day, walk in with a positive attitude and a smile."
It's eight o'clock at night, my children are asleep. I am sitting down after a long day to work on the computer. I'm in the middle of an important e-mail. I hear the soft knock, the key in the door. I know it's my husband. I force myself to peel my fingers away from the keyboard and stand-up. I turn as he enters and find the smile, the cheerful voice, "Hi!" Ten years of marriage and I make an effort to greet my husband the same way as I did the first month we were married. Why? Because I call my marriage "kadosh" holy. That means that for five minutes I can put my work, or the phone call, etc. on hold. Those things can wait, the opportunity for my husband to come home, can't. Either I conquer them, or they conquer me.
There is a section in the Shulchan Aruch, the main codification of Jewish law compiled by the 16th-century rabbi, Rav Joseph Caro, entitled Orach Chaim (The Direction of Life). The Orach Chaim deals with everyday matters of Jewish law. The very first halacha (law) tells us that one should arise in the morning like a mighty lion to serve one's Creator and that one should wake up the early dawn. I always thought that the wording of the end of this law was a little bit funny and then my husband elucidated it for me, "You wake up the morning, don't let the morning wake you up!" That's right, here we go again, either I conquer the morning, or it conquers me. Either I wake up like a mighty lion ready to serve my Creator and do holy acts; or the lion of despair, discouragement, routine, or lack of appreciation will be the one to wake me up.
I can't begin to count how many times I put this idea into practice throughout my day. It always seems to throw everyone a bit off balance-in my favor. The checkout lady at the cashier who I smile to and greet before I start handing over my groceries, the repair man who comes to fix the faucet, for the 3rd time this month, and of course my children, as they walk through the door or as I pick them up from school. I am able to conquer all these people, bad moods, bills, tantrums, you name it before they conquer me with a smile, a cheerful voice, and with a vision that says that by doing this, what I am doing is kadosh, holy.
Ten years of marriage and I make an effort to greet my husband the same way as I did the first month we were marriedThis is also why my favorite prayer of the day is the mincha prayer. There are three times in the day set for formalized prayer-morning, afternoon, and evening (The beauty of prayer in general is that you don't need any intermediary between you and G‑d, no Skype, no chat, no cell phone, no leader; just you and Him. A Jew can speak and pour his heart out to G‑d at any time of the day or night in an informal manner.)
The prayer that is considered the most significant is that afternoon prayer, mincha. Mincha is also the shortest of the three; it's in the middle of the day when you are being asked to drop what you are doing to take a few minutes of your time to reconnect and remember what is most important, most holy.
I'll never forget as I was sitting in the barber shop waiting as Asher, the barber, cut my son's hair. The hour was 3:05 pm. A customer walked in the door. Asher told him, I can't help you now. After I finish with the boy I'm going to mincha. If you want, you can come back at 3:45 pm. The man was furious and walked out the door. Asher just shrugged his shoulders and looked at his reflection in the mirror. "What does he think? I'm going to miss mincha?" At that moment I knew without a doubt that my son's barber was a holy man cutting hair with a holy purpose. Either you conquer them, or they conquer you….
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Why must human beings leave the Garden of Eden? Because the garden is a perfect, static world. There is no pain, therefore there is no growth. There is no failure, therefore there is no insight. Outside waits the wilderness and the Torah; sin, struggle, stories -- puzzlement, luck and wonder. There can be joy. So the journey begins.
What does not happen haunts and changes us, as in Garth Brooks' stirring song "Unanswered Prayers." In the movie "Lost in Translation" unconsummated romance is volcanic and transforming. Absences more powerful than presences; arrested beginnings. In mysticism, "halal panui," the creative emptiness; we live in spaces, too
One Jewish prayer begins "Bless the multitude of souls and their deficiencies." Why bless deficiencies? What we lack spurs us to create, to reach beyond deficits to dreams. "Not to have is the beginning of desire" wrote the poet Stevens. Begin the week thanking God for our needs -- especially the need for one another.
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No Deposit, No Return
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/257292/jewish/No-Deposit-No-Return.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Once upon a time, Yiddish speaking Jews coined the phrase luftmentsh to describe that incurable dreamer type who is always building castles in the sky. Luft means air and someone who lives in the air with pie-in-the-sky fantasies qualifies for this title of dubious distinction. "If only this deal comes off, I'll be set for life!" "When I win the lottery..." etc., etc. The money has been spent before he has even bought the ticket. He's always anticipating the big breakthrough and then, in the end, explaining why it didn't quite happen. This is the life story of our luftmentsh.
There is a line in the beginning of this week's parshah concerning the Jewish bondsman which sums up this phenomenon. Im b'gapo yavo, b'gapo yeitzei – if he came in alone, he goes out alone. Simply speaking, this tells us that if he entered his period of service unmarried, he must leave unmarried and his master may not exploit him to father children who would be born into servitude. But this Torah phrase has become a traditional way of expressing one of life's basic home truths, i.e. no deposit, no return. No effort, no reward. No risk, no profit.
Whether in business, relationships, the social intercourse of communities and nations, or in raising our children, the principle holds true. "The only place success comes before work is in the dictionary." Or, in the words of the Psalmist, "Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy."
There is the old story told of Shmerel, a poor man who once walked by the home of the richest man in the shtetl. There was an aroma wafting out of the dining room where the wealthy man was enjoying his favorite dish, cheese blintzes. Shmerel took one whiff and was overcome with temptation. He just had to taste those blintzes. As soon as he comes home, he begs his good wife, Chasha, to make him some of those blintzes. Chasha says, "I'd love to make you blintzes, Shmerel, but I have no cheese." "Nu, my dear, so make it without the cheese." "But we’ve got no eggs either." "Chasha," says Shmerel, "you are a woman of great ingenuity. I'm sure you can make a plan." So Chasha sets out to do the very best she can under the circumstances. Her work done, she sets the plate of blintzes in front of her dear husband. Shmerel takes one taste, crooks his nose and says, "You know Chasha, for the life of me, I cannot understand what those rich people see in blintzes."
Clearly, you cannot make good blintzes without using the right ingredients. Just as clearly, we cannot have nachas from our children without putting in the necessary ingredients of a good Jewish education, a solid upbringing at home, quality family time, and above all, by setting a good example.
Too many parents assume that nachas is a democratic right, almost a genetic certainty. If parents are good, successful people and committed Jews, then surely their children will turn out the same. But there are no such guarantees. Especially in today's complex, confusing and very troubled society.
A hundred years ago Rabbi Sholom Ber of Lubavitch said, "Just as it is a Biblical commandment to put on tefillin every day, so is it obligatory to spend a half hour daily thinking about our children and to do whatever possible to ensure that they follow the path in which they are being guided."
So don't be a luftmentsh. Put in the effort, and please G-d, you will see the rewards. Whether it’s our work or our children, may we enjoy the fruit of our labors.
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The Lost Cause Scenario Adar I 11, 5771 · February 15, 2011
By Yanki Tauber Print this Page
Much is made of Abraham's valiant efforts to save the wicked city of Sodom. We read how Abraham virtually went to battle with G-d on behalf of these very sinful people, contesting the divine decree that Sodom (and its four sister cities, Gomorrah, Admah, Zeboiim and Zoar) be destroyed. "It behooves You not to do such," Abraham challenged, "to kill the righteous together with the wicked . . . Shall the Judge of the entire world not do justice?!" "If there be found fifty righteous people in the city," Abraham bargained, "would You not spare the place because of the fifty righteous ones who are in it?" "What if there be five less than fifty?" Abraham persisted. "What if there be forty? . . . Thirty?"
But something about the story doesn't add up. Why should the wicked people be spared "because of the righteous"? If there are some righteous people left in Sodom, G-d obviously doesn't have to "kill the righteous together with the wicked"-He can airlift them outta there before He wrecks the place. Indeed, G-d sent two angels to rescue Lot and his family, the only righteous people in Sodom, before overturning the city. So where's the injustice? What's the logic in Abraham's argument?
Also: every good salesman has more than one pitch up his sleeve; when one line of reasoning fails to elicit the desired response, the seasoned marketer will quickly shift to another tack. Yet Abraham (a pretty good salesman, actually) seems to have only this one argument to make. When it turns out that there's not even ten righteous folk in any of the cities, Abraham drops the case.
One of the explanations offered by the commentaries is that as long as there are righteous people in a place, there remains the possibility and hope that they will have a positive influence on their community. So it makes sense to spare the entire city because of the righteous people in it-it's not a lost cause yet. When Abraham learns, however, that there are no righteous people remaining in Sodom (or not enough righteous people to make a difference), he has nothing further to say on their behalf.
This suggests a deeper meaning to Abraham's argument. When Abraham says to G-d, "Do not destroy the city because of the righteous who are in it," he's not just speaking about Sodom as a city, but also about its individual sinners. The chassidic masters refer to the human being as a "city in miniature": each of us is a virtual metropolis populated by numerous organs and limbs, traits and faculties, drives and desires, thoughts and actions. Even a thoroughly wicked "city" is bound to have a few righteous "inhabitants"-a few remaining enclaves of purity, a few pinpoints of goodness. To destroy a person-even a most wicked person-is also to destroy the latent tzaddik within him, to reject not only his negative actuality but also his positive potential.
The question, however, is: does there remain enough potential goodness to exert a positive influence on the "city" and perhaps effect a transformation? If this were the case, it would indeed be a grave injustice, unbehooving the Judge of the entire world, to "kill the righteous together with the wicked." But what if we are dealing with a "lost cause"? What if we have before us a person or community in which the "tzaddik within" is so completely overwhelmed that one can see no possibility of it ever asserting itself? When there is no salvageable goodness remaining in the person, what can be said to protest the Divine decree?
Abraham, who in the course of his lifetime had converted many thousands to the ethos and morals of monotheism, was quite the expert at identifying and activating the "hidden tzaddik" in the most corrupt environments. But when confronted with an evil as impregnable as Sodom's, even Abraham fell silent.
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But Moses did not.
Four hundred years after Abraham approached G-d to plead on behalf of the wicked of Sodom, Moses had a "lost cause scenario" of his own on his hands, when the Children of Israel sinned by worshipping a Golden Calf. What can be said in defense of a people who succumb to idolatry a mere forty days after experiencing the greatest Divine revelation of all time-a revelation bearing the message "I am the L-rd your G-d . . . you shall have no other gods before Me"?
The Divine anger seethed. Like his great-great-great-great-grandfather before him, Moses stepped in to stave off a decree of annihilation.
But Moses took a different approach. He didn't say, "But there are many who didn't sin." He didn't say, "Spare the wicked because of the righteous," or "spare the wicked because of the potential for righteousness within then." Instead he said: "Forgive them, G-d. If you won't, blot me out of your Torah."
Moses demanded an unconditional forgiveness, a forgiveness without a "because." If you are a G-d who forgives without cause, Moses said, I'm prepared to be part of your Story. If not, edit me out; I'll have no part in it.
Abraham was a great lover of humanity. He loved his fellow man because he saw the potential for goodness in him or her, even when the rest of the person didn't look that great. But Moses' love was greater: Moses loved his people regardless of whether he could or could not discern the hidden tzaddik in their city.
And the amazing thing was, in the end Moses did turn his errant people around. In the end, their supposedly irredeemable potential came to glorious light.
For such is the paradox of love. If you care for someone because you see in him a potential for improvement and wish to have a positive influence on him, that's really great of you, but there will be times when you'll find that potential inaccessible and your positive influence rebuffed. But if you care for him irrespective of whether you can see anything good in him, and regardless of whether you can reasonably hope to influence him in any way-if you love him even if he is a "lost cause"-then you will end up having a profound influence on his life.
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Reflections on the Parshah
Healthy Selfishness
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/477838/jewish/Healthy-Selfishness.htm
By Zalman Posner
In this week's Torah reading we have the description of afflictions which may beset man, the examinations by the Kohen, and the laws of the quarantine, if necessary. The Talmud teaches that "All afflictions one sees, except his own." No man examines his own afflictions; another must do this. The Torah describes physical disease, but the physical meaning does not exhaust the implications of these laws. The Mishna is especially apt.
Afflictions, moral shortcomings, are obvious and readily condemned in another. We are sensitive to the grossness of another's poor manners, repelled by arrogance, shocked by niggardliness, dismayed by that No fault escapes detection and forthright denunciation. "All afflictions man sees..." fellow's insufferable complacency. We are struck with the full force of the repulsiveness of his poor character traits and moral deficiencies. Our clarity of vision, our objectivity, our courage and candor in denouncing shortcomings "right to his face" is a source of considerable pride to many of us. No fault escapes detection and forthright denunciation. "All afflictions man sees..."
But must we carry the burden of constantly correcting everyone's failings on our shoulders? Will we be forgiven if we ignore others' afflictions for a while as we examine our own? May our spiritual ministrations be directed toward ourselves, just for a while? This selfishness may be exercised with impunity. Let's be selfless, if we must, in more mundane affairs.
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What does it mean to "rest" on Shabbat? And what exactly do you do on a day of rest? Watch this video to find ou
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHtM6mDbUzM [/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHtM6mDbUzM
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Woof Rachel:
I like her energy a lot.
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Roles Adar II 22, 5771 · March 28, 2011
By Tzvi Freeman Print this Page
A metaphor of the Talmud:
A man works in the field and brings home wheat --but shall he then eat wheat? Of what use is his toil?
His wife grinds the wheat into flour and makes bread.
So too, the tasks of life: A man's spiritual accomplishments only become realized in the material world due to his wife.
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Torah for Now
Healing Hubris
By Shlomo Yaffe
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/663582/jewish/Healing-Hubris.htm
Tzara'at, the skin discoloration mistranslated for millennia as "leprosy," is a curious disease. It is not contagious—it was only acquired by virtue of speaking badly of other people. It was a physical skin discoloration caused by a spiritual defect. The "metzora," the sufferer with tzara'at, had to stay outside the city and inform all that he or she was spiritually impure.
The Talmud tells us that the penalty of the metzora is imposed "measure for measure": his gossip and slander build walls of mistrust and bad feeling between people and isolated them from each other, so he, too, is isolated from society.
The cedar reminds that arrogance brought us to tzara'at in the first placeThe Talmud also discusses the reason why the purification ritual for the healed metzora includes a wand of cedar wood, the tallest species of tree, by far, in the Levant: The cedar wood reminds us that arrogance brought us to tzara'at in the first place.
This statement does not contradict the idea of slander as the cause of tzara'at, but adds texture and depth to the theme.
It teaches us that the root cause of tzara'at is arrogance, a sense of being superior to other people. This causes one to look down on others as inferior and therefore to pass judgment on them. Once those judgments fill the mind, the person then shares them with others.
It seems to me that the isolation aspect of the metzora's "sentence" is not just to sense the distance from other people caused by the gossip, but also to see how foolish a sense of superiority is. When alone you discover that all the abilities you pride yourself on as making you superior are meaningless.
Are you wise? Who learns from you if you are alone?
Are you articulate and persuasive? Whom do you persuade if you are alone?
Are you a leader? Whom do you lead if you are alone?
Are you an artist? Who will be inspired by your vision if you are alone?
In isolation, the metzora learns that all his superiority really comes from those whom he hitherto looked down upon because they received from him.
It is the need in others that we fill that makes our abilities significant. We all are givers and we all are receivers and together we form a stable living community.
We are never greater than another; we are made greater by each otherWe are never greater than another; we are made greater by each other.
In Torah, all taharah, purity, is related to life. All tum'ah, impurity, is related to death. Arrogance tears us from our garden of life; a system that we give life into and receive life from, and turns us into a dry dead specimen that only dully hints of what it was when it was green and alive.
Fortunately, this death is reversible through honest introspection; the metzora is then cleansed and welcomed back to his/her community.
By Shlomo Yaffe More articles... |
Rabbi Shlomo Yaffe, a frequent contributor of articles and media to chabad.org, is Permanent Scholar-in-Residence to Chabad at Harvard, and Dean of the Institute of American and Talmudic Law in New York, NY. Rabbi Yaffe has lectured and led seminars throughout North America, as well as in Europe and South Africa.
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Does the Torah contain factual inaccuracies? Filmmaker Warner Herzog was once accused of not being a true "documentary filmmaker" because he took liberties. "There's a book for people like you" he answered, "it's called the phone book. Everything in it is accurate." Truth is deeper than fact. The Torah is true.
Hitpallel, the Hebrew word for prayer, means to reflect on or judge oneself. Our quarrel with others, taught the poet Yeats, makes rhetoric; our quarrel with ourselves makes poetry. Real prayer is a struggle with oneself. It is soul-wrestling, seeking to be better, hoping for wholeness, yearning for God. It is poetry.
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Google Exodus
What if Moses had Facebook?
by aish.com
http://www.aish.com/h/pes/mm/Passover_Google_Exodus.html
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIxToZmJwdI[/youtube]
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:lol: :lol: :lol:
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hzgzim5m7oU&feature=youtu.be
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It"s a beautiful day : made a knot in my throat, that was very nice :-)
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In each one of us there is an Egypt and a Pharaoh and a Moses and Freedom in a Promised Land. And every point in time is an opportunity for another Exodus.
Egypt is a place that chains you to who you are, constraining you from growth and change. And Pharaoh is that voice inside that mocks your gambit to escape, saying, "How could you attempt being today something you were not yesterday? Aren't you good enough just as you are? Don't you know who you are?"
Moses is the liberator, the infinite force deep within, an impetuous and all-powerful drive to break out from any bondage, to always transcend, to connect with that which has no bounds.
But Freedom and the Promised Land are not static elements that lie in wait. They are your own achievements which you may create at any moment, in any thing that you do, simply by breaking free from whoever you were the day before.
Last Passover you may not have yet begun to light a candle. Or some other mitzvah still waits for you to fulfill its full potential. This year, defy Pharaoh and light up your world. With unbounded light.
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Love Thy Shrek as Thyself
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/507715/jewish/Love-Thy-Shrek-as-Thyself.htm
By Yossy Goldman
The most famous golden rule of life is found in the second of this week's Torah readings. Love thy fellow as thyself (Leviticus 19:18), is not only famous, it also sounds like an injunction that is virtually impossible to fulfill. Can one ever hope to reach such an exalted level of saintliness to love anyone else as much as we love ourselves? Is the Torah not being naïve and utterly unrealistic?
Indeed, the classical commentaries grapple with this issue. Some suggest that we are being taught to act as if we love the other fellow. If we behave in such a way, the actual emotion may well follow in time.
The Chassidic classic Tanya (Chapter 32) teaches that if one is able to put physical considerations aside and focus on the spiritual, it may actually be within the realm of the possible to achieve true love of another. Indeed, our petty likes and dislikes are all based on physical preferences. We either approve or disapprove of the way others look, talk, dress, behave etc. But those are all material concerns. If we would only remember that these are but superficial, external, and of little consequence, we wouldn't take them at all seriously.
What matters most is the spiritual. The real person is not the body but the soul. The essence of every individual is not his nose but his neshama. So what if he's ugly and his mother dresses him funny? His soul is pure and untainted. Who knows if the other fellow's soul is not greater, holier and more pristine than mine? No one can say his soul is better than the next person's.
By focusing on the inner identity of a person we can avoid getting irritated by their outer idiosyncrasies. We might think someone weird but would we ever accuse him or her of having a weird soul? So if we can rise above the superficial and concentrate on the spirit rather than the body, on the essence rather than on the external we do have a chance of observing this fundamental mitzvah in the literal sense.
How easy it is to fall into the trap of labeling people, of categorizing them and writing them off. Him? A meshuggener! Her? Rotten to the core! That family? They are impossible!
Many years ago I was trying to help a man organize a get (Jewish religious divorce) for his estranged and already civilly divorced wife. The problem was that she refused to cooperate. (Usually, the problem is the reverse.) So I engaged an attorney friend of mine to help with the case. The next day he called me to say it was all sorted out. I couldn't believe my ears. "How did you do it?" I asked incredulously. He answered with such genuine directness that I was completely taken aback. "I called her up and said, 'I believe you are not an ogre.' Immediately, I received a favorable response and the deal was done."
Nobody is really an ogre. (Even Shrek was a nice ogre.) If we can learn to give people the benefit of the doubt we might be surprised at how friendly and cooperative they really can be. Individuals with the most notorious reputations aren't half as bad as they are made out to be when we get to know them. Human monsters are rare indeed. The spark of humanity needs but to be aroused and the G‑dly soul is stirred and revealed.
So let's try and be more generous, a little more patient and forgiving. We may well be surprised at how lovable some people can be
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The Feast
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/passover/pesach_cdo/aid/372720/jewish/The-Feast.htm
By Tuvia Bolton
Editor's note: This is an old Jewish story/joke/metaphor. Versions abound. My favorite is Tuvia Bolton's rendition:
There were once two beggars who used to go around begging together. One was Jewish and the other a gentile. As the night of Passover approached, the Jewish beggar offered to help his non-Jewish friend get invited to a seder (the festive Passover meal accompanied by many commandments and rituals) and get a good meal. "Just put on some Jewish clothes and come with me to the synagogue. Everyone brings home poor guests for the seder. It's easy, you'll see."
The non-Jewish beggar happily agreed. On the first night of Passover they went to the synagogue, and sure enough, both got invited to different homes for the festive ceremony.
Hours later they met in a predetermined place in the local park. But to the amazement of the Jewish beggar, his friend was blazing mad.
"What did you do to me?" He shouted. "You call that a meal? It was torture!! It was hell! I'll pay you back for this--you'll see..."
"What do you mean? What happened?" the Jew asked.
"What happened? As if you didn't know! You Jews are crazy--that's what happened! First we drank a glass of wine. I like wine, but on an empty stomach... My head started spinning a bit but I figured that any second we would begin the meal. The smell of the food from the kitchen was great. Then we ate a bit of parsley. Then they started talking, and talking, and talking. In Hebrew. All the time I'm smiling and nodding my head as if I understand what they're saying--like you told me to--but my head is really swimming and hurting from the wine and I'm dying of hunger.
"The smell of the food from the kitchen is making me insane, but they don't bring it out. For two hours they don't bring anything out! Just talking, and more talking. Then, just what I needed.... another cup of wine! Then we get up, wash hands, sit back down and eat this big wafer called matzah that tastes like newspaper, leaning to the left (don't ask me why...). I started choking, almost threw up. And then finally they give me this lettuce, I took a big bite and wham! My mouth was on fire. My throat! There was horseradish inside! Nothing to eat but horseradish! You guys are crazy....
"Well, I just got up and left. Enough is enough!"
"Ah, I should have told you." replied the Jew. "What a shame! After the bitter herbs is a glorious meal. You suffered so long; you should have just held out for a few more minutes...!"
The editor again: Jewish history is a seder. We've had our appetite teased with small moments of triumph. But mostly we've had "bread of faith" that our palates can't really appreciate. And generous helpings of bitter herbs.
The lesson? Two thoughts come to mind. You need patience to be a Jew. And since we've swallowed the maror already, we might as well hold out one minute longer and get the feast...
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The Second Exodus
by Avigail Sharer
We had just seven days to get out of Egypt.
Egypt: land of the sphinx, the pyramids, the Nile, and – until their sudden expulsion – the home of my mother-in-law and her family.
In the early 20th century, 175,000 Jews lived in Egypt; most had been there for generations, serving as lawyers, doctors, and businessman. They lived in affluence undreamed of by their Eastern European brethren.
With her olive complexion and cream silk scarf draped over her shoulder, my mother-in-law Bella Sharer is a beautiful picture of an Egyptian Jew. Her family lived in Cairo for generations; her grandparents are buried there.
"We lived in a huge apartment," she recalls. “Father was the breadwinner – he was involved in commerce, which sometimes involved him being away for months on end, as he traveled across the Sahara Desert. Once he went on a business trip to what was then called Palestine. He returned with a handcrafted etrog box, fashioned from olive wood, carved with a picture of Rachel’s Tomb. To me, these places were more of a dream than the Sphinx and the Pyramids, both of which were regular Sunday afternoon destinations.
"Going to synagogue on Shabbos was a magical affair: I would stare at the ornate ceiling and marble pillars of the Ben Ezra synagogue. My father would bid for the honor of placing the silver pomegranates on top of the Torah scroll before it was returned to the Holy Ark.
“My dearest childhood memories center on Passover – the fragrance of the crates of dates mingling with that of the freshly-painted walls; the hustle and bustle as the extended family moved in for the holiday.”
It was an idyllic childhood spent in an affluent and influential society, under the benign rulership of King Farouk II. Farouk was a hedonist, and to the large Arab population, a travesty, a betrayal to the people. A military coup dethroned Farouk in 1952, followed by a stormy transition period, after which Gamal Abdel Nasser became president of Egypt. The country paused for breath, as Nasser's domestic and foreign policies increasingly clashed with the French and British colonial interests. When Nasser announced his plan to nationalize, and thereby control the Suez Canal – which, as the only land bridge between Africa and Asia was strategically and economically vital to Britain and France – a crisis ensued.
Door Wide Open
"One afternoon came a knock at the door. Three soldiers stood there, and ordered us to follow them to the police station. Their swarthy faces and black eyes frightened me. I clutched my mother's hand tight as we wordlessly followed them to a huge, imposing building. At the station, the chief brusquely informed us that my father's business had been appropriated by the government, that our bank account and all assets had been frozen, and that we had seven days to leave the country. We were allowed to take clothes and $40 dollars cash.
"Our world was shattered in an instant, as if one of the exquisite crystal glasses that graced our Seder table splintered on the stone floor.
“The Egyptian Jews had been of the highest echelons of society, established, prominent, prosperous. In the blink of an eye, they were reduced to beggars.
"My father visited all his contacts: members of the royal family, political figures, the wealthiest businessmen. No one could help. The decree came directly from Nasser. As for our assets, people threw up their arms helplessly. 'Be grateful that you have your family,' they said.
"What followed was a paralysis of sorts. My mother would walk around our home, touching the furniture, stroking her candlesticks, as if to etch it into her mind. In the meantime, our Arab neighbors, with whom we had always lived side-by-side in peace, were greedily despoiling our home. They would walk in, look around, and point to whatever item they wanted, whether a painting on the wall or my mother's huge diamond engagement ring.
"As we were allowed to take clothes along, my mother took us to a department store and bought a plentiful supply of skirts, tops, trousers and undershirts. In the confusion, she forgot that we would soon grow out of our present sizes. For years we wore clothing that was too small. Then we sold it to buy food.
"My father booked us passage on a ship leaving from Alexandria. Then we stepped over the threshold for the last time: me and my brother, my parents, my aunt, uncle and cousins. We left the front door wide open behind us."
Freedom of the Spirit
In 1957, when she was 10 years old, my mother-in-law and her family boarded a boat to Marseilles, France. There, they were taken to a concentration-cum-DP camp, handed threadbare blankets, and assigned beds.
"We arrived in France in the middle of winter, and the cold penetrated my bones. In the blazing heat of Egypt, we had siesta every afternoon between one and three o’clock, because the heat was so intense. Now, the cold settled on me and I couldn't shake it away. My father, by that time well into his 50s, would go to a nearby forest and chop firewood so that at least we could huddle around the ovens.
"I would go into the shower room and stare and stare. The shower heads, which now gushed with hot water, just a few years before had delivered Zyklon B. I was washing myself in a room where thousands of my fellow Jews had met their deaths. If anything gave us perspective on our loss, it was that shower room."
My mother-in-law plays with a long string of pearls and sits, contemplating. "Even after I married and had a family, and lived in a nice house in Stamford Hill, England, experiences like that don't go away. I fear change, and have a deep sense of insecurity. On the positive side, having suffered myself, I am able to empathize with others who have suffered. It's also much easier for me to keep my priorities straight: We lost everything, but retained our lives and our health.
“I watch people running after the good life, and I know that in a flash, everything can be taken away. Wealth can disappear, status can dissolve. All that's left is who you are and what you make of what's left. That's what true freedom – freedom of the spirit – is all about."
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/pes/t/f/The_Second_Exodus.html
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The Case of the Floating Skull
Ethics 2:6
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/91921/jewish/The-Case-of-the-Floating-Skull.htm
By Yosef Marcus
A man had gone for a stroll along the river when he noticed an unusual and ghoulish sight: a skull floating on the surface of the water. His reaction was unusual. He reached neither for his cellphone nor for his digital camera.
Instead, he turned to the skull and uttered the following six Aramaic words: Ahl d'ateift aftfuch, v'sof mitofayich yitufun. Had he spoken to it in English, he might have said this: "You were drowned because you drowned others. And ultimately, those who drowned you will also drown." Less poetic in English, yet essentially the same point.
The reason he used Aramaic was because at the time the incident occurred -- some time toward the end of the Second Temple era -- Aramaic was not yet a deceased language. In fact, it was very much alive, especially among Jews who lived in Babylonia.
The man walking along the river had lived in Babylonia until the age of forty. He then migrated to the holy city of Jerusalem to study at the feet of Shma'ayah and Avtalyon, two brothers of Greek extraction, who had converted to Judaism and rose to become the leading Judaic scholars of their day.
The man was Hillel, the author of better known statements, such as "If I am not for myself who is for me", "What is hateful to you do not do unto your friend" and others. He was known for his profound knowledge and extraordinary patience. Like Moses, he was known for his humility; and, like Moses, he lived for one hundred and twenty years. According to kabbalistic tradition he and Moses shared the same soul.
Maimonides and the Skull
Another man by the name of Moses, Moses Maimonides, who lived some 1,000 years after the skull story, wrote the following in his commentary on Tractate Avot ("Ethics of the Fathers") where the skull story is recorded (paraphrased):
There are consequences to our actions -- consequences that reflect those actions. If you commit murder and drown others in a river to hide your crime, you will receive your punishment in the form of your crime. If you invent an unjust thing to benefit yourself at the expense of others, that unjust thing will ultimately be used against you. On the positive side, if you introduce something that benefits others, that thing will ultimately come to benefit you as well. In Hebrew it is called: midah k'neged midah -- measure for measure.
This is how Maimonides and other commentators explain Hillel's message.
Pharaoh vs. Moses round II
Maimonides' grandson, Rabbi David Hanagid, cites a tradition handed down by "the early ones" that the floating skull belonged to none other than Pharaoh himself. Hillel therefore told him: "Because you commanded that Jewish children be drowned in the Nile, you were drowned." It was specifically Hillel who confronted Pharaoh's skull, since as a reincarnation of Moses he was fit to confront Pharaoh.
According to this interpretation, says Rabbi Isaac Luria , the renowned 16th century Safed mystic known as "the Holy Ari", the second half of Hillel's statement is addressed not to Pharaoh but to the Jewish people: "Just as Pharaoh was drowned, so all persecutors of Israel will ultimately be drowned."
The Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson of blessed memory, saw in the Ari's comment words of comfort to the tired soul of the exiled Jew, to the soul of one who feels that he or she is up against an insurmountable challenge, an impenetrable cloud of darkness. Hillel, the great leader of Israel, turns to this person and says: "If Pharaoh, the embodiment of evil, the man who cast fear even into the heart of Moses, so much so that G-d had to reassure him and say, 'Come to Pharaoh -- I will accompany you,' ended up drowned in a river, certainly all the Pharaohs of history, all the great serpents that tried and will try to drown you through physical and spiritual persecution --they will be drowned as well. For evil has no leg to stand on. Like smoke it obscures our vision for a time but must ultimately disappear."
Mocking the Poor
If that were all we could learn from Hillel's statement, it would be enough. But there's more. Here's another beautiful thought:
It seems strange that Hillel, the man of kindness, humility and impossible patience, would rebuke a dead man! According to Jewish tradition, one ought not perform any mitzvah in a graveyard. Doing so is considered "mocking the poor" (loeg la'rash), since those that dwell in the earth are no longer capable of performing mitzvot. Just as you would not partake of a gourmet dinner in the face of one unable to afford a slice of bread, so one should not show one's tzizit, for example, in the presence of those who can no longer fulfill that commandment.
Why, then, did Hillel, the man of kindness and humility, rebuke this poor dead person, who could do nothing with this rebuke?
The answer, says the Rebbe, is that when Hillel came across the skull of Pharaoh, he though to himself: "Why has G-d arranged for me to see this sight?" He then came to the conclusion that the time had finally come for the soul of Pharaoh to find peace. And by using Pharaoh as an example with which to teach a meaningful message, Hillel uplifted Pharaoh's soul and granted it the ability to find peace.
In summation
So what starts out as an innocent stroll along the river turns out to be a passage filled with meaningful lessons:
● What goes around comes around.
● Even the most formidable evil is transient.
● Everything that comes your way has a purpose and you should fulfill that purpose. Not always is that purpose apparent but we should at least take advantage of those situations when the purpose is apparent.
● Even a Pharaoh can ultimately be redeemed and should be redeemed when that time arrives.
And that's the story of the floating skull.
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Is It Okay to Celebrate Bin Laden’s Death?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1507393/jewish/Is-It-Okay-to-Celebrate-Bin-Ladens-Death.htm
By Tzvi Freeman
Question:
Is it inappropriate to be celebrating the death of Osama Bin Laden? Is that a Jewish value?
Response:
You’ve asked what I could only call a very Jewish question. For one thing, it’s so typically Jewish to feel guilty about rejoicing. Aside from that, the wisdom of our sages on this topic runs deep and thick. When do you know a wisdom is deep? When at first glance it seems full of contradiction.
Let’s start with Solomon the Wise, who writes, “When the wicked perish, there is joyful song.”1
Sounds pretty unequivocal. Until you find another statement of the same author, in the same book: “When your enemy falls, do not rejoice, and when he stumbles, let your heart not exult, lest the L‑rd see and be displeased, and turn His wrath away from him.”2
The Talmud mirrors the tension. We find: “When the wicked perish from the world, good comes to the world, as the verse states, ‘When the wicked perish, there is joyful song.’”3
. . . while in the same volume, the Talmud has already told us, “When the Egyptians were drowning in the Sea of Reeds, the angels wanted to sing. G‑d said to them, ‘The work of My hands is drowning in the sea, and you want to sing?’”4
We aren’t the first to note these paradoxes and more. Now is not the time to list every resolution suggested. Instead, let’s get straight to the heart of the matter:
What is so terrible, after all, about celebrating the death of a wicked evildoer? Why would you even think it decrepit to rejoice that a man who himself rejoiced over the demise of thousands of others, and connived ingeniously to bring destruction and terror across the globe, should now be removed from it? Is it so horrible to feel happy that the world has just become a better, safer and happier place?
No, it’s not. That’s perfectly legit. On the contrary, someone who is not celebrating at this time is apparently not so concerned by the presence of evil upon our lovely planet. Those who are outraged by evil are carrying now smiles upon their face. The apathetic don’t give a hoot.
If so, when Pharaoh and his henchmen, who had enslaved our people for generations—mistreating them with the utmost cruelty, drowning our babies and beating workers to death—when they were finally being drowned in the sea, why would not G‑d Himself rejoice?
Simple: Because they are “the work of My hands.” For this, they are magnificent. And a terrible loss.
As another prophet put it, “As I live, says the L‑rd G‑d, I do not wish for the death of the wicked, but for the wicked to repent of his way so that he may live.”5
For the same reason, Solomon tells you not to rejoice over the fall of your enemy. If that’s the reason you are celebrating—because he is your enemy, that you have been vindicated in a personal battle—then how are you better than him? His wickedness was self-serving, as is your joy.
But to rejoice over the diminishment of evil in the world, that we have done something of our part to clean up the mess, that there has been justice—what could be more noble?
That, after all, was the sin of Bin Laden: He recognized G‑d. He was a deeply religious man—those who knew him call him “saintly.” He prayed to G‑d five times a day and thanked Him for each of his nefarious achievements. The sin of Bin Laden was to refuse to recognize the divine image within every human being, to deny the value G‑d Himself places upon “the work of My hands.” To Bin Laden, this world was an ugly, dark place, constructed only so that it could be obliterated in some final apocalypse, and he was ready to help it on its way. With that sin, all his worship and religiosity was rendered decrepit evil.
So there’s the irony of it all, the depth and beauty that lies in the tension of our Torah: If we celebrate that Bin Laden was shot and killed, we are stooping to his realm of depravation. Yet if we don’t celebrate the elimination of evil, we demonstrate that we simply don’t care.
We are not angels. An angel, when it sings, is filled with nothing but song. An angel, when it cries, is drowned in its own tears. We are human beings. We can sing joyfully and mourn both at once. We can hate the evil of a person, while appreciating that he is still the work of G‑d’s hands. In this way, the human being, not the angel, is the perfect vessel for the wisdom of Torah.
Sources
See Maharsha on Sanhedrin 39b; Midrash Shmuel 4:22.
Rabbi Wolpe
Yesterday, Yom Hashoah, Bin Laden was killed. The proper reaction is sobriety, not revelry. This is a time to remember those who died, pray for those who fight, meditate anew on wickedness and redouble our dedication to justice. "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil," taught Burke, "is for good men to do nothing." Do something.
edited to add one of his comments
Yes, there is certainly a grim satisfaction and a temptation to joy when someone so wicked is killed. But this is attendant with so much loss, death, war and sorrow, that I really think even such a long desired goal should not evoke jubilance. God bless the extraordinary Navy SEALS.
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Mother’s Day
Answered by Sara Esther Crispe
Dear Rachel,
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/881486/jewish/Mothers-Day.htm
I have a very strained relationship with my mother and I always have. Perhaps it is that we are so different, or maybe that we are so similar, but we are rarely able to spend time together without us both blowing up. I do love my mother but I have a hard time being around her. For Mother's Day I wanted to do something special, but I am worried if we spend the day together as she requested, that instead we will end up fighting. I certainly don't want to ruin the day for her by fighting, but if I cancel she will also be upset. What do you suggest?
Worried Daughter
Dear Worried Daughter,
Sometimes the closer you are to someone the harder it can be to get along I don't think a mother/daughter relationship exists which doesn't have some kind of strain or challenge. If we are fortunate, we have a loving and warm relationship with our mothers. Yet even then, sometimes the closer you are to someone the harder it can be to get along. You write that you have always had a strained relationship, which makes things even more difficult.
So now your dilemma: if you keep your plans and spend the day together you are worried that you will end up fighting. If you cancel your plans, you are worried that you will hurt her feelings. I think that canceling will definitely cause a tremendous amount of pain to her. If you hadn't made plans to start with, that would be one thing, but being that you have already made plans to spend the day together, we need to figure out a way you can do so and not fight.
For starters, two people can only fight if both people allow themselves to do so. Here is a great opportunity for you to exercise incredible self control and work with yourself not to get upset. Chassidic philosophy teaches us that the mind is able to rule over the heart (moach shalet al halev). There is no question that emotions can run high and you may want to scream or cry, but your mind knows better. Intellectually, rationally, you know that you love your mother. You know that you are spending the day with her to honor her and to thank her for being your mother and for the life that she has given you. That is a pretty tremendous gift, and one that you should be grateful for. Focus on that. Focus on your love for her and how fortunate you are to have your mother in your life. And let your mind run the show. When you feel that you are getting annoyed or upset or that you are losing patience, tell your heart to cool off and let your head lead the way. For one day, you can keep yourself collected regardless of how frustrating the circumstances may be.
Emotions can run high and you may want to scream or cry, but your mind knows better And secondly, plan your day in a way that will minimize stress. You know what makes you tick and you know what makes your mother tick. Plan the day around what she will enjoy but try to eliminate things that you know will drive you crazy. If your mother loves shopping, but you want to pull out your hairs because she is indecisive and tries on a million things, don't go shopping! Or maybe give her a gift certificate to a store that she can use at another time. Come up with plans that you both enjoy, and maybe include things that you can do together which don't require you to always be speaking. Perhaps find a museum that you would both enjoy walking around, or take a drive to the beach where you can sit and relax and each read a book. Do not pick her favorite restaurant if it will be mobbed on Mother's Day and you know your mom gets anxious when the service is bad. Think through the places and situations that would be enjoyable to you both, and the least stressful. And perhaps start the day with a bouquet of flowers or her favorite chocolate. Everyone loves gifts and having one delivered that morning would be a nice surprise, and a great way to start off the day.
So before your day with your mom, do some soul searching to keep your emotions in check, and do some planning to come up with the best way of spending your time together. And remember the most important things: she is your mother. You love her, and no matter how frustrated you might get, you must respect her. Enjoy your day together!
Rachel
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Living through the Parshah
Disguised Blessings
By Rochel Holzkenner
The author with her daughter, Chaya Mushka of blessed memory.
(http://w3.chabad.org/media/images/421/qiqB4210585.jpg)
My friend Aviva came to visit Chaya Mushka and me in the hospital. Just four weeks earlier my daughter was diagnosed with Trisomy 18, a chromosomal disorder. Only five to ten percent of babies with this condition survive their first year.
“I just don’t understand why this would happen to you,” she said to me. We sat facing one another in the NICU. I held Chaya Mushka and kicked the rocking chair into motion. “You and Sholom Meir seem to be such good people . . .”
“But what if we were chosen to host her? What if her soul selected us as her parents for its short mission on earth, then to return ‘home,’ unscathed and pristine?” The words slipped from my lips, still unprocessed: “What if she’s our blessing?”
“But if you don’t listen to Me,” says G‑d, “I will direct upon you panic, inflammation, fever, disease and anguish. You will sow your seed in vain, and [if it does sprout,] your enemies will eat it . . .” (Leviticus 26:14,16).
Harsh!
And that’s not it. The Torah continues with close to another thirty verses filled with promises of retribution—they’re actually difficult to read.
Surprisingly, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi makes the following comment about the Torah’s harsh words: “In truth, they are nothing but blessings!”
Blessings?!
Rabbi Schneur Zalman uncovers the hidden blessings hidden behind the guise of misfortuneHe then proceeds to explain many of the verses as blessings. For example, “Ten women will bake bread in one oven” (ibid. verse 26). In its simplest sense, this verse is referring to the extreme poverty that will afflict us if we abandon G‑d’s ways. But Rabbi Schneur Zalman interprets the verse as follows: We will meditate on the oneness of G‑d (the oven of “one”) with such intensity, that all our ten soul-powers will be consumed with a fiery love for Him. Then our Torah study (Torah is often referred to in the Scriptures as “bread”) will “bake” and marinate in this love.
Rabbi Schneur Zalman uncovers the hidden blessings hidden behind the guise of misfortune. To him, it was obvious and apparent that the curses must be taken beyond face value.
Interestingly, Rabbi Schneur Zalman wasn’t the first person to see through apparently unkind wording. The Talmud (Moed Katan 9a) tells us the story of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, famed Mishnaic sage and author of the Zohar, who sent his son Elazar to receive blessings from two of his students, Rabbi Yonatan and Rabbi Yehudah. But instead of hearing from them blessings, he heard curses. “May it be G‑d’s will that you will sow and not reap!” they proclaimed, and then continued with a litany of unpleasant wishes.
An astonished Elazar repeated to his father the rabbis’ curses.
“Curses?” responded Rabbi Shimon. “Those were all blessings!
“‘You will sow and not reap’ means that you will have children and they will not die . . .” And Rabbi Shimon proceeded to decode all the “curses,” patiently explaining to his son the blessings inherent within them.
It was certainly quite clever for Rabbi Shimon to decode the riddles and expose the blessings. But why did the sages speak in such a roundabout way? Why didn’t they bless him in language that he could understand?
Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s grandson, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch, asks just this question. He concludes that the sages’ blessings were of such a lofty and sublime nature that they couldn’t be expressed directly. They had to go through the medium of “bad” before they could be exposed as good.
Resilient people don’t let frustration and disappointment erode their belief If G‑d is good and He orchestrates our lives with purpose and meaning, then there can be only two types of experiences that He generates: a) good things that we perceive as good; b) good things that we perceive as bad.
And here’s the part that seems completely counterintuitive (or maybe not): the good that’s perceived as bad is in fact a more potent good.1
Compare your personal journal to your published autobiography. The autobiography probably makes a lot more sense to an audience of readers. But your journal is so raw and genuine, so you.
When G‑d communicates with us from a place closer to His essence, we don’t understand Him clearly. Was that a hug? ’Cause it felt like a slap in the face . . .
In fact, the Talmud (Yoma 23a) tells us that people who are able to remain happy despite their suffering will merit to see G‑d in His full glory during the Messianic Era. These resilient people don’t let frustration and disappointment erode their belief that everything that comes from G‑d is good. Since they embrace all of G‑d—the part they understand, and the part they so don’t—they eventually experience the totality of G‑d’s light. They’ve proven that they can embrace even the most raw and intense parts of G‑d.
So how do we expose the sweet good that’s entangled in a bad wrap? The chassidic masters teach that by merely trusting that there is a potent kernel of good hidden in the pain, we begin to disassemble the screen that veils it.
“Why did this happen to me?” There are two ways to ask this same question. One is rhetorical, a proclamation: “This is wrong and shouldn’t have happened to me.” The second is authentic: “I wonder why this is happening to me. How can this be good for me?” And just exploring the possibility of good draws it to the surface.
To ask the second type of question, we need to train ourselves to look through the external trappings of an experience and capture its depth.
What we perceive as bad is in truth the higher expression of G‑d’s kindnessRabbi Shimon bar Yochai was clearly a man of unparalleled depth. He authored the Zohar, the primary book of Jewish mysticism. That’s why it was so natural for him to see the curse as a blessing. He didn’t need to reconcile the shell of the words with their inner meaning—to him the shell was completely transparent.
Rabbi Schneur Zalman authored the Tanya, the primary work of chassidic philosophy. Like Rabbi Shimon, he saw everything with profundity, plumbing the depths of any notion. That’s why Rabbi Schneur Zalman read the verses of admonition and immediately entered into their innermost understanding, where all is good, and where what we perceive as bad is in truth the higher expression of G‑d’s kindness. Like Rabbi Shimon, he didn’t have to train himself to see bad as good; to him it was as clear as the sun is bright.
Studying chassidic teachings, the depth of the Torah’s wisdom, trains our eyes with incredible depth perception, and sensitizes us to see the good even when we’re disappointed.2
And nevertheless, let’s bless each other that we all be recipients of only good—and good that we perceive as good!
FOOTNOTES
1.
In kabbalistic language, the good that feels bad comes from the loftier first two letters of G‑d’s name (the Tetragrammaton), the yud and the hei, while the good that feels good comes from the second two letters of His name; the vav and the (second) hei (see Tanya, part 1, chapter 26).
2.
Based on a talk by the Rebbe, recorded in Likkutei Sichot, end of vol. 1.
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Whispering Flames: The Fire of Lag B'Omer
by Rabbi Doniel Baron
Tapping into the fiery, spiritual energy that is embedded in every iota of creation.
Fire. With dancing, leaping, flashing tongues of flame, fire lights up the Lag B'Omer night sky. Jews light bonfires to commemorate the holiday, continuing a tradition that dates back hundreds of years. Lag B'Omer is the day on which Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai revealed the chief mystical work, the Zohar, through an explosion of fire, and it is the day on which he died.
The tongues of flame whisper a message. What is the mysterious, inner meaning of all the fire?
To unravel the mystery, we need to go 3,500 years back in time to young Abraham in Mesopotamia, left to mind his father's idol shop. He looked at the sun, the moon, the stars and heavenly bodies and concluded that it would be ridiculous to think that inanimate, man-made idols had control over these things. As he contemplated more and more evidence of design in the world, he concluded that there must be a Creator who controls all.
The world around him thought otherwise, and even united to build a tower to "fight" their conception of God. But the more Abraham saw in the world, the more he realized that everything is guided by the hand of the Creator.
Abraham's discovery is expressed through a metaphor that sheds light on the deeper meaning of fire. Abraham coming to recognize God is compared to a wanderer who sees a mansion engulfed in flames and subsequently concludes that the mansion must have an owner. The master of the house then sees the wanderer and introduces himself. Abraham similarly looked at the world and concluded that it must have a Master, and merited the Master's acknowledgement (Bereishit Rabba 39:1).
This is a difficult parable to understand. A burning mansion is more a sign of neglect than of ownership. What did Abraham, the wanderer of the parable, see that pointed to a Master?
The Hebrew language, the language of creation according to Jewish tradition, provides us with the key to unlocking the metaphor.
The Hebrew word for 'thing,' the generic word that captures all physical objects, is 'davar.' Davar derives from the Hebrew root 'dibur' which means 'to speak.' This is no coincidence. It teaches us that every davar expresses a dibur -- a spoken message. Every physical object or phenomenon, in addition to its physical reality, conveys a spiritual comment on existence.
For example, a rose, on the surface level, is aesthetically pleasing and fragrant. But the rose also conveys a deeper message: intricacy and symmetry that points to intelligent design and a Designer. The external message is readily apparent. However, the inner meaning of an object can be elusive, and sometimes one needs to develop a sensitivity before one can understand the dibur - the message, that lies hidden within every davar - thing.
The fire of the mansion was an allusion to the dibur in every object in the world. Abraham saw the mansion - the world - on fire. Fire is a unique phenomenon. It has the power to transform anything that comes into contact with it into fire itself. The release of the latent energy in the object cast into the flames gives rise to a more powerful fire. Fire reveals that within everything, in addition to the practical function of a davar - a thing, there lies hidden energy that, when tapped, gives off light that was not apparent to one looking only at the practical function of the object. That energy is the metaphor for the dibur - the message embedded in everything in the world.
Abraham was able to look at the world and see the fire burning. As a child, he contemplated the sun, the moon and the stars and concluded that they were too sophisticated to be the product of chance. There had to have been a Creator, a Designer who fashioned everything in the world, and continues to control it all. For Abraham, the sun served more than its practical external functions of giving off warmth and light. It broadcasted the message that something so awesome could not have come about by itself.
Physics teaches the laws of entropy. Left alone, things in nature move from a state of higher order to lower order, marching toward chaos. Abraham realized that it is impossible to understand the world as the product of chance. To Abraham, everything in the world expressed a deeper meaning, intelligent design and a Designer who continues to guide his creation.
Abraham saw the mansion burning. The flames, however, were not the fire of destruction. Instead, they represented the hidden energy in the mansion of the world, the inner message, the dibur, that points to the greatness of the Creator who could form such a place. The figurative flames whisper that in addition to the simple function of every davar in the word, there lies a deeper meaning that points to God for those like Abraham who had the eyes to see it.
It is no wonder that we commemorate Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai with fire. Rabbi Shimon lived in both realms at the same time; in the world of the physical as we know it, and in the realm where the spirituality in everything physical, the dibur in everything, was apparent. To Rabbi Shimon, the world was ablaze with spiritual energy, abounding with tongues of fire whispering messages about the Creator. Not surprisingly, Rabbi Shimon gave us the Zohar, the book of the mystical inner meaning that belies everything.
The ancient, the mystical and the spiritual have applications in modern times. The practical challenge of Lag B'Omer is to see the potential energy in every object and every person, instead of being fooled by the facade of the external.
Spirituality and providence are everywhere, even for those of us who are not Rabbi Shimon. However, we can easily smother the flames of inner meaning by covering over any sparks of life and attributing everything to chance.
Lag B'Omer invites us to look deeper and to hear the ever-present broadcast throughout creation. The flames of Lag B'Omer call to us and whisper that there is more to every person and every object than meets the eye, that one should never give up even if a situation looks hopeless. Look beyond the superficial and acknowledge deeper realms of existence; embrace worlds that we cannot see or touch, but which are every bit as real as the one in which we live.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/o/33o/48971116.html
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An Angel in the Supermarket
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1508904/jewish/An-Angel-in-the-Supermarket.htm
By Anonymous
It was Friday, on a balmy spring morning, and I was standing in line at the checkout counter in Rockland Kosher Supermarket. My cart was overflowing with groceries which would add up to a pretty penny. I was, however, the grateful recipient of food stamp benefits, and one swipe of my precious plastic card would cover the cost of my bimonthly food shopping trip. Nonetheless, I had chosen carefully, scanning the sale aisle for bargains, wanting to make the most of the government’s assistance. I loaded my items onto the counter and waited patiently for the cashier to add them up.
“Your food stamp balance is zero dollars and zero cents,” read the receipt“Delivery, please,” I said. One hundred and fifteen dollars and sixty-three cents was my total. I confidently handed the cashier my food stamp benefit card. “Your food stamp balance is zero dollars and zero cents,” read the receipt. I stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. “Please step aside while I put your order on hold and ring up the next customer,” said the cashier. I obediently stepped aside, racking my brain for a solution as to how to pay this bill. Please, G‑d, I thought, help me put food on my table.
Out of nowhere a well-dressed, kind-looking woman appeared. She smiled and said, “I can lend you the money, and you can pay me back at your convenience.” Thinking of my family’s wellbeing, I put my dignity in my pocket for later retrieval and nodded my assent. She handed her credit card to the cashier and waited while the transaction went through. I provided the delivery boy with my address and turned back to my benefactress to obtain her name and telephone number. Not seeing her, I scanned the store and the parking lot outside. She was nowhere to be found.
I walked out of the supermarket with a lump in my throat. Her kindness had opened up a torrent of emotions that for the past twelve months had been held in check. I quickened my pace as the tears began to flow, heading toward a quiet side street where I could cry in peace.
Exactly one year before, my husband had walked out on me, leaving me to care for my three children. He left me a note, saying that he no longer wanted to be tied down. From one day to the next I was thrust into a world of uncertainty. I had three beautiful daughters, ages three, six and nine, who were left fatherless and confused.
The years preceding this event had not been ideal. Soon after my marriage, I noticed that a large sum of money was missing from our joint bank account. When I asked my husband about it, he was evasive. That incident was the first hint that something was wrong. It took another few years to realize that I was married to a man who was addicted to gambling. He was slowly destroying his finances, himself and his family.
I consulted experts, did research and pleaded with him to go for help. But it was to no avail. When all our resources were depleted, he picked himself up and left.
I turned to government funds to help me stay above water and provide for my children. I turned to social services and became acquainted with Medicaid, food stamps and welfare. I enrolled in a part-time college program, and the kids—though saddened by the loss of their daddy, who wanted nothing to do with them—slowly began to heal. Slowly, my life returned to something resembling normalcy.
Although on the outside it appeared as if I was doing well, deep inside me there was an unbelievable rage which did not abate as the weeks and months rolled on. The abandonment of my husband meant the abandonment of my Father in Heaven. The losses of my childhood resurfaced and threatened to engulf me.
During the lonely silence of the nights, I would relive my childhood memories, picturing the day my parents were killed. I, an only child, was left an orphan. I was sent to be raised by an aunt. Although my aunt and uncle were well-meaning people, they were rigid and controlling. At the age of thirteen, my bedtime was still 8:00 PM. A sleepover was absolutely out of the question, and many of the privileges my friends enjoyed were foreign to me. My aunt would monitor my phone conversations and all my extracurricular activities. As I had an independent personality, this created friction, and I yearned for the moment when I would be set free.
When I first discovered that “Leiby” was addicted to gambling, I naively thought that we would work through this problem togetherAs I moved through my teenage years, I secretly dreamed of the day when I would have a place I could truly call home. At the age of twenty-one, I was introduced to Leib. Leib was gentle and kind. He was loyal and principled, and we shared the same vision of building a fine Jewish home together. I was genuinely happy and looked forward with great anticipation to our future together. Nothing prepared me for the pain ahead.
When I first discovered that “Leiby” was addicted to gambling, I naively thought that we would work through this problem together. Little did I know that Leiby was not going to allow himself to be helped, and that he would fall into a depression and eventually leave me.
During those years of trial, I fervently prayed to my Father in Heaven to save our marriage. I desperately wanted my precious little girls to have a solid, stable home. The day Leiby left us, I began to function on two levels. While I marched forward, taking care of business and reconstructing our lives, my inner world was in turmoil and my faith was slowly eroding.
That Friday morning, in Rockland Kosher, an angel appeared out of nowhere, bringing not only a box full of groceries but a message full of love. It was that Friday that I renewed my relationship with G‑d, feeling strongly the sense of caring and security that accompanies the knowledge that He continues to hold me and my children in His arms.
I felt ready, at last, to move forward and reconnect with society. I accepted a longstanding invitation to the local rabbi’s house for the Sabbath meals. Friday, before sunset, I prepared the candles for lighting. The Sabbath table was covered in white, and my children were dressed in their Sabbath best. The candles shone bright, lighting up their innocent glowing faces and warming my soul. And as I stood there, I contemplated the day’s events.
A food stamp card that didn’t work, and a fellow human being who reached out to give without a second thought, combined to open my heart and reunite me with my Maker. G‑d has many ways of reminding his children of His loving presence. For me it happened at Rockland Kosher.
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Self-Made Man?
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/390431/jewish/Self-Made-Man.htm
By Yossy Goldman
"He is a self-made man who worships his creator." Who said it? About whom? It doesn't really matter as long as we make sure the description doesn't fit us.
This week's parshah details the offerings of the princes (nessi'im) of the twelve tribes at the time the Mishkan, the portable Sanctuary in the wilderness, was completed. Previously, towards the end of the Book of Exodus, we had read that Moses blessed the people when they finished their work. What blessing did he give them? Our sages relate that he blessed them: May it be G-d's will that the Shechinah, the Divine Presence, should come to rest upon the work of your hands. He also blessed them with the phrase that would become part of Psalm 90, May the pleasantness of my L-rd, our G-d, be upon us…May He establish for us the work of our hands.
Why pray now? Surely the time for prayer was before the sanctuary was built. Then it might have been needed to inspire the people to bring in their offerings and contributions, to execute the huge amount of work that was required to create this new sacred structure. But now the work is done, everything is in place. Why pray now?
The answer is that Moses understood that building G-d's sanctuary is not in our hands alone. Sure, we can erect a structure. That's the easy part. The question is: will G-d see fit to live there, to make it His home? For this, a special prayer was called for. We needed a blessing upon the work our hands.
How often people imagine that they do it themselves -- all by themselves? How many boast that they are "self-made men"? So anyone who didn't have a rich father before him is a self-made man? Do you really believe that your success is all your own doing? Your hard work, your business acumen, your clever trading technique--these are the secrets of your success?
And where did all that wisdom and ability come from? The skills and talents we possess are G-d-given gifts we should acknowledge and be grateful for. And that's not humility. It's reality. You were born with that natural talent and flair. Give credit to your Creator.
A friend was once laid up with a bad back. What happened? He picked up a little bicycle for his 5-year old. A tiny nonsense but it left him flat on his back for weeks.
I remember some years ago catching some kind of "bug" and losing my voice for quite a while. There I was, the rabbi, the preacher, the speaker and the radio personality -- the man of words whose entire profession is built around his ability to say the right thing for every occasion -- and suddenly I'm rendered absolutely speechless. Overnight, I was made useless and unproductive -- all by a tiny germ.
To get sick takes a minute, to get well can take weeks and months. We all need to remember our frailties and limitations. No matter how strong, clever or talented we may be, we are all subject to higher forces. Nobody can do it alone. There is no such thing as a self-made man.
And so Moses reminds us all that even when our work is done, we still need that blessing from Above. Even when we work hard, concoct the most intricate business schemes, or present the most wonderful proposals, ultimately our success needs a prayer. We need to recognize the hand of G-d in our lives and, hopefully, in our success. Let us do our work as best as we can and then let us not forget to ask Him to bless the work of our hands.
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Home Iyar 29, 5771 · June 2, 2011
By Tzvi Freeman
A home is more than a house,
it is a state of being.
A home provides space and shelter,
not just for bodies, but for the human spirit.
Who creates this space?
Mainly the woman.
As it says, "A woman's wisdom builds her home."
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Skeleton Key
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
Gratitude opens every door.
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=123544359§ion=/sp/pg
One of the most moving scenes I ever witnessed took place at Gate B2 of the Baltimore airport. In a chair-studded corridor leading from Security to the departure gates, I had set down my carry-on and taken out my prayer book in hopes of reciting my morning prayers. A denizen of dozens of world airports, I suddenly heard a sound I had never before heard in any airport: applause.
Are people greeting a rock star? I wondered. Don’t rock stars fly in private jets? The applause subsided, and I continued with my prayers. Two minutes later, however, I again heard clapping, accompanied by cheers and ululations. I suppressed my curiosity and tried to concentrate on my prayers. The noise died down, but a couple minutes later another wave of applause and cheers picked me up and carried me to Gate B2.
A crowd of about 30 people was gathered at the gate, facing the entrance to the jet way. Some were waving American flags. Lined up against the wall leading from the jet way were five uniformed sailors and several sundry civilians, including a black T.S.A. official. A new round of applause and cheers rose up. I weaved my way through the crowd to glimpse the object of all this adulation. At the entrance to the jet way I spotted him: an old man in a wheelchair.
The fellow pushing the wheelchair stopped to let the old man absorb his rousing welcome. The man smiled and weakly lifted his right hand to acknowledge the crowd. As the wheelchair slowly moved past the receiving line, the sailors saluted, the others nodded, and the T.S.A. official stepped forward, shook the old man’s hand, and said in a heartfelt voice, “Thank you for your service.”
The wheelchair moved past, a quiet lull ensued, and then another round of applause for the next deplaning passenger: another old man, standing wobbly on his own legs, leaning on a cane. He paused, looked up in surprise at his hero’s welcome, as if not quite understanding all the hullabaloo, and then continued his limping gait, past the saluting sailors and the waving flags. He stopped only when the T.S.A. official stepped forward, grasped his hand, and said, “Thank you for your service.”
“What’s going on here?" I asked the young woman beside me. "Who are these men?”
“They’re World War II veterans. They’ve come to see their monument in Washington, D.C. “
Sixty-six years had passed since these men, then mere boys, had come home from the war, having seen their buddies die, perhaps being wounded themselves. Sixty-six years, and here at Baltimore airport, a few dozen cheering Americans, most born long after the war, were still grateful for their service.
I joined the crowd, clapping loudly as each old man, most of them in wheelchairs, paused at the jet way entrance for his moment of glory. My eyes filled with tears. Something profound was taking place here at Gate B2.
When the last wheelchair rolled off toward baggage claim, I approached the T.S.A. official. “I want you to know that I was very moved at how you thanked each and every veteran,” I told him. “We all clapped, but you were the only one who put the gratitude into words. And words are very important.”
He appreciated my appreciation. “Well,” he said humbly, “I myself served, so I know what they’ve been through.”
Opening Doors with Gratitude
Gratitude is the skeleton key that opens every door: faith, love, joy, even success in marriage. Gratitude is what distinguishes a mensch from a wretch.
Madelyn Weiss, a Miami lawyer specializing in divorce mediation, took a post-graduate seminar on the subject of divorce. At the first session, the professor went around the room and asked each student, “What is the main cause of divorce?” Some students answered, “Finances.” Others answered, “Infidelity.” Finally, the professor shook his head and declared, “The main cause of divorce is ingratitude.”
“When the husband isn’t grateful for all that the wife does for him," Madelyn explained to me, "or when the wife isn’t grateful for whatever the husband does, despite his faults, the marriage just spirals down into criticism and back-biting.”
In Jewish thought, gratitude is so essential that the Torah records that in Egypt at the time of the Ten Plagues, God instructed Moses to tell Aaron to strike the earth with his staff in order to initiate the plague of lice. Our sages explain that it would have been wrong of Moses himself to strike the earth because decades before the earth had benefited him when he used it to bury the body of the Egyptian taskmaster he had killed. The sages infer that if Moses had to show gratitude to the earth, an inanimate object that had helped him involuntarily one time decades before, how much more so must we all show gratitude to every human being who helps us voluntarily, even once, even long ago.
“Yehudi,” the Hebrew word for “Jew” is derived from the root word meaning, “to thank.” The essence of every Jew is the ability to be grateful.
But that ability exists only in potential. Gratitude, like gymnastics, is an acquired skill. Even if you’re agile, if you don’t work hard at it, you’ll never be a gymnast. Even if your mother told you a million times, “Say, ‘thank you,’“ you’ll never be a grateful adult unless you develop your gratitude muscle. The aerobic exercises for developing gratitude are:
Recognizing the good
Perceiving everything as a gift
Expressing gratitude
Related Article: Mastering The Gratitude Attitude
Recognizing Good
The Hebrew term for “gratitude” is “hakarat hatov,” which literally means, “recognizing the good.” With many people and situations, it’s as hard to find the good as to find Waldo amid 200 tiny figures. Gratitude requires:
Entering the three-star hotel room your spouse reserved for your anniversary and focusing on the beautiful view instead of the garish furnishings.
Noticing all the toys that your child did pick up rather than the five Duplo pieces that he didn’t.
Focusing on how well your housecleaner cleans the floors and windows even if she’s a little lax with the dusting.
For those who object that noticing the good while ignoring the bad is a Pollyanna-ish failure to see the whole picture, let’s be humble enough to admit: No one ever sees the whole picture. Human beings are complex. Even if you have lived with a person for decades, you cannot see all of his depths or all the secrets of his past (let alone his past lives). As I learned in Perceptual Psychology 101: Human beings see what they want to see. Choosing to see the good—recognizing the good—may be the best choice you’ll ever make.
The Entitlement Poison
Nothing kills gratitude like a sense of entitlement. If I’m entitled to quiet neighbors, then I’ll never be grateful for the tranquility in our building until the noisy new neighbors move in —and then I’ll be irate at their loudness. If I’m entitled to good health, then I’ll never be grateful to God for the flawless functioning of my myriad cells and systems until I get a bad diagnosis —and then I’ll ask, “Why me?”
The antidote to a sense of entitlement is a sense of gift. The person to whom every sunset, every wonder of the body, every bag of groceries packed up by the supermarket bagger is experienced as an unearned gift will always be happy.
Developing a sense of gift requires:
Being grateful to the taxi driver for getting you to your destination even though you paid for the ride.
Being grateful to your spouse for doing the laundry or dishes, even though you agreed that that was his/her job.
Being grateful to God that you can see to read this article, even though you’ve always had the gift of sight.
Related Article:Path of the Soul #3: Gratitude
Expressing Gratitude
Unexpressed gratitude is like a gift purchased and wrapped, but never given. Once we’ve noticed the good and experienced it as undeserved, we have to express it in words.
Recently I asked my teenage son to put away two cans of spray paint he had used in a project. Five minutes later I walked by and saw that the cans were indeed put away. I called out to my son, “Thank you for doing what I asked the first time I asked you.”
He replied, “Thank you for saying that.”
With a jolt I realized how rarely I thank my children for doing “what they’re supposed to do.” His gratitude for my gratitude woke me up and made me want to express my appreciation much more often.
That’s why I expressed appreciation to the T.S.A. official for his saying, “Thank you for your service” to each veteran. As I ran off to catch my flight at Gate B9, I passed two soldiers in grey camouflage fatigues. I stopped and said to them, “Thank you for your service.”
Why should they have to wait 66 years?
To bring Sara Yoheved Rigler’s Gratitude Workshop to your community, contact slewsi@aol.com.
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Rachel, I enjoy your posts very much. So, thank you for your most recent post.
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Bigdog,
You are welcome. Thank you for your kind words.
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The following excerpt appeared in an article linked here: http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0611/56550.html. The article itself is about Anthony Weiner and his past, present and future.
And where are our female elected officials when it comes to sex scandals? There are 17 women in the Senate and 75 women in the House, and when it comes to carnal wrongdoing, you never hear a peep out of them.
This is odd when you consider the English language has so many ugly terms for wayward women (slut, tramp, bimbo and so forth) and so few to describe wayward men (lothario? womanizer? playboy? dude? None seem to quite do it.).
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Well BD, in every heterosexual scandal, there are obviously female actors involved who must know that the powerful man they are having a relationship with is married.
Is power of word the place for this topic? :-o
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It added context to this: This is odd when you consider the English language has so many ugly terms for wayward women (slut, tramp, bimbo and so forth) and so few to describe wayward men (lothario? womanizer? playboy? dude? None seem to quite do it.).
And that seems like powerful wording (or perhaps the lack there of) to me.
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Guest Columnists
Upon a Timeless Tel
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1292171/jewish/Upon-a-Timeless-Tel.htm
(http://w3.clhosting.org/media/images/443/uOSE4433997.jpg)
By Sara Hecht
Twenty-five miles south of Jerusalem, an impressive tel rises above the plains of Judea. A city built upon hundreds of previously destroyed cities, Tel Lachish marks the terrain between Jerusalem and Hebron, whispering ancient legends of its proud inhabitants across the sweeping foothills.
Common to the Middle Eastern landscape, a "tel" is literally a mound, formed by layers of occupation over thousands of years. As each society builds its city upon the ruins of a previous period, the site rises, permanently altering the topography of the land.
Tel Lachish carries their love and their pain; their joys and their sorrowsThe town of Lachish bears great historical significance, resting on ancient metropolises where valiant men and women from the times of Joshua through the Maccabean era once resided. Marked with a tumultuous history of battle and conquest, Tel Lachish carries their love and their pain; their joys and their sorrows; their victories and their defeats.
The tourists come to see Lachish not just because it imposingly juts out of the Judean lowland, but because they want to hear the story of this unusual tel; they want to breathe the air of a city that has experienced endless destruction and rebuilding, but never lost anything along the way.
G‑d could have made us perfect architects. If He wanted, He could have exclusively endowed us with tools to build palatial structures that last for eternity. Instead, He foresaw the beauty of a tel. It was with this vision, in the early summer of 1312 BCE, that G‑d quietly entered a unique potential for human failure into our universe.
They were a newborn nation, standing on the threshold of entering the Promised Land. Hesitant about their future, the Jewish people ask Moses for permission to survey the unknown territory soon to be their home. And so, Moses, the humble servant of G‑d, turns to his Master for consent. But astonishingly - for the first time in history - G‑d tells Moses to do as he pleases.
We all know how the story ends – the spies return with negative reports, the Jews become fearful, and tragically, the generation of the great Exodus never enters the Land of Israel.
It's a classic question of Torah commentators: If G‑d said, "do what you want," didn't Moses sense that He didn't really approve of the Jews' request? Why did Moses persist in sending them?
Indeed, Moses was well aware of the risks involved in dispatching spies – yes, he sensed the possibility for catastrophe in G‑d's noncommittal answer. But he was also conscious of the fact that G‑d was giving humankind an opportunity for growth that can only come about through failure.
Do as you wish, G‑d said, effectively opening a new and empowering dimension in man's choice.
I know that when you fall, you will rebuild – grander, stronger, and more beautiful edificesI'll leave you room to err, says G‑d, because I know you won't leave your shattered city in ruins; I know that when you fall, you will rebuild – grander, stronger, and more beautiful edifices than ever before. I know that when you stray, what you really want is to be nearer to Me. I know you're going to build a tel. So I'll let you make mistakes.
And we do.
I reckon G‑d made us better-than-perfect architects. In fact, He imbued us with such a genuine and passionate desire to create, with such a thirst for growth, that sometimes we find ourselves razing down the old only to give way to the new that is aching to emerge.
We crave rebirth. Status quo never feels right; the old is simply never sufficient. We have an instinctive urge to build anew. Is that why we keep falling?
When we let our id knock down the walls of our personal city, on the surface, it looks like everything we've worked towards is suddenly gone. But don't let the vacuum of ground zero dishearten you, because that subsoil can't be bought anywhere in the universe. Indeed, like the tel, when we reconstruct our own little broken worlds, it is on terra firma that carries all the resilience and fortitude of our previous journeys.
Sometimes we build our tel painfully, slowly, trudging through the remains with a broken sort of hope – can we possibly restore our city this time? At other times we labor with a fury, catapulting through the wreckage with a surety, with a swiftness, so that we don't set our eyes on what has crumbled lest we break from regret. We throw ourselves into the building, we lay brick upon brick, glancing away from the debris, and only looking upwards at what we've already constructed in our mind's eye.
But regardless of how we build, we never leave the city in ruins - after all, it's a tel. And with every breakdown comes an even greater restoration, the earth, begging to be tilled again.
When you stand on the pinnacle of Tel Lachish, you can see for miles. It's a breathtaking panorama, extending from Bet Guvrin in the North, all the way to the Hebron hills in the East. They say you can't get that view from anywhere else in the area.
What a gift G‑d gave when he granted us the ability to fall. For now, you can stand at the top of your tel and see the world like you've never seen it before. Life suddenly has new meaning, new depth. Indeed, from the summit you can see what always surrounded you, but this time, oh so differently.
The monumental tels in our homeland and our souls continue to rise above the landscapeOn the 15th day of Av, 1274 BCE, the Jews of Moses' generation stopped dying in the desert – a tragedy that had been a consequence of the spies' failed mission. This day marked the end of their temporary decline, and more importantly, the beginning of subsequent rebuilding and growth as their children prepared to enter the Land of Israel.
And though our holy cities – both in spirit and of stone – endured relentless destruction in the centuries that followed, the monumental tels in our homeland and our souls continue to rise above the landscape, a tribute to our battered but unbeaten faith and an intrinsic longing to heighten the bond with our Creator.
As we plow the wounded earth yet again, let us look towards the ultimate rebuilding of all time, recalling the promising words of the prophet Jeremiah, "Venivneta Ha'Ir al Tilah – and the city shall be rebuilt on its former tel."
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From a letter by the Rebbe:
I do not accept your assertion that you do not believe.
For if you truly had no concept of a Supernal Being Who created the world with purpose, then what is all this outrage of yours against the injustice of life?
The substance of the universe is not moral, nor are plants and animals. Why should it surprise you that whoever is bigger and more powerful swallows his fellow alive?
It is only due to an inner conviction in our hearts, shared by every human being, that there is a Judge, that there is right and there is wrong. And so, when we see a wrong, we demand an explanation: Why is this not the way it is supposed to be?
That itself is belief in G-d.
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Don't be afraid to ask.
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
http://www.aish.com/sp/pr/Insulting_God.html
It’s that time of year again – academia is sending forth another generation of graduates.
In time-honored tradition, prominent guest speakers launch them out into the world with words of wisdom meant to inspire the young men and women ready to begin their careers.
I love to read synopses of these contemporary guides to the perplexed. Many of them are merely clichés dressed up in fancy clothes. But some are truly profound messages that bear listening to, not only by the graduates starting out in life but all of us as well.
And this year I struck gold. One of the guest speakers, addressing those getting their degrees at the College of William and Mary, illustrated an idea that long-ago changed my life. Speaking from the perspective of an extremely successful businessman, he echoed a concept that my teacher shared with me many years ago.
I was a very young boy and I didn't understand something we learned about Moses. The Torah tells us Moses was "heavy of speech and heavy of tongue;" he had a speech defect. Here was the man destined to be the greatest leader of the Jewish people, the Rabbi par excellence, whose stuttering should have made him as unsuitable for his role as the English monarch in the recent Oscar winning movie, The King's Speech. King George VI had to be helped in order to properly serve as monarch. Yet Moses remained with his disability.
"Since God can do anything," I asked my teacher, "why didn't He heal Moses?"
As all good teachers do, my rabbi first complimented me on raising a very interesting difficulty. He told me that many commentators address the issue, with a host of different answers, and as I get older I would be able to choose from among these various replies. He shared with me the answer that he personally preferred, and told me to always keep it in mind in how I relate to God with my problems in the future.
Yes, Moses would have been far better off had he had the gift of eloquence in addition to all of his other virtues. His stuttering was a disability and of course God could have easily removed this stigma. So why didn't He?
Because Moses never asked.
In all his humility, Moses didn't feel worthy of making the request. And God wanted to show us by way of His dealings with the greatest Jew in history that the prerequisite for His answering our prayers is for us to verbalize them.
Never be afraid to ask anything of God, my teacher concluded. If you're withholding a request because you think it's too much to ask for, that's an insult to the Almighty, almost as if you're implying it's too hard for Him to accomplish. If God wants to say no, that's up to Him. Your role is to make clear you believe in His power to accomplish anything, no matter how difficult.
Learn to ask is the message I internalized.
Think Big
Which is why I found the graduation address given by Joseph J. Plumeri, the chief executive of Willis Group Holdings, so fascinating.
He began by asking the students whether they heard of this big building in Chicago called the Sears Tower. Of course they all had. He reminded them that it's the tallest building in the Western Hemisphere. And then he shared with them how some years ago he told people that he was going to rename it the Willis Tower.
People laughed at him, telling him it's impossible. The name Sears had been there since 1973. "Who are you to come along and change the name?" they said to him,
He told them that Sears hadn't been in the building since 1993. He then met with the owner of the building which was 20% vacant and said, "I need 2% of the space." He negotiated the price and when the owner asked, "Do we have a deal?" he told him, "Almost, except for one small thing. Your name is a jinx. You need a new name, a vibrant name, a name that signifies the future, not the past. I want to change it."
"When we dedicated that building," Joseph Plumeri said, concluding his speech, "I was on the evening news with Brian Williams and he said to me, 'How, Joe, after so many years it was called the Sears Tower, how did you get them to change the name to Willis?' And I looked into the camera and I said, 'I asked.'"
When I had the wisdom to ask, God showed me He had the will to answer.
One of the classic Yiddish folk tales by Isaac Leib Peretz is the story of Bontsha the Silent. Heartbreaking in its depiction of a truly saintly soul who is unaware of his goodness, it describes the scene in heaven when Bontsha appears for his final judgment. The angel speaking on his behalf records all of his pious deeds. Bontsha has always suffered in silence. Mistreated throughout his lifetime, Bontsha never complained or questioned God's ways. The heavenly court could find no fault with him. The prosecutor is speechless, he too unable to find a single blemish in Bontsha’s life.
The heavenly court comes to a unanimous decision: "Everything in paradise is yours. Choose. Take what you want, whatever you desire. You will only take what is yours by right."
The story closes:
“Well then,” - and Bontsha smiles for the first time – “well then, what I would like, your Excellency, is to have for breakfast every morning a hot roll with fresh butter."
As great as Bontsha was, life had beaten him down so he no longer knew how to dream. His tragedy was a tragedy that many of us replicate in our own lives when our aspirations become so diminished that we don't dare to hope for more than hot rolls and butter.
We are all children of God. We have Someone in heaven Who cares for us deeply. Our mistake all too often is not that we seek too much from the Almighty but that we don't have the sense to ask Him for enough.
When we are troubled and our difficulties seem insurmountable, we should ask Him to intervene.
When we need help in a situation that seems humanly impossible to be resolved, we should ask Him to get involved.
When we suffer and feel helpless, we should seek out the One who promised to come to the aid of all those who have no one else to turn to and ask for His assistance.
I have learned this lesson well from my own personal experience: When I had the wisdom to ask, God showed me He had the will to answer.
* Everyone I know still refers to as the Sears Tower.
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6 Keys to Outsmart Stress
by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
Simple steps to reclaim your life.
Stress is part of everyday life. But when the pressure starts to grind us down and cause health and personal problems it’s time to make a change. We all know that stress can bring on heart disease, stomach issues, ulcers, depression, and relationship issues. Just reading that sentence can stress us out!
Sometimes we think about something worrisome and get that sick-to-the-stomach feeling. We don’t think clearly. Stress keeps us up at night.
So what can we do?
Instead of allowing the stress to control us, let’s try to take back control and live life better. We can then eliminate unnecessary tensions and deal with those pressures we must face more effectively.
UNPLUG
We are in an endless state of mental congestion. We cannot hear ourselves think. We go to a wedding, graduation, family dinner, or vacation in a beautiful place, but we are only half there. Our minds are somewhere else; longing to check the blackberry or iPhone just one more time. When we are constantly distracted, it becomes impossible to function well. We parent with half an eye, work with half an ear, and live with half a heart. The pressure of being perpetually on call takes its toll and does not allow us space to breath.
In Ethics of the Fathers it is written: “All my days I have found nothing better than silence.” Let’s begin by finding some moments to regain peace and quiet in our day. Take the plunge and unplug.
RID YOURSELF OF PUTDOWNS
A lot of stress has to do with the way we see ourselves. When we give ourselves negative messages and put ourselves down we lower our sense of self and destroy our own self esteem. We can become our own worst enemy.
“I can’t believe I’m such an idiot.”
“What was I thinking? I’ll never be able to do this!”
“That’s it; I really messed up this time. I’m finished.”
Remove the negative eye – it will only stress you out. Stop demeaning yourself. Replace detrimental self-statements with positive ones. Start believing in yourself.
And if you do happen to make a mistake and fall, pick yourself up and start anew. This is true strength.
Related Article: Confessions of a Worrywart
STOP PROCRASTINATING
Sometimes we have a problem that feels so overwhelming, we just can’t deal with it. So we push it off. We leave it for tomorrow. And then tomorrow comes but we push it off again. Putting off a problem only causes us to worry more. We toss and turn all night imagining the ‘what ifs’, and everything seems so much more troublesome. The night feels suffocating.
Falling behind can make the situation worse. Most problems are not as awful as you think. And even if you believe the situation is insurmountable, at least you can attempt to take some small steps in the right direction and feel empowered as you try. When you make an effort to confront your fear, you will not feel as overwhelmed. And you may even be surprised to find a solution within reach with those you thought you could not approach.
GUARD YOUR HEALTH
It is a mitzvah in the Torah to watch over and take care of our God–given bodies. Stress depletes us of our energy. We turn to carbs and high fat foods to refuel. (Read standing in front of an open freezer with a pint of Hagen Daaz Caramel Cone Explosion in hand). But the quicker we refill, the quicker we crash. Instead of loading up at night and waking up with extra pounds and regrets, get your body moving. Take the stairs and not the elevator. Go for a walk or a quick jog. Our bodies produce endorphins when we exercise. They are natural mood boosters that can help reduce stress levels. Even dance around the living room. Any little bit of activity can help.
Make time for the activities you enjoy. Do something fun. Listen to music, ride a bike, attend the class you’ve always wanted to join. Be sure to set aside moments each day for prayer and reflection.
SEE THE GOOD
Come on, it’s not all bad all the time. Of course it’s easier to see the dark side and fall into despair. But you do have some good going on, you just need to open your eyes and stop complaining.
“My in-laws are coming for the weekend, I can’t take it.”
“These Sunday carpools with the kids are driving me crazy. I am so stressed out from them.”
“My baby was up crying the whole night. I’m ready to explode.”
Well, at least you have family to share your life with!
“My boss is nuts! He is a pressure cooker.”
Thank God you have a job!
It’s all how you see the situation. Will you focus on the good or just always be a complainer?
The more we complain, the more stressed we feel.
Happiness and a ‘feel good‘ mentality is in our hands.
ALLOW PEOPLE IN
It is a mistake to cut yourself off from those who care about you. You may be overwhelmed, even ashamed of your situation, but those who love you want to stand by your side. Don’t be an island onto yourself. You will wake up one day and wonder what happened. Where did all the people in my life go and why does my phone never ring? I am not speaking about those thousand friends on facebook. I am talking about that one friend or family member, who would cross oceans for you, who feels your pain as if it’s his own, who sheds a tear for your sorrow. You will experience joy again but what a pity to have lost those who love you on the way.
When we focus on our problems 24/7, we allow stress to control our lives. No one is perfect and none of us will have perfect lives. Set reasonable expectations and know that this is all part of living. Take charge of those challenges that you can control. Let go of that which is beyond you.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/6_Keys_to_Outsmart_Stress.html
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Weekly Sermonette
Keeping Up with the Cohens
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/293571/jewish/Keeping-Up-With-the-Cohens.htm
“That’s some new kitchen Sandra just had done. State of the art!” “Psst . . . did you see the new car Mark just took delivery of? It’s got every gadget in the book!” Common conversation. Rather routine, everyday talk.
They tell of a rep on the road who had broken all records for sales in his company. When asked the secret of his success, he explained that the first thing he said when someone opened the door was, “Did you see what your neighbor Mrs. Jones just got?” That trick never failed him.
This was never the Jewish ethic, however. We were taught differently, and our ancient value system is as relevant as ever in contemporary life. Privacy, modesty and discretion are all characteristics our people have cherished since we became a nation.
“Balaam raised his eyes, and saw Israel dwelling according to its tribes” (Numbers 24:3).
What was so special about the Israelites’ dwelling? Rashi offers one interpretation of the verse, that the doorways of the Israelites’ tents in the wilderness were arranged so that they did not face each other. That way, one person was not able to see into his neighbor’s tent, and their privacy was protected. In fact, this is one of the explanations of Balaam’s famous praise of the Jews, Mah tovu ohalecha Yaakov—“How goodly are your tents, O Jacob.” The heathen prophet was extolling the Jews’ virtues in their town planning, whereby they took precautions in safeguarding their modesty and protecting their personal family lives from would-be busybodies and peeping Toms, otherwise known as yentas and nudniks.
Another possible interpretation of “not looking into your neighbor’s tent” might be this: Do not look into your neighbor’s tent to help you decide what you should be doing. Your decisions in life should not be based on what other people are, or are not, doing. Certainly not on what your neighbors have or do not have.
Social workers today will painfully testify that family breakdowns are often a result of financial difficulties and the stress that these put on marriages. Many of those stresses are self-imposed. Their clients confessed that they didn’t really need the new kitchen or the new car, but once their friends were moving up in the status stakes, they felt under pressure to maintain their social standing.
Whether it is the kitchen, car, vacation, or the latest digital technology, if we allow ourselves to be judged by other people’s criteria, we lay ourselves open to a lot of unnecessary stress. Even a simchah—a wedding or bar mitzvah—can get us into “keeping up with the Cohens” mode, from the seven-layered designer invitation hand-delivered to every guest, down to the posh dinner dance replete with chopped-liver sculptures.
Why? All because we are busy looking over our shoulders or peering into the next-door neighbor’s place.
The principle even applies to tzedakah. There is an appeal for the shul or a Jewish charity, and how do we respond? “Well, if so-and-so, who is a multimillionaire, only gave $10,000, then all I should give is $10!” What difference does it make what someone else gave or didn’t give? You should give what you can, irrespective of what others gave.
How much resentment, bitterness and disappointment we would avoid if we didn’t try to measure ourselves by other people’s standards! We would be much happier people if we looked into ourselves and achieved what we could and should, without drawing comparisons with others.
If you want to enjoy the blessing of “goodly tents,” or even just good housekeeping, keep your eyes and your nose in your own tent. Then you will be content, too.
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http://www.aish.com/sp/so/Rebirth.html
Rebirth
by Rabbi Ephraim Shore
Our son nearly died in a car accident. Today we are witnessing the miracle of his recovery.
Six weeks ago, our son, Yaakov, 21, was hit by a car while rollerblading in Jerusalem. After two emergency head surgeries, he lay unconscious in the ICU of Hadassah Hospital, growing thinner and paler, with tubes coming in and out of just about every part of his body, for two weeks.
We didn't know if he'd make it out of the hospital. The terror of those days was thick and black and forever. The unrelenting beeps of the countless machines attached to him were all we had to remind us of the passing hours and days as we sat by his side, praying, reading him Torah, holding his hands.
Finally, Yaakov's brain pressure went down to levels the doctors felt were safe to begin the process of allowing him to wake up. It took four days to slowly wean him off all the heavy drugs. With trepidation, we waited for him to hopefully awake. Would he recognize us? Would he know how to talk, or had the brain been damaged in that area, as the doctors feared? Would he remember anything of his past? Would he have the same personality? Would he ever again be able to walk, taste, read or do other basic things? Life was one giant question mark. The doctors could not reassure us.
All we could do was pray with all our hearts to the master of the universe: "Please bring us back our Yaakov!"
With the Shavuot holiday coming, some of Yaakov’s army buddies offered to stay with him those 24 hours so my wife and I could be at home with our other children – to gain some rest, some perspective, and to experience the full impact of the holiday.
When God revealed himself to the Jewish People on Mount Sinai and gave us the Torah 3,800 years ago, tradition tells us that all the sick people were healed: the lame walked, the blind could see. On each Shavuot, the anniversary of that event, the same power of healing returns.
Yaakov with his parents and brother
As the holiday finished, we received a call from Yaakov's army buddies who had sat at his side for 24 hours. "Come quick! He's awake! He recognizes us and he understands."
With tears in our eyes, we rushed to the hospital. On the surface, it looked like a repeat of that same awful route two weeks before, driving and crying to the hospital. But this was so different: our tears were primal expressions of relief, of joy and of thanks. When we stood at Yaakov's side and saw him smile at us, his eyes glassy but shining with recognition and life, we once again had trouble standing.
He couldn't talk, and he could hardly even open his eyes, but when my wife bent over to kiss him, he somehow found the strength to reach out his hand to caress her cheek to say, "I love you." It was heaven opening up. When his friend said goodbye, he slowly took his hand and drew it to his mouth to kiss it, and then he winked. With those small movements he was able to let us know that our Yaakov was back.
We have witnessed something few people have the opportunity to see: a miracle.
But actually, we've seen lots of miracles. Almost daily. Rabbi Dessler explains that the only real difference between a miracle and "nature" is its frequency. Is manna appearing with the dew each morning for 40 years in the desert any more miraculous than rotting seeds transforming into stalks of wheat or mango trees? But since we see it all the time, we lose touch with the marvel of it. The same goes with every aspect of our body's wondrous functions.
Now I know, "Everything is a miracle!" just sounds trite. But when you see creation appearing before your eyes, trite is not trite anymore. It is profound.
We have beheld what can only be described as a rebirth of a human being. At first he was an immobile blob of flesh. Then his eyes opened and he began to recognize things. Over the next days, he started to breathe by himself again, and slowly to move his hands, his legs. Later, our joy knew no end when he was able to sip a popsicle, and soon after, to drink by himself. It took a while, but soon he could even hold a water bottle himself!
A few days later, he painfully forced out his first words and our ecstasy was beyond expression. Then he began to eat solids, and to tell us what he needed. Like a baby's umbilical cord, they gradually removed him from the myriad pipes which had supported every aspect of his bodily functions.
Each morning upon waking, we say a beautiful prayer of thanks before we even climb out of bed: "I thank you, living God, for returning my soul into me in kindness…" Judaism describes sleep as "one-sixtieth of death." Our Yaakov was in a state that was more like 59 sixtieths of death, but God returned his soul. Almost every day we see more of him coming back home from somewhere far, far away.
Each day we fought the lurking, awesome fear of "What if this is as far as he's going to go? Maybe it will stop here!" We drew upon every drop of optimism and forced ourselves to be "convinced" that he was going to move further along. We found ourselves (and still do) torn between an immense sense of gratitude for how far he has come, and our uncompromising yearning for Yaakov to regain all his abilities, memories and self.
Positive thinking has a potent impact on the outcome of things. In fact, Judaism demands optimism. We have a loving God who has infinite power to help us. He's got a great track record: just as He's helped us in a million ways until now, we can surely count on Him to help us going forward. We should be shocked and amazed when things don't go the way we want them too. Shocked enough to ask what lesson he is trying to teach us in His love.
After one more week in the ICU, Yaakov was moved to the neurological ward of the hospital, and a few days later, still with his tracheotomy pipe sticking out of his throat, he was transferred to a rehab hospital.
As we were leaving, saying good bye to our new friends, the staff of the ICU, a social worker shared with us that everyone who leaves this place leaves with two very special gifts. First, they have a newfound perspective on what really counts in life. Petty problems are just that, petty problems. Secondly, a realistic appreciation of the incredible miracle that is life. Every one of the hundreds of things we do each day is simply amazing. When you see your child without that ability, and you imagine what life will be like for him without it (eating by himself, talking, going to the bathroom, reading, walking, holding, understanding, remembering things), you know how appreciative we all must be. "These gifts are for you, the family. Your son won't remember what he went through, but you will."
On one of those first days of reawakening, Yaakov was in tremendous bodily pain, shaking all over, suffering terrible headaches and enveloped in a huge fog. He got a glimpse in a mirror of his shaved head, huge scar, pale, thin face, and he began to cry. I hugged him hard and cried with him, but I told him, "Yaakov, you might be crying from pain, and I'm really sorry that I'm not more sympathetic. But I am crying tears of joy. I don't expect you to understand yet, but seeing you alive, feeling and aware, is so huge that all I can do is cry." He understood, and he was calmed.
At first he didn't know his name or age, where he lives, or how many kids in our family. Today, Yaakov is out of most of his pain and he's communicating (in both Hebrew and English) beautifully. He still has a long way to go in a lot of areas, like a painful leg, broken jaw, more surgery, and holes in his memory, but we see more and more faculties returning almost daily.
He's returned to many of his wonderful traits, like not blaming and not complaining. Despite his present disabilities, he's almost always happy and he lights up when his next visitor shows up. Yesterday, we found more glass embedded in his arm, but he didn't complain or blame.
We've encouraged ourselves and people all over the world to work on these two important traits – not blaming and not complaining – and we've heard from hundreds of people about how they are working at it, just how difficult it is to change our negative habits, and the huge difference a little bit of awareness has made in their lives. (Click here to watch related video.)
One of my rabbis, a young father who was diagnosed with life-threatening cancer, was treated and then went into remission, shared with me something I've never forgotten. "If someone had offered me $10 million to go through this experience, I would never have taken it. But now that I've gone through it, if someone offered me $10 million to take it away from me, I would never give it up."
Now I understand what he meant. The agony, the deep, unimaginable fear and heartache of these last few weeks are something I would not wish on anyone. But the lessons my wife and many of our friends and family have learned from this are so precious; it's hard to imagine going back and living life without them. My appreciation for the beauty and the miracle of life, my understanding of the power of kindness, love and friendship; the life-altering impact of small (and large) caring gestures; the intimacy with God that comes with tears and heartfelt prayer; the strength and comfort of community; and for an earth-shattering lesson in unconditional love for a child, with no expectations or judgments.
For all of these treasures, and for Yaakov's return to us, I will be forever grateful.
Click here to read Ephraim's first article about his son.
Click here to watch "Where's the Salt!" A video on the Don't Blame, Don't Complain campaign.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/so/Rebirth.html
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Printed from Chabad.org
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/384517/jewish/Dont-Psychoanalyze.htm
Parshah Moment
Don’t Psychoanalyze!
By Shimon Posner
On the plane back to America, I was sitting next to a psychologist who mentioned to me how important it is for them never to psychoanalyze family members. One of the reasons: it’s not fair. Of course, Jews were psychoanalyzing way before Sigmund invited people to lie on his couch—we just had no name for it.
For the non-professional, a greater danger is pseudo-analysis. “Oh, she always does that, she’s so compulsive.” “There he goes again with his bipolar.” Worse: “The reason she always helps is because she’s eager to please—it’s her low self-esteem.” “You know why he gives so much tzedakah? He needs to see his name on a building. Typical megalomaniac!”
Says who? Is it that simple to know everything going on in someone else’s head? Are you always that accurate with what’s happening in your own head? Secondly, what difference does it make? A good act with bad intentions beats a bad act with good intentions—and the pavement is a lot smoother.
Granted, giving it your best and things not succeeding the way you like is aggravating and unrewarding. We know that. And all G‑d asks is that you do your best; the results are in His hands, we accept that. And that no action is ever wasted, good always accumulates, and whether results are immediately recognized or not is immaterial in the long run—and, from a G‑dly, timeless (beyond quantum physics) perspective, redundant. We believe that. But that is not what we’re talking about.
Look at it this way: Guy A helps old lady cross street because: the TV crew is filming, she has a big will, she has a wealthy nephew, etc. Guy B doesn’t help old lady cross street because: the TV crew is filming, she has a big will, she has a wealthy nephew, and how dare you think he’s so shallow! See, bottom line is, the lady needs help; your yin-yang harmony don’t do much. As the Kabbalah puts it: Love and awe are what make a mitzvah soar. A mitzvah without love and awe is a bird without wings. Love and awe without a mitzvah is wings without a bird.
Okay, so action is it. But can intentions be improved, sublimated, sanctified? Well, now you’re getting serious. But if you’re not just doing it, then you’re seriously not getting it.
The Parshah? When Pinchas acted decisively, he was ridiculed because his grandfather, a pantheistic priest, had done similarly: a plus-c’est-change chip off the old block in different circumstance.
No, G‑d announced at the beginning of the Parshah, he did good; I alone know the inner workings of man. Judge him primarily by what he does. And unless you’re in the business, your couch is for people to sit on—and if you’re blessed with it, for overflow company to sleep on.
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The Greatest Servant
A Jewish understanding of leadership
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/531545/jewish/The-Greatest-Servant.htm
By Chana Kroll
From sunglasses, saxophones, and a press release consisting of a chocolate chip cookie recipe, to Supreme Court decisions and the war in Iraq—it’s interesting, amusing, and occasionally gripping to watch the “parade” known as the American presidential elections. This time around (this article was written in 2007—ed.), with a war raging in Iraq, global terrorism still posing an all-too-real threat, and the unfortunate realization of some of the social and environmental problems we were warned about growing up, there is certainly no shortage of issues to address as the race gains momentum.
Perhaps the most crucial issue, one which we try to touch on but which can not be captured on news cameras or in speeches, is whether any candidate really possesses what we can call true leadership.
A real leader is actually the greatest servant. It’s a tricky issue because, like modesty, leadership is one of those qualities that, as soon as a person begins describing his or her own mastery of it, you can’t help but feel that in fact they don’t have it. Rather, they have its exact opposite.
Real leaders tend to be those who run away from any type of position of power, and they rarely speak about themselves, because that just isn’t where their thoughts are. A real leader is actually the greatest servant. He doesn’t have a personal agenda at hand, but rather is there solely for the needs of the people he is leading.
In this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Pinchas, we witness the ordination of Joshua bin Nun as the successor to our first national leader, Moses. Like Moses himself, Joshua never wanted to be a leader. Each, instead, wanted from an early age to serve. Moses: by going out into the fields where the Jews were working as slaves, and seeking ways to ease their suffering. Joshua: by devoting himself to Moses. Even as a young man, he was constantly present in the tent that served as a Torah study hall. As an adult, he remained Moses’s loyal student and aide. Both had to be persuaded to accept the role of leader.
Yet the deepest insights into what makes a real leader are revealed only when the responsibilities are about to change hands from Moses to Joshua.
Having just been told by G‑d that he is about to pass away, it would have been logical and human for Moses to turn his attention to settling his own affairs and giving last instructions to his family and followers. After all, what leader isn’t concerned with what his mark will be on history? What parent isn’t concerned with how well their wishes will be followed after they pass on?
The generals of the Jewish army always went first Moses wasn’t. He was concerned only about two things—that G‑d’s will be realized, and that the Jewish people not be left alone, without someone to understand them, protect them, inspire them, and when need be, comfort them. The words of his plea have forever encapsulated the meaning of what it means to be a Jewish leader: “G‑d of the spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the assembly, who shall go out before them and come in before them, who shall take them out and who shall bring them in.” (Numbers 27:15–17)
Why is G‑d being addressed at this point as “G‑d of the spirits of all flesh”? According to our Sages, Moses is acknowledging a basic truth—that the personality of each individual is unique and known to G‑d—and he is beseeching G‑d to appoint a leader who can deal with each of these personalities. He is seeking a leader for the Jewish people who will be able to understand and empathize with each person. G‑d answers him by promising that the man He is appointing as Moses’s successor is indeed one “in whom there is spirit,” i.e. that he will be able to act in a way befitting the personality of each individual.
Joshua was just such a person, establishing a rapport with each person based on genuine empathy, not on attempts to curry favor. And true to the second part of Moses’s request, he “went before them and came in before them.” In other words, he didn’t send the nation out to war to fight battles. He went first, and he inspired in them the confidence to be successful and thus come back (“and come in before them”). For centuries, these were the defining characteristics of the army of the Jewish people; unlike other armies, where generals stay comfortably behind the line of fire, the generals of the Jewish army always went first, and with their good deeds, empathy and trust, were able to inspire confidence in their soldiers. Victory was the result.
Of course, this was true not only of physical battles, but of our internal spiritual battles as well. Each of us has to find the inspiration in Moses’ words to become true leaders in our own sphere of influence. By caring about and genuinely connecting to the souls of people we must influence—for starters, our families—and by relating to their individual personalities. By leading through example, even if it means stretching ourselves to the breaking point, and by strengthening our own trust in the One who is guiding us, whether we see His hand in things or not.
It’s a kind of leadership that tends to create not followers, but people who are genuine leaders in their own right. And that’s something this world could use a little more of.
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The "Don't Blame, Don't Complain" Campaign can change your life.
by Mrs. Lori Palatnik
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kDJiLOi3Hk&feature=player_embedded
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kDJiLOi3Hk&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
Aish.com does not have wristbands like the one Lori has available (now don't complain!). Fortunately, any wristband will do the trick.
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Thanks Rachel. I needed that.
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Marc- I'm glad it was helpful. I need advice like that regularly
In Memory of Leiby Kletzky
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
There are no words, only tears.
http://www.aish.com/jw/s/In_Memory_of_Leiby_Kletzky.html
Tisha B’Av came early this year to Boro Park.
An eight-year-old boy, Leiby Kletzky, was on his way home from day camp in Brooklyn when he mysteriously disappeared. A frantic search, spearheaded by the FBI and aided by the entire community, failed to find him for two full days. And then his mother and father had to endure every parent's worst nightmare. Leiby was found dismembered.
Words fail to convey the immensity of this tragedy.
Apart from its ghoulish aspects, it is simply too much to imagine what it means to send off a smiling child for a summer’s day of fun only to learn that all that is left of him is a memory.
It's been said that the cruelest word in the English language is "never".
Never will Leiby’s parents ever again be able to hold him, to hug him, to prepare him for life with words of advice and of Torah. Never will his family be able to share in the milestones of his growth to maturity. Never will there be a bar mitzvah to celebrate, graduations to attend, a wedding canopy to stand under with him and his bride as he prepares to embark on his own journey to family and future.
Never will all those who knew Leiby as a child be able to find out what his unique talents might have enabled him to accomplish.
Never will the Jewish community discover the contributions Leiby might have made to it and to the larger world.
Ever since the beginning of mankind the Torah reminded us that a single death leaves none of us untouched. In the aftermath of the first murder, God turned to Cain in anger and admonished him with the words “The sounds of the bloods of your brother cry out to Me from the ground." Not blood, but bloods, in the plural. The commentators explain that when Cain killed his brother he effectively destroyed all of Abel’s future progeny as well.
In the words of the Talmud, he who murders one person is as if he destroys an entire world.
The loss of one person diminishes every one of us. It affects our collective future. It alters what might have been. It prevents us from ever receiving all the precious benefits every single life has to offer.
And when murder snuffs out the life of a child, the enormity of the word never - that we will never truly know what that child might have become - staggers us beyond comfort.
This is not the time for us to attempt any glib rationalizations or theological efforts to explain away the horror. Jewish law, in its profound wisdom, teaches us that we are not permitted to offer consolation "while the body is still before us." The time for comfort can come only after the necessary tears.
I remember very well a somewhat similar moment in the community I served as spiritual leader. There was a tragedy that involved a young child. No one could think of any words that might alleviate the suffering of the parents. We tried but found ourselves wanting.
The scene is indelibly etched in my mind. A small group of us went to the parents, hugged them, tried to say something, choked up and simply cried.
Days later, the parents told me the only thing that helped them get through their tragedy was what we did for them. Not our words, but our tears.
"You showed us that the pain wasn't ours alone. Your sharing our grief made it somewhat bearable."
And that is what we must do now for Leiby and his family.
We must let them know that we cry with them.
Our tears are the words our hearts don't know how to express.
The fact that we shed them proves that evil has not fully triumphed.
And most important of all, the Midrash assures us that the tears of the righteous summon the Almighty to hasten the day when wickedness and its practitioners will be eradicated from Earth.
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:cry: :cry: :cry: :cry: :cry: :cry: :cry: :cry: :cry:
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I find crimes of any type against children to be especially emotional for me. This is one of the worst that I am of aware of some time. I share sadness for the child and the parents... and the community.
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Coping With Tragedy in Borough Park
Can we make peace with this?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1569142/jewish/Coping-With-Tragedy-in-Borough-Park.htm
By Tzvi Freeman
Dear Rabbi:
Today I read the horrifying news of the young boy brutally murdered in Borough Park. I know there are plenty of horrors in this world, but this one won’t let me rest or think of anything else.
Do you rabbis have answers?
—Y. T.
Response:
I have no answer to calm your soul and let you rest. But I can share the thoughts I have written to myself this day.
We believe that G‑d is good. And yet He has created beings that commit horrific evil, acts He Himself despises in the most ultimate sense of the word. Things about which we can only recoil in horror while turning to the heavens in indignant outrage, screaming, “Why did You allow this? How could You?!”
And all we receive from heaven is a silent tear.
Of all the questions we ask, why does this one never receive a satisfactory answer? We believe our Torah is a Torah of truth, of divine wisdom, yet of all the questions it answers, why on this one does it fail us?
We are told that good cannot come without evil, just as darkness cannot come without light.
But, G‑d, dear beneficent and all-powerful G‑d, could You not do whatever You please? Could you not create light without darkness, good without evil? At the very least, did You have to create an evil so hideous?
We are told that commensurate to the darkness will be the light, commensurate to the pain will be the reward. Looking at this world and the pain we have suffered, the reward must be beyond any measure.
But, my G‑d, you are good! Does everything have to be measured so precisely? Can a G‑d who is good allow such horror, even if ultimately it will become good?
We are told that human beings must be given free choice. That this is the ultimate kindness of G‑d to humankind, that He grants us the space to fail, and the opportunity to achieve greatness on our own.
But if this is kindness, then what is cruelty? Are there no limits? Even the most liberal parents, if they care, they will have limits on the freedoms they grant their children. And here, in our world, we see ugliness without bound.
My G‑d, each day I am surrounded by Your wonders. Each day, I see Your miracles, one after the other, Your unending goodness to me and to each of us. I will not lose faith, I will not stop praying to You. But if I will not stand up and demand, “Does the Judge of all the earth not do justice?” if I will not declare, “Why have you done evil to your people?”—then what kind of a creature am I? And in what sort of a G‑d do I believe?
One day, we will understand. Until then, we must be outraged. We must recoil with horror, we must reach deep inside ourselves, we must protest to G‑d Himself. For only the righteously indignant can heal this world.
That is our answer for now: That we cannot be allowed to understand. For if we would understand, we would not be outraged. And if we were not outraged, then why would we ever stand up and do all that is in our power that such horrors could never happen again? And then there would be no one to heal G‑d’s world.
And so the answer is only a silent tear, falling from heaven, into our hearts.
More on the above topic in our Knowledge Base at Pain, Suffering & Tragedy
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Weekly Sermonette
Priorities and Price Tags
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/147952/jewish/Priorities-and-Price-Tags.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Is it the money or the man, the cash or the kids? Of course, no one would ever admit to putting money ahead of their children; but is it not an all too common phenomenon? Aren't most parents, even good parents, guilty of making that mistake now and then?
In this week's Parshah the Jewish People are preparing for the conquest of Canaan and the allotment of the Promised Land amongst the twelve tribes of Israel, when the tribes of Reuben and Gad make a special request of Moses.
They had abundant herds of livestock and the land east of the Jordan River was especially suitable for grazing. They asked Moses if they could receive this land rather than land west of the Jordan. In making this request they expressed themselves thus: "Pens for the flock we shall build here for our livestock, and cities for our small children."
Immediately, Moses chastises them and corrects their mistake. "Build for yourselves cities for your small children and pens for your flock." Moses turns around their sequence, putting the children ahead of the animals.
Rashi observes that these tribes were more concerned about their money, i.e. livestock, than they were about their sons and daughters. Moses needed to give them a lesson in values and priorities. Put family first. Possessions come later.
The veteran American spiritual leader, Rabbi David Hollander, once told me the story of a fellow who somehow managed to get himself locked in inside a big department store after they closed up for the day. To compound the problem, it was over a holiday weekend. When all his attempts to get out proved futile, he decided to give vent to his frustrations by taking revenge on the store management. He spent the time of his incarceration swapping price tags on the merchandise. The result? A mink coat was now priced at $29.99, a necktie at $999.00. Furniture was going for the price of peanuts, the latest hi-fi for a song, and a set of underwear was absolutely unaffordable! Imagine the chaos when the store reopened.
The question is, are our own price tags correctly marked? Do we value the things in our own lives correctly? Are our priorities in order? Or do we too put the cattle and the sheep -- the car and the office -- ahead of our children?
How many workaholic husbands have told their wives, "Honey, I'm doing it all for you and the kids." But the businesses we are busy building for them actually take us away from them in the most important and formative years of their lives. Rightly has it been said, "the best thing you can spend on your kids is not money but time."
I've seen many people become "successes" over the years. They achieve professional success, career success, business success, growing their fame and fortunes. Too many in the process have become family failures. At the end of the day, our deepest satisfaction in life comes not from our professional achievements but from our family -- the growth, stability and togetherness that we have nurtured over the years -- what our Jewish parents and grandparents simply called nachas.
To paraphrase the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, "Jewish wealth is not measured in property portfolios or stocks and bonds; true Jewish wealth is being blessed with children who walk in the ways of G-d." For that, we need to be there for them and with them.
A congregant of mine once walked up to me and proclaimed, "Rabbi, I am a millionaire!" I knew the man to be of modest financial means but he immediately explained, "I'm a millionaire in nachas!"
Amen. I wish it upon all of us.
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In This Shadowy World
by Deborah Masel
A Torah scholar who perished in the Holocaust reveals the meaning of spiritual victory to a woman dying from cancer.
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=125408683§ion=/sp/so
(http://media.aish.com/images/AishKodesh.jpg)
When she was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer in 2007, Deborah Masel’s life collapsed. Two and a half years later, her struggle to find meaning in the shadowy world of terminal disease induced her to write not only of her cancer experience, but of threads from the past that were woven into the fabric of this “final curtain.” In her search for comfort and meaning, Deborah found that the world of cancer was dominated by stories of physical survival, which was assumed to constitute “victory.” Yet her most treasured teacher, a Torah scholar who perished in the Holocaust, had awakened her, through the text he left behind, to the meaning of spiritual victory. If he could keep his disciples focused on God while the Nazis brutalized and dehumanized them, surely she could stay focused and not panic even when the cancer threatened to devour her.
Who among us can forget the day we discover that we are mortal, truly and irrevocably mortal. That we are going to die. It would be like forgetting the day the Twin Towers collapsed, or, if we are old enough, the day that President Kennedy was assassinated.
I was on the phone with my teacher Rabbi Hoffman in Denver for our weekly study session. For years, every Friday morning Melbourne time, we’d studied Sacred Fire, the text we’d been learning as a group in Safed the previous year, before we were interrupted by the Second Lebanon War.
There’s nothing in the world quite like this text. Before the Second World War its author, the Rebbe of Piacezna, had spent years contemplating the principle of God’s ubiquity, theoretically and experientially. In a diary he kept before the war, he wrote of his desire to know that he was always in God’s presence, even in the valley of the shadow of death.
The Rebbe of Piacezna,
Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira
“My soul takes courage,” he wrote. “Even in the depths of hell I shall not fear, for You are with me!” His early theoretical writings explore the concept of darkness as a source of light, of God’s hiddenness as the source of human enlightenment and revelation. Darkness, he argued, the sense of exile and separation gives rise to a longing in the human heart, a yearning to connect, which we call spirituality. It is the very sense of separation that is the basis of revelation. These beliefs made him particularly well equipped to confront the great darkness of the Holocaust. The deeper the darkness became, the greater his spiritual response.
Related Article: Peanut Butter Time
I can’t remember which particular teaching from the Sacred Fire Rabbi Hoffman and I were studying the day I discovered my mortality, but I do remember hearing my mobile phone ring in the kitchen, and I remember hearing my son David answer it. I was trying to read the passage we were studying aloud over the phone, and I remember asking Rabbi Hoffman to take over because I was out of breath.
The call my son had answered had been from the breast scan clinic. Could I come next Tuesday for further tests? Something turned in the pit of my stomach, like some kind of sleeping monster awakening. My bowels turned to water. I had to run to the bathroom. I knew. In the pit of my stomach, I knew everything. I knew what wouldn’t be verified for another four weeks. I knew with a knowing I’d never known before. I knew with all my trembling being.
In the months and years that followed, as my advanced metastatic breast cancer spread to my lungs and my bones and my brain, my years of study of the Warsaw Ghetto writings of the Rebbe of Piacezna served me well. The year before my diagnosis, when katyusha rockets fell on the sleepy town of Safed, I panicked and fled. If I could flee from cancer now, I would. But I can’t. Those first weeks after the final, terrible diagnosis I begged, I prayed real, tearful prayers from the heart, the broken, desperate heart. I was groping in the dark, staring at the abyss, when my rebbe, the holy Rebbe of Piacezna who was murdered by the Nazis in November 1943, reached out, all the way from the Garden of Eden, and saved me.
It’s written in the Talmud that if anyone recites the words of a dead scholar, the lips of that scholar mutter in the grave. The Rebbe of Piacezna quoted this Talmudic teaching in the Sacred Fire, his text from the Warsaw Ghetto, and whenever I read these words, I hear him speak directly to me.
It must have been shortly after my initial diagnosis, when I was struggling to come to terms with the words “incurable” and “terminal.” Rabbi Hoffman called. We’d continued to have brief telephone conversations, but we hadn’t studied together since the session during which the breast scan clinic had called to ask me back for more tests.
I was alone in my room. The door was closed and I felt free to pour out my heart.
“What’s happening to me?” I asked him tearily.
The “why’s” wouldn’t arise until much later. Those first weeks, I struggled desperately with the “what.” I just couldn’t fathom what had happened to my world.
Rabbi Hoffman responded with what I thought were platitudes. He assured me that despite everything, despite the grim biopsy results…who knows? Who knows what could happen?
I felt angry and unheard. Then he cajoled me into studying some Sacred Fire with him. It was the week we read in the Torah about Moshe sending out spies to scout the Promised Land. They return with fearful tales of cruel giants and highly fortified cities. The place was impossible to conquer, they said. They tried to persuade the Israelites to return to Egypt, for surely slavery would be preferable to what awaited them in this ‘Promised Land.’
Two of the 12 spies, Joshua and Caleb, dissented and urged the people to have faith and keep going. Neither Rabbi Hoffman nor I could recall what the Piacezna Rebbe had written about this episode. We looked it up, Rabbi Hoffman in his home in Denver I in my Melbourne sickbed, 67 years after it was originally written in unimaginable, overwhelming and hopeless conditions. It was a very short piece, just three paragraphs. We found that in the Warsaw Ghetto in June, 1940, the Rebbe had noted that Caleb did not try to persuade the people to keep going by demolishing the arguments of the others. He didn’t dispute their reports of fearsome giants and the great likelihood of defeat. He simply said, “We must go forth.”
Rabbi Hoffman asked if I had the strength to read. I wasn’t sure, but I knew that back then, in the Warsaw Ghetto in June, 1940, the Rebbe hadn’t had the strength to write.
“Yes,” I said, and I read aloud, as best I could, over the phone. And as I read, we both gasped. The rebbe’s lips were moving! He was speaking to me! He was answering me.
I read: “Not only when we see reasonable openings and paths for our salvation to occur within the laws of nature must we have faith that God will save us, and take heart, but also, when we see no way for salvation to come through natural means, we must still believe…A person needs to say, ‘Yes, all the logic and facts may indeed be true. The people who inhabit the land may be very strong, and their cities well fortified, and so forth, but I still believe in God, who is beyond any boundaries, and above all nature. I believe that He will save us.’”
It was a straightforward statement of faith, and it was what I needed to hear. Later, by 1942, when his world was buried in a darkness hitherto unexperienced, the Rebbe’s revelations were profoundly subtle and incredibly beautiful. But on that day, at that moment, I needed to hear a proclamation of faith in a power that transcends diagnosis, prognosis, statistics. I needed to be reminded of the power of possibility, and that truly, anything could happen. By the time I finished reading, I was weeping cool tears of purest joy.
The Rebbe stayed with me. Some weeks later, I was on the phone with my psychiatrist, Dr. Birch, still struggling to come to terms with my situation. He was trying to convince me that metastatic cancer is not necessarily a sudden death sentence, that in some cases it is managed for years, like a chronic disease.
“Will I have a normal lifespan?” I asked, pathetically, as if he had the power to grant me one.
“Well,” he gently replied, “it’s not probable, but it’s possible.”
Those words struck a very deep chord. The Piacezna Rebbe was still working his holy magic. My teacher Avivah Zornberg taught me a powerful lesson. At the burning bush, when Moses asked God to describe Himself, God replied, “I am what I am and I will be what I will be.” Avivah interpreted this to mean, “I am the very principle of becoming, of allowing the possible to happen.”
Finally, some kind of peace, some sense of hope and faith fluttered within me. Nan, my meditation teacher, had instructed me to find a phrase, a sentence that could serve me as my mantra. I’d been searching for weeks, and now I had it. The Piacezna Rebbe had given it to me, through his writings, through Rabbi Hoffman, through Dr. Birch, through Avivah. Every day, for over a year, I sat quietly, alone, eyes closed, and whispered my mantra, instilling it into me, into my belief system.
“I believe with perfect faith in the principle of becoming, of allowing the possible to happen.”
That’s how it goes in this shadowy world. The longer I last, the more I see it. A mysterious world, full of suffering and injustice, sprinkled with little moments of light. The longer I last, the less important I feel, the more I see myself as a little wriggle, a pleasant but miniscule warp in a huge unfathomable scenario, whose years are significant, equally significant, be they fifty or a hundred and fifty,
The more I fade from my own sight, the more I believe. I believe in something greater than myself, greater even than this great spinning world. I believe in words of Torah that open up worlds of infinite possibility and I believe in that great love that was, that is, and that always will be.
Adapted from the author's latest book Soul to Soul: Writings from Dark Places, published by Gefen Publishing House
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/so/In_This_Shadowy_World.html
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Printed from Chabad.org
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1557747/jewish/Saris-Camels-and-Tofu.htm
Saris, Camels and Tofu
Ingredients to Retain My Identity
by Chava’le Mishulovin
I watch, fascinated, as Raj deftly wraps, twists, and tucks the long red-and-gold sari around my friend. Raj hands her the material, directing how to adjust it. One final tug, and the transition from “tourist” to “local” is complete. With her dark skin, my friend Ruti really does look like an authentic sari-clad Indian.
She puts her hands together in the classic “namaste” fashion and grins coyly, waiting for me to snap a photo of her—the very reason we entered the shop. I’m mesmerized to witness how, in just a matter of moments, my fellow foreigner was suddenly transformed to appear identical to the thousands of local Indian women teeming around us. I take the photo, and she nudges me to dress up as well. I feel guilty misleading the shop owner into thinking we were sure about purchasing the saris, but she reminds me that Raj had invited us numerous times as we passed his shop in town. “Come to take pictures with my beautiful saris,” he would wave to us cheerfully. “All the Israelis and guests are doing it. It’s not problem.”
I turn to the mirror, eager to be faced with another newly born IndianIf that’s the case, I’m ready! I long to coalesce into my surroundings, and bedecking myself in their glamorous and flowy garments is definitely a prerequisite.
I giggle throughout the whole process, and when Raj proclaims me done, I turn to the mirror, eager to be faced with another newly born Indian. What I see, instead, is a tall, fair-skinned young woman with short hair, draped in an orange-and-burgundy sari, a bright green sweatshirt hood sticking out from the neck, and gray sneakers peeking out from the bottom. In short, I see an American pretending to be an Indian . . . and failing miserably.
I sigh, disappointed. Truthfully, I’m not shocked (my face doesn’t know the sun!), but I had been hoping to appear slightly more Indian and less American. Nu. Maybe my upcoming three-day camel trek in the Rajasthan desert will do it. I mean, it’s not very American to travel on camelback through a desert, equipped with only a small rucksack and a smattering of Hindi. Surely then I will feel properly assimilated.
But riding through the desert I meet up with other groups of foreigners, mostly Europeans, and boisterous greetings—in English—are exchanged. Our respective Indian guides know the desert better than we know the palms of our hands, and each leads his group on a separate trail, meeting for dinner. The guides cook food for everyone, and I pull out my kosher tuna and chips. We sit around the bonfire. We sleep under the stars, shivering, even under three layers. The guides walk barefoot. We yelp when we brush against the thorns. The guides smirk.
The camel-riding experience was exhilarating, but I felt no more Indian than before setting out. “Whaddaya mean?” my friends back home exclaim, incredulously. “You were in the middle of nowhere, with no outside communication, relying solely on the savviness of some Indian shepherd, and living the desert life day after day!” Eh, could be, but with the guides everything went so smoothly that even with the absence of toilets and running water, warm clothing at night and cool clothing in the day, proper food and a map, I still didn’t quite feel that I was “roughing it” like the Indians do. Specifically, I couldn’t train myself to think like the native Indians, to operate according to their rhythm.
It’s so frustrating! Try as I may, I simply cannot be, cannot feel, Indian! Why?! Why is it so hard for me to embrace the Indian lifestyle not merely from the outside, but from within as well?! I’m following all the steps—I’m wearing the saris, traveling on the camels, dousing my food in cumin, even getting “adopted” by Indian families, but it’s not changing my inner core. I still don’t feel like a real Indian! Where am I going wrong?!
Silence.
Contemplation.
Realization.
I’m wondering what I am doing wrong. Yet, perhaps I am not doing anything wrong. Perhaps I am actually doing everything right.
Isn’t it a wonderful gift, as well as a powerful tool, to be able to be submerged in another culture, yet not drift away with it? To absorb their language, clothing, music, traditions, yet not get absorbed by them. To see, to hear, to taste, to appreciate, yet remain apart. Different.
After all, I am differentAfter all, I am different. I’m not Indian.
A co-therapist once explained a typical behavior where kids without sufficient self-esteem constantly change themselves to adapt to their surroundings. “Think of tofu,” he said to me. “It’s got no substance of its own. You stick it in meat, it becomes meat. You cook it with cheese, it becomes cheese. The flavor and smell is only a result of what it’s been hanging around. It’s nothing on its own.”
The imagery bounced around my head for days.
Am I a chunk of tofu sometimes? Does it ever happen that my essence is ignored as a means to take on the face of my peers? Am I able to withstand what’s cooking around me and stay true to myself, even in the intense heat of my environment?
I resolved to stay far away from the fragile and ever-evolving lifestyle of the tofu.
Shortly afterwards, my friend Naamah mentioned how her father opened up a yeshivah in Tel Aviv in order to spread light and Torah to the people there. Unfortunately, many of the teachers who had moved from their mitzvah-observant communities to Tel Aviv got influenced by their new atmosphere, and were no longer fitting to be role models in this school.
“You see,” Naamah concluded sadly, “it’s just much too hard to be a good influence in such a place. You’re definitely going to get affected.”
Instantly, the tofu image came to mind; but this time, something was nagging at me. Something in the tofu comparison didn’t seem so appropriate anymore. I recalled a conversation regarding this very topic of moving out to spiritually desolate communities at the risk of your own spiritual health.
“Sure, you can be a learned and pious individual, but moving away from your source of life, the Torah, is bound to make you stumble,” stated one individual. “No matter how energetically the water is bubbling, moving the pot off the stove will cool it down eventually.”
“Aha,” responded the other. “That’s if you take it off the stove. But if you make sure to continuously stay connected, if you never pull out the kettle’s plug from the outlet, you can go as far away for as long as desired, and you will remain boiling hot. The danger arises only when you sever your soul’s connection with its Source.”
“Naamah,” I comforted my friend, “It’s not impossible. If you continuously and actively remind yourself who you are and where you come from, you will stay true to yourself. If you keep up your learning and make regular accountings of where you are spiritually, you will stay on the right path.”
That turned the tofu analogy upside down. Tofu leaves its simple comfort zone and enters into a realm of flavors and smells it has never encountered before. It’s definitely overwhelming for our little white tofu, as he’s steamed and broiled, frozen and crumbled, chopped and blended, all in a dizzying medley of colors and textures.
Thus it appears to be, as the therapist believed, that tofu abandons its essence when it associates with outsiders.
However, in fact the opposite stands true.
When questioning the identity of an unfamiliar dish whose main ingredient is tofu, you will never hear “meat” or “cheesecake” as a response. You will hear “tofu.” It may look and taste and feel just like the chicken or fish in front of you, but the cook will not deny that it is, in reality, tofu.
The trick is to be yourself in someone else’s living roomHence we see that tofu does not, in fact, desert its essence. Regardless of what it’s being presented as, tofu remains tofu.
And that is our ideal.
To be true to yourself while sitting in your living room is no big feat. That’s what the angels do in heaven, and they get absolutely no credit for that.
The trick is to be yourself in someone else’s living room. To remain who you are no matter where you are.
So now, when I travel about the world, whether it’s to India, the Caribbean islands, or Portland, Oregon, rubbing shoulders with the locals and with fellow tourists, I always keep in mind where my journey started. In order to make sure the changes in climate, language and culture do not effect essential changes in my heart and in my convictions, I pause often to reflect upon my roots, my direction and my growth.
I’ll wear that sari; but I won’t enter that temple.
I’ll ride that camel; but I won’t stray from the path of the Torah.
I will be the tofu that can mesh with anything, but at the end of the day, stands up proudly and declares, “This is who I am—and nowhere that I go, and nothing that you do, will ever change that.”
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Deception
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=125737028§ion=/sp/ph
Living in a world where appearances mask reality.
I was 226 meters beneath the earth's surface at the outskirts of Johannesburg, South Africa, touring what had been one of the most lucrative gold mines in the world. Felicia, our guide, explained that while the defunct mine still contained gold, it was too little to be worth mining. "You see," she said, waving her hand toward the wall of the tunnel we were walking through, "There is still gold here."
I pointed my flashlight at the rocky wall, where I indeed saw glittering specks of gold. "Yes, I see the gold," I announced, running my finger along the specks.
Felicia laughed. "That's not the gold. That's what they call 'fool's gold.' It's only 20% gold. People are fooled by its gold-like appearance."
"Then where's the real gold?" I queried.
Felicia pointed to a shiny black spot of rock, as big as my fingernail. "This is real gold, 99% gold."
"But it doesn't look like gold at all," I protested. "It's black."
"That's right," Felicia agreed. "To make it look like gold, you have to go through a complicated process. First you crush the rock. Then you pulverize it, until it's like powder. Then you have to add cyanide, a deadly poison."
"And then the color turns to gold?"
"Not yet. At that stage, it looks like thick polish." Felicia went on to explain additional stages of the process until, finally, the gold looks like gold.
I stared at the shiny black spot on the wall, irked. How could something look so different than what it really is?
Related Article: Transcendence and Oneness
Physical Appearance vs. Scientific Truth
Appearances deceive. We seem to be stationary, but we are really sitting on a giant ball that is spinning at the speed of 1000 mph. Our planet itself is moving around the sun at 67,000 mph. Yet our perception swears that we are not moving.
The chair you are sitting on appears to be solid, but it is composed of spinning atoms, where the proportion of solid matter to empty space is much less than a fraction of 1%. The proportion of matter to space in the average atom is akin to a single baseball in the middle of a giant baseball stadium. In fact, scientists tell us that all the matter in the world would theoretically fit into a teaspoon. What you think of as solid matter is almost all empty space. But it appears, even to the trained physicist, to be so solid.
The final scientific death-blow to the world of appearances is quantum physics, with its mystifying, illogical, mind-boggling realities. Once thought to apply only to the micro-world of atoms and subatomic particles, quantum mechanics during the last decade has replaced classical physics (including Einstein's Theory of Relativity) as applying to the macro-world as well. As Dr. Vlatko Vedral, a physics professor at the University of Oxford, wrote in the June, 2011 issue of Scientific American: "Few modern physicists think that classical physics has equal status with quantum mechanics; it is but a useful approximation of a world that is quantum at all scales."
Thus the most advanced science substantiates the claim: We live in a world where appearances mask reality.
Physical Appearance vs. Spiritual Truth
From a Torah perspective, the most pernicious of all false appearances is the illusion of Divine absence, a world devoid of God. The Hebrew word for "world" is olam, derived from the root word meaning "hidden." God is deliberately hidden in our world.
Yet, in truth, God is not only the source of all that exists, but, as the Torah proclaims, Ein od milvado – nothing exists except God. This means that everything, including this phantasmagoric physical world, exists within God. Denying the existence of God is like a fish denying the existence of water.
This is not an abstract point. All the substantive choices we make are based on which world we believe in: the apparent physical world or its underlying spiritual reality. Yet, to penetrate beneath the mask of physical appearance requires a mental process more arduous than turning black rock into gold jewelry.
A world disconnected from its Divine source is a fool's gold world, which leads to choosing falsity over truth:
In a fool's gold world, if you steal money, you're richer.
In reality, if you steal money, you're diminished and poorer.
In a fool's gold world, if you deride and embarrass someone with a clever put-down, you come out on top.
In reality, if you deride and embarrass someone with a clever put-down, you damage yourself even more than you damage your victim.
In a fool's gold world, if you win an argument with your spouse, you've won.
In reality, every time you argue with your spouse, you've lost.
In a fool's gold world, cheating helps you pass your test.
In reality, if you cheat, you've failed your real test.
In a fool's gold world, if you give a large sum of money to charity, you have less.
In reality, if you give a large sum of money to charity, you have more. (As a wise woman said at the end of her life: "All I really have is what I gave away.")
In a fool's gold world, others in the same line of business are your competitors, and the more your competitor succeeds, the worse it is for you.
In reality, all of us are part of the whole, and the more the other succeeds, the better it is for the whole, which includes you.
In a fool's gold world, the worst eventuality is death.
In reality, the worst eventuality is a life devoid of meaning and purpose.
In a fool's gold world, your essential identity appears to be your body, so you invest your time, attention, and money in beautifying/strengthening/preserving the body.
In reality, your essential identity is your soul, so (while fulfilling the mitzvah to take care of the body) you invest most of your time, attention, and money in enhancing your awareness of and acting according to your soul.
Unearthing the real gold may require going deep below the surface and undergoing an intricate process of refinement, but is investing in counterfeit ever worth it?
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Norway, I Cry for You
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
(http://media.aish.com/images/NorwayICryForYou230x150-EN.jpg)
An Arab woman from Qatar taught me how to mourn the Norwegian children.
I didn’t even hear about the massacre in Norway until Sunday night. When it occurred on Friday, I was too busy with my Shabbos preparations to check the news on the internet. Saturday night, I didn’t even turn on my computer, and I don't have a television. Sunday night, one of the women who attends a class in my home mentioned that a right-wing terrorist had gone on a shooting spree in Norway and many people were dead, but after the class I was too tired to look at the news.
Finally, on Monday night, I went online. First, I looked up the latest developments in the Leiby Kletzky murder case. I read the statement issued by Leiby’s parents after the shiva. It was followed by a sampling of the thousands of condolence messages received by the Kletzkys. One in particular caught my eye, and then my heart. It was from an Arab woman in Qatar. It read:
“My deepest condolences to the parents, especially Leiby’s mother. As a mother of 2 boys, I know what a long, long journey it is for a mother to bring up her baby to be 9 years old. To carry a baby for 9 months, give birth, struggle with sleepless nights, ailments, aches and pains, the first step, first smile, first fall, going from milestone to milestone, cheering with them, crying with them, worrying with them, wearing your heart on your sleeve every moment of the day. These are precious moments etched in our hearts forever. And then, suddenly, cruelly and horribly, your child is snatched from you, and in one second your life is completely and utterly destroyed. I pray that God help you find inner strength to cope with this immense tragedy, for the sake of your daughters, your husband and all the others who need you in their lives. I cried for your son, and I cried for your heart that will forever have a piece missing. With deepest sympathy, Carmen Ali from Qatar.”
Then I googled the Norway massacre. I read about the bombing in Oslo and then the shooting spree on Utoya Island, where youth from Norway’s Labor Party were holding a summer camp. I read that 92 people were dead, most of them teenagers. I read that the terrorist was a right-wing extremist who hated Muslims (and apparently a lot of other people). I shook my head, muttered, “How horrible!” and went to bed.
This morning, however, when I was doing my heshbon hanefesh (review of yesterday’s spiritual failures and victories), I realized that there was something terribly wrong with my reaction to Norway’s tragedy. For two weeks, ever since the death of Leiby Kletzky, I have been crying over the death of one Jewish child, and I didn’t shed a single tear over the death of dozens of Norwegian children?
With a chill, I realized that this is how people all over the world must have reacted every time we in Israel suffered a massive terror attack. While we were crying and burying our dead, they were shaking their heads, clicking their tongues, and going on to the next news item. What is wrong with them? What is wrong with me? What is wrong with us?
I realized that I was not devastated by Norway’s tragedy because I do not identify with the dozens of mothers who are burying their children this week. After all, what do I have in common with these blond-haired, blue-eyed women with Nordic features who are on the other end of the religious and political spectrum from me?
That’s when I remembered the letter to the Kletzkys from the woman in Qatar. How could she, a Muslim Arab, identify with a Jewish Hasidic woman in Brooklyn? She wrote: “As a mother of 2 boys, I know what a long, long journey it is for a mother to bring up her baby to be 9 years old.” She recounted the common experiences they shared: the pregnancy and birth, the sleepless nights, the ailments.... She stood in Itta Kletsky’s shoes, and she cried with her.
Related Article: Learning from Leiby
I, too, am a mother. Like Itta Kletsky. Like Carmen Ali. Like the scores of blond-haired Norwegian mothers who will never again embrace their murdered children. Learning from the example of my Muslim sister, I sat there and visualized all we have in common: the jubilation over the child’s first smile, the worry over his first fever, the anxiety over his first day at school. I sat there until I wept for the slain children of Norway.
In some ways, these parents are in a worse situation than Leiby Kletzky’s parents. The Kletzkys had a whole community focused on their personal loss. In Norway there are so many dead that each child gets no more than a photo and a short paragraph in the news. Thousands of mourners crowded into the Kletskys’ apartment every day of the seven-day shiva period. In Norway, thousands mourn in the center of Oslo, but how many beat a trail to each victim’s home? Judaism mandates a week of shiva, in which the parents are forbidden to work, bathe, or do anything other than grieve, while people visit them to fulfill the mitzvah of “comforting the mourners.” What did the Norwegian parents do the day after they buried their children? What framework do they have to ease them through the mourning process?
In their public statement, Leiby Kletzky’s parents addressed “all of God’s children around the world who held our dear Leiby in their thoughts and prayers. We pray that none of you should ever have to live through what we did. But if any tragedy is to ever befall any of you, God forbid, you should be blessed with a community and public as supportive as ours. We feel that through Leiby we’ve become family with you all.”
Last Friday, tragedy did befall scores of Norwegian parents, and few of them were “blessed with a community and public as supportive as ours.” Let us, the Jewish People, unite again in a message to these stricken parents: We are crying for your children—and for you.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ci/s/Norway_I_Cry_for_You.html
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Weekly Sermonette
The Power of Prayer
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/299052/jewish/The-Power-of-Prayer.htm
By Yossy Goldman
A fellow was boasting about what a good citizen he was and what a refined, disciplined lifestyle he led. "I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't gamble, I don't cheat on my wife, I am early to bed and early to rise, and I work hard all day and attend religious services faithfully." Very impressive, right? Then he added, "I've been like this for the last five years, but just you wait until they let me out of this place!"
Although prisons were not really part of the Jewish judicial system, there were occasions when individuals would have their freedom of movement curtailed. One such example was the City of Refuge. If a person was guilty of manslaughter (i.e., unintentional murder) the perpetrator would flee to one of the specially designated Cities of Refuge throughout Biblical Israel where he was given safe haven from the wrath of a would-be avenging relative of the victim.
The Torah tells us that his term of exile would end with the death of the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest. The Talmud tells of an interesting practice that developed. The mother of the Kohen Gadol at the time would make a point of bringing gifts of food to those exiled so that they should not pray for the early demise of her son, to which their own freedom was linked.
Now this is very strange. Here is a man who, though not a murderer, is not entirely innocent of any negligence either. The rabbis teach that G-d does not allow misfortune to befall the righteous. If this person caused a loss of life, we can safely assume that he is less than righteous. Opposite him stands the High Priest of Israel, noble, aristocratic and, arguably, the holiest Jew alive. Of the entire nation, he alone had the awesome responsibility and privilege of entering the inner sanctum of the Holy Temple, the "Holy of Holies," on the holy day of Yom Kippur. Do we really have reason to fear that the prayers of this morally tainted prisoner will have such a negative effect on the revered and exalted High Priest, to the extent that the Kohen Gadol may die? And his poor mother has to go and shlep food parcels to distant cities to soften up the prisoner so he should go easy in his prayers so that her holy son may live? Does this make sense?
But such is the power of prayer--the prayer of any individual, noble or ordinary, righteous or even sinful.
Of course, there are no guarantees. Otherwise, I suppose, Shuls around the world would be overflowing daily. But we do believe fervently in the power of prayer. And though, ideally, we pray in Hebrew and with a congregation, the most important ingredient for our prayers to be successful is sincerity. "G-d wants the heart," we are taught. The language and the setting are secondary to the genuineness of our prayers. Nothing can be more genuine than a tear shed in prayer.
By all means, learn the language of our Siddur, the prayer book. Improve your Hebrew reading so you can follow the services and daven with fluency. But remember, most important of all is our sincerity. May all our prayers be answered.
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Life’s Journeys
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/388247/jewish/Lifes-Journeys.htm
By Nechoma Greisman
It took forty-two stages for the Jews to get from Egypt to Israel, over a period of forty years. Each stage of the journey was determined exclusively by divine decree—the cloud which hovered over the Jewish camp began to move on when they were required to relocate. The entire camp then packed up their belongings and moved on, following the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night. Whenever the cloud was stationary, they were stationary, and when the cloud moved again, they followed the cloud. This is what happened through forty-two stops and starts to get to Israel.
The Torah states, “These are the journeys of the Children of Israel, who went forth from the land of Egypt . . .” (Numbers 33:1). The question is asked why the verse states, “These are the journeys,” in the plural. They weren’t going out of Egypt on all of the 42 journeys. Surely after the first stage of the journey, after they had arrived in Rameses, they were no longer leaving Egypt but Rameses, and so on? After the first stage of the journey, weren’t the other 41 stages going to Israel, but not from Egypt? The simple answer is that until a person arrives at the ultimate goal, Israel (in a spiritual sense as well as a physical one), he is always in the process of leaving Egypt.
However, the verse has an even deeper meaning—it refers to the journeys through life of every individual. Moreover, every person’s life may be analyzed in terms of these 42 journeys of the Jews from Egypt to Israel. In other words, it is possible to identify each person’s journey through life with the 42 stages of the journey described in the Torah.
The word “Egypt” in Hebrew, Mitzrayim, can also be derived from the word meaning “constricted” or “limiting place.” In Hebrew, a meitzar is a strait. It comes from the word tzar, “narrow.”
Every person, in his or her life, has situations which the Torah describes as a limitation and constriction, where the person feels that something is obstructing him from behaving in the right way. In order to get out of this constricted area, a person has to exert energy. And when he manages to escape the constriction, it is as if he has left that place and gone to a place that is a wide-open place. When you’re finished with that problem, you breathe a sigh of relief: “I’ve gotten out of that tight spot.”
The verse therefore means that the life of the Jew, which begins at his birth, is a succession of tight spots followed by relief and expansion. It means that at every given time in our life, in every given stage in our life, we are given certain obstacles and certain tests. These are the tight spots. Of course, these situations are not meant to stifle us or to make us surrender. On the contrary, through overcoming these difficulties, we become strengthened and our awareness of G‑d is expanded.
This can be compared to an army. When you go for basic training, they make you run ten miles, they make you carry packs, they make you go through difficult situations. Why? Because only after you have undergone the difficulties they put you through do you become a good soldier. If you had never done that, you wouldn’t even have known you were capable of doing it. When you undergo difficulties, you build up your strength. Just as this is true of physical situations, it is true also in spiritual situations.
In this context, “Egypt” doesn’t mean a geographical land, a country called Egypt; rather, it refers to the stages of constriction and development that we all go through on our journey to spiritual perfection—signified by the Land of Israel.
This is life. What may be difficult at the age of five is a joke at the age of ten, and what’s difficult at the age of ten is a joke at the age of twenty. A person who just got married is struggling with the first year of marriage and getting used to marriage. That’s a big struggle. But when people are married for twenty-five years and are marrying off their children, there’s a whole different set of difficulties and problems. Then there are the problems that come with older age and being grandparents. Every stage in life has its own qualities. G‑d is constantly placing us in new situations, and we have to deal with them and grow through them. Then we go to another stage, and then we come to a third stage and a fourth stage. This is a succession of constrictions.
When does it end? It ends at the end of a person’s life. In other words, the beginning is Egypt—the birth; coming into Israel at the end of the 42nd journey is when a person completes his journey in this world and comes into the land of the World to Come. Until then, a person’s life is a series of journeys, each one being a strait in comparison to the one after it, and the tests change and get more difficult as you pass through them. This is on an individual basis.
This also happens every single day. There are, of course, different levels. The nation goes on its journeys, the individual on his. On any given day, the person goes through these journeys from the time he wakes up until he goes to sleep at night.
This condition of being on a continual journey can have two possible reactions. One reaction is that the person can become very arrogant and say, “Look how far I’ve come. I remember, years ago, I was on this level and now I’ve really struggled and worked hard, and now I’m on a much higher level.” To the arrogant person, the Torah says, “Don’t be so arrogant. You may have gone through 22 journeys. That’s fantastic, but you still have another 20 to go. As long as you are alive, you can never become complacent about the number of journeys you’ve traveled.”
Then there’s a person who can get depressed. He’s saying, “My goodness, this is terrible. I’m on such a low level. How can I ever get to the level of this other person? Look at her. She’s so much higher than me, and what’s the point of even starting?” For that person there is also a word of encouragement. Depending on who you are and on how you’re relating, the Torah has a reaction for each situation. The reaction to that person is: Do not despair, because G‑d never intended that a person go from Egypt to Israel in one move. The Torah told us from the very beginning that it’s going to take 42 small journeys. No one should ever get depressed, because as long as you’re involved in the journeying, as long as you didn’t give up and stop running, you’re still in the race. G‑d is the One who can read everybody’s heart. He is the One who gives points. You cannot ever compare yourself to anybody else, because you don’t know where the other person started from and what their handicaps are. The important thing is to know that you have to keep going. Just keep going from one journey to the next, and let G‑d do the grading.
To a person who says despairingly, “Look how far I have to go,” the Torah says, “Do not give up. After all, look how far you’ve come. A little further; a little more effort, and you will reach the next stage. Don’t take on the whole journey at once. Go one step, one stage at a time. Set your goals on the next stop.”
Eventually, all of us will get to the Land of Israel. Each of us will experience our own individual redemption, and the Jewish people as a whole will also achieve redemption. May it be speedily in our days!
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http://www.cnn.com/2011/LIVING/07/28/true.story.rs/index.html
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http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Making_Exceptions.html
Making Exceptions
by William Kolbrener
Baseless hatred stems from hating others for what we fear may be true about ourselves.
Getting from the house to school in the morning – or rather the two schools that my youngest sons attend – always takes a while. Shmuel, like a seven-year-old version of the English poet, William Wordsworth, stops to marvel at the wonders of nature; while Pinhas, five, comports himself like a young Isaac Newton, pausing to consider how things work. Today, a garbage pick-up fired both of their imaginations. Shmuel seemed to be readying a sonnet; Pinhas an engineering diagram. Yes, getting to school takes a long time.
Between the flights of sublimity and the mechanical inquiries, I pursue another topic, “How to Cross the Street.” First, an undergraduate course in semiotics: “What do the thick white lines on the pavement mean?” “What does the blue and white illuminated image of the pedestrian represent?” “Yes, this is the place to cross the street!”
So we stand and dutifully wait. One car zooms by; and then another. A young father, with an mp3 player – probably listening to a lecture – his five-year-old daughter in tow, crosses down the block, away from the pedestrian crossing. I see Pinhas wondering: What exactly is abba trying to pass off on us? “You don’t have to cross here,” he finally affirms, another car whizzing by: “Look at them.” He points to his father and daughter still in sight and already at the grocery store across the street, poised to buy a white roll and chocolate milk.
Shmuel and Pinhas
I preempt the request I know is coming. “No, you can’t have lakhmania and choco, Mommy packed you a lunch.” And: “Just because other people do the wrong thing does not mean that it’s right.” Finally, a car stops, the driver waving us across benevolently. I nod in gratitude – in Israel, traffic regulations are often viewed as suggestions – “Thank you for abiding by the law.”
Pinhas is first to school today. Shmuel, sometimes shy, is reticent to accompany us, so he waits outside the school gates. A group of boys, pushing their heads through the metal bars, starts to tease him, even as I stand by: “You guys have a problem?” I ask, mimicking what boys typically say when taunting Shmuel, who has Down Syndrome. When I come back, Shmuel is still standing there. He looks confused, a departure from his wondrous happy, friendly self: one of the boys is standing with his tongue hanging out with a mocking stare.
When I return home, my wife asks: “What do you expect?” This was one of the schools that would not take Shmuel; why should we expect more from children than their teachers? Or, a principal who had told us – he has a niece with Down Syndrome, so he assured us, “I know” – that “mainstreaming is not good for special children.” Besides, he added, “it would give the school a bad name.”
The Torah enjoins, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and in the same chapter of Leviticus, “You shall love the stranger.” Love the one with whom you identify, as well as the one who seems different from you. Rashi, the eleventh-century commentator who guides generations through difficult passages, writes that the Torah assumes one may come to hate the stranger because he has a “defect.” His deficiency, whatever it may be, arouses a desire to afflict him, or at least distance him.
But the verse continues: “You yourself were once strangers in the land of Egypt.” You see him as different, but he is just like you. The stranger’s so-called defect, Rashi writes, is your own. That characteristic which we are unable to acknowledge – too painful or unpleasant – we externalize in a hatred for others. We were once slaves in Egypt, “strangers in a strange land,” immersed in idolatry. So, we look at the stranger and project upon him that which we fear might be most true about ourselves. But we fear it – this is the Torah’s insight – because it is true. We instinctively hate the other for reminding us of the “defect” which is our own.
The answer to the question opening Hamlet – “Who’s there?” – is never simply answered. We have a natural propensity, the Torah tells us, to be in denial about our selves, but also to project onto others the perceived shortcomings from which we most want to escape. We hate the thing which – in a way we cannot yet face – helps to define who we are. Jewish prayer and ritual, as a corrective to those inclinations, refer to the God who took the Jewish people out of Egypt, not the God Who created the heavens and the earth, emphasizing: “Remember who you are, remember from where you came.” Your past – and you – are also exceptional. The verse concludes: “I am your God” – Rashi explains, both your God and the stranger’s. You are not only united in your history; you and the stranger, who you want to distance from the camp, have the same God. So be open-minded to the stranger within.
In the end, we may have more in common with children of difference, like Shmuel, than we are willing to admit. The school principal’s protests about mainstreaming may reveal as much about his own personal insecurities – one is not always efficient, brilliant, and scholarly – as about purported concerns for the “name” of the school. The proximity of children with Down Syndrome, or exceptional children of any kind, make us uneasy about the ways in which we may also be merely ordinary, less than competent, imperfect. How else to explain a school – or a community – that wants to project an image of perfection in order to maintain its good name?
But that image is a communal fantasy, not the Torah’s ideal. Keeping special children out of the “mainstream” may be, in many cases, the right thing. But sometimes, it is as much about parents – or uncles – who nurture images of themselves helping them to forget what they do not want to know. As far as myself, I have a lot to learn from the indefatigably questioning and studious Pinhas, but probably even more from my more bashful Shmuel, who takes in the world in awe, and who laughs and dances with unselfconscious glee and abandonment. The stranger we try to flee almost always has an uncannily familiar face. But becoming more tolerant to that which is more singular in ourselves – acknowledging the stranger within – makes it easier to be tolerant of the exceptional in others.
Back on the morning trek to school, walking in the direction of Shmuel’s school now, we encounter the bouncy-gait of the nine-year-old Yehuda: “Good morning Shmuel!” Shortly after, a smiling boy on a bicycle, and an exuberant “Shalom Shmuel!” “He is my friend,” Shmuel boasts loudly. And then the gawky eleven-year-old from down the block, who keeps a rooster in our building courtyard, volunteers, “Can I walk with Shmuel to heder?” We are grateful to the school principal who declared, “It’s a big mitzvah” to accept Shmuel into the school. But the children in Shmuel’s school, like his brothers and sisters, perhaps benefit most in learning to take for granted – instead of taking exceptional at – including Shmuel in their play. For from a very early age, children notice the exceptions we make, and turn them into second nature, whether crossing the street in the wrong place or making a new friend, even though he may be a bit different.
Excerpted from Open Minded Torah by William Kolbrener. . In Open Minded Torah, William Kolbrener offers a voice advocating renewed Jewish commitment and openness for the twenty-first century. In essays as likely to turn to baseball, the NASDAQ and Denzel Washington as to Shakespeare, quantum physics and psychoanalysis, Kolbrener provides powerful—and often surprising—insights into how open mindedness allows for authentic Jewish engagement.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Making_Exceptions.html
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Ever Thought That G‑d Hates You?
By Rochel Holzkenner
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1235916/jewish/Ever-Thought-That-Gd-Hates-You.htm
Joe and Gertrude were bickering loudly as they drove down I-95 in their ’82 Cadillac. “Look at us now,” shouted Gertrude, clutching the passenger door. “I sit on one end of the seat and you on the other.” She sighed with nostalgia. “Remember when we’d drive as newlyweds—we’d sit closer together.”
“Gertrude, my dear,” her husband interjected, “I’ve been sitting in the same spot for the past thirty years—right in front of the steering wheel. You’re the one who’s shifted over . . .”
Don’t all dynamic relationships have their ups and downs? I’d think it would be no different in our relationship with G‑d. There are moments of love and gratitude, and moments of anger and frustration.
One such painful drama that Moses rehashed was the negative report about the land of Israel given by ten of the spies who scouted the land thirty-eight years earlier. Frightened that they’d be unable to conquer the land, they discouraged the people from even trying. Pandemonium spread. The thought of an impossible, even suicidal battle against the strong Canaanite nations was petrifying.
Moses vividly paints the atmosphere of fear and paranoia:
You spoke slanderously in your tents. You said, “G‑d took us out of the land of Egypt because He hates us! [He wishes] to deliver us into the hands of the Amorites and destroy us!” (Deuteronomy 1:27)
What a radical thing to say: “G‑d took us out of Egypt because He hates us”! Yet, when the story of the spies played out in real time (in the Book of Numbers), the Torah doesn’t mention this radical accusation.
Here’s how the Israelites’ reaction is described in Numbers (14:2):
All the children of Israel complained against Moses and Aaron, and the entire congregation said, “If only we had died in the land of Egypt, or if only we had died in this desert.”
Although pretty despondent, there’s no mention of G‑d hating them.
So, come Deuteronomy, and Moses is not just repeating the story, he’s adding a new element to the crisis.
Notice that Moses qualifies his words: “You spoke slanderously in your tents.” They didn’t make this ridiculous, slanderous claim publicly; they didn’t dare. It was only after everyone had gone back to their tents that they furtively whispered and complained that G‑d hated them.
There were two types of slander. The claims that they made publicly were based on a reality—the odds would be against them if they battled for Israel. But in private they spoke a slander that was patently untrue. G‑d didn’t hate them, He loved them, and He’d shown His love for them countless times.
In order to mask your resentment towards Him, you projected the hatred onto HimWhy does Moses feel the need to disclose their furtive remarks? According to the biblical commentator Rashi, Moses was telling them the following: “He [G‑d] loved you, but you hated Him, as in the common saying: ‘What is in your heart about your beloved, is in his heart about you.’”
It was really you who were disappointed and angry at G‑d, Moses explains. But in order to mask your resentment towards Him, you projected the hatred onto Him. You whispered that G‑d hates you, that He’s out to get you.
But does not the very aphorism that Rashi cites—“What is in your heart about your beloved, is in his heart about you”—contradict the present context? The Jews here “hated” G‑d, while G‑d maintained His love towards them. By all accounts, their hearts were far from reflecting one another!
But here’s how the Jews mirrored G‑d’s heart: “How unfair,” they lamented. “G‑d hates us, even though we love Him.” The crisis over the spies’ negative report wreaked havoc. On the surface of their consciousness the Jews felt that G‑d had rejected them, hated them. Lying under the surface was intense resentment towards G‑d for promising them a land that seemed impossible to conquer.
In fact, the opposite was true: G‑d loved them despite their resentment towards Him. Here’s where Rashi’s rule plays out precisely. “What is in your heart about your beloved is in his heart about you.”
Moses is making a powerful point. G‑d loves you even if you’re angry, resentful, or even hateful towards Him. And if you have a hard time believing this possible, remember your own experience: You, who thought that G‑d hated you even though you loved Him, know what it’s like to love unconditionally.
Moses wanted to bring this dynamic to their attention. G‑d’s love is unconditional. This knowledge is not only heart-warming, it’s also healing.
How often does this play out in our lives. Life is disappointing or frightening, and we immediately point the finger at G‑d: You hate me, even though I have nothing against You!
Moses brings a little objective self-awareness to the table.
Flip around your perspective and you’ll be able to empathize with G‑d’s experienceFlip around your perspective and you’ll be able to empathize with G‑d’s experience. He has nothing against you; in fact He loves you, despite the fact that you currently hate Him.
When we’re able to realize that G‑d loves us, despite the disappointments in our life, and despite our palpable bitterness towards Him, then the anger begins to melt away in the face of warmth and care. The circumstances may remain painful, but the anger begins to dissipate.
If we can experience this classic epiphany—that G‑d loves us, even as we wallow in pain and resentment—we will have no choice but to love Him back.1
FOOTNOTES
1.
Based on the Rebbe’s teachings, recorded in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 34, pp. 17ff.
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A Love Story
A Tisha B’Av Insight
By Samantha Barnett
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1571698/jewish/A-Love-Story.htm
I grew up dreaming about my Prince Charming, besotted with the idea of “love” as I understood it. I knew my grandmother had been married by the age of nineteen to a man who absolutely adored her, and their love was a lasting one.
On Sundays, my grandfather used to take my grandmother and me out for ice cream. The two of them would share a cone and smile at each other. I remember the way he looked at her and the way she returned his gaze. To him, she was clearly the most beautiful woman alive, and I could tell by his expression that he felt lucky to be married to her. As they passed the ice cream cone back and forth, I knew my grandmother felt cherished and protected by my grandfather. Even after so many years of marriage, their love seemed fresh and new.
From watching my grandparents interact, love seemed easyFrom watching my grandparents interact, love seemed easy. I developed the conviction that love was easily attainable, and I became consumed with the idea of romance. I read romantic novels, watched romantic movies and dreamed romantic dreams. One thing was certain: if love was involved, I was hooked.
But as I grew up, I began to see problems in the world of love. I watched people compromising themselves for romances that were obviously temporary. I saw momentary pleasure taking the place of true intimacy. I met children and adults who had been thoroughly hurt by their parents’ bad marriages. I watched couples separate after years of dating because they knew they could never marry each other, and that left me perplexed because I had always assumed that marriage was the goal of dating. I found it ironic that in a world obsessed with analyzing and discussing others’ relationships, it has become tough to find good relationship role models.
And I wondered: is the romance of my grandparents’ generation already an ancient phenomenon? Does my generation, witnessing skyrocketing divorce rates and illicit affairs plastered across the media, even believe that true love is possible? Do we realize what we are missing?
A Divine Relationship
The Jewish nation is likened to a bride. We found “Mr. Right” in G‑d, but through our actions we grew apart from Him. Consequently, we lost the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, our strongest connection to Him. We have become used to life without a Temple, and to us it seems normal, but it is not. We are missing out on a deep, soulful relationship with G‑d, and that is something to cry about.
In fact, we have a designated day to grieve over this loss: Tisha B’Av—the ninth day of the month of Av. Perhaps, if we take a closer look at this day of fasting and commemoration, we’ll better understand how to fix and maintain the important relationships in our lives.
Night of Sadness
After the Jewish people escaped from Egypt, we needed a homeland. G‑d promised us the land of Israel, and we began to journey through the desert in the direction of the Holy Land. But before we were to enter the land, the people approached Moses and requested he send ahead a group of men to scout out the layout of the land and its inhabitants, so that they could strategize how to conquer this new and foreign country.
Moses agreed, and assigned spiritual leaders from each of the twelve tribes to act as spies. When they returned, the entire nation assembled to hear their reports. Ten of the leaders publicly pointed out why the Jewish people would not be successful in acquiring the Land. Their words planted seeds of doubt in the minds of the Jewish people, and some began to wonder if they might have done better to remain in slavery in Egypt. That night the Jewish people cried, afraid of the land and afraid of its inhabitants.
We have become used to life without a TempleThis night of sadness took place on the ninth of Av, a day which has become synonymous with tragedy and mourning. The sin of the spies is considered the source of all the other tragedies which would occur on Tisha B’Av in later years.
Lack of Trust
The reason the sin of the spies was considered so grave was because the Jewish people lost faith in G‑d so quickly, when they had just been privy to open revelations of G‑dliness. He performed miracle after miracle: He bombarded the evil Egyptians with plagues, split the Red Sea, and revealed Himself at Mount Sinai. But still, we lost faith in Him.
The cornerstone of any relationship is trust. Without trust in G‑d, we ultimately permanently damaged our relationship with Him.
Physicality Versus Spirituality
The deeper reason the Jews in the desert cried upon hearing the spies’ report was a desire to remain close to G‑d. Life was good in the desert. Miracles happened on a daily basis. The Jewish people knew that entering Israel would involve returning to reality, toiling on the land instead of receiving manna from Heaven, thus having less time to spend studying the Torah.
But what we failed to understand is that entering the Land would enable us to live in the ultimate reality. G‑d wants us to live in this physical world and use its very physicality for spiritual purposes. Our mission in the world is to infuse our surroundings with spirituality and G‑dliness. The spiritual vortex of the world is Israel, Jerusalem in particular, and specifically the Holy Temple. The ultimate relationship connects the physical and spiritual worlds, enhancing each of them. Unfortunately, the Jews in the desert didn’t realize that entering the Land of Israel would have accomplished that, creating a better reality than they had in the desert.
I once asked a rabbi why the Western Wall is so important to the Jewish people. Shouldn’t our holiest site be Mount Sinai? After all, Mount Sinai is the mountain where G‑d spoke to Moses and gave him the Torah. It is there that each and every Jew heard firsthand the voice of the Almighty. Yet this mountain is not considered the holiest place for a Jew. That title is reserved for the place where the Holy Temple stood.
The mission of a Jewish person is to take physical matter and make it holyThe mission of a Jewish person is to take physical matter and make it holy. In the desert and at Mount Sinai, G‑d spoke to us, and that was incredible! But we were like infants being fed by our mother; we were not yet partners with the Almighty. The Temple site is so holy because there we built a home for G‑d out of our own blood, sweat and raw materials. It is the place where we worked together with the Almighty to bring His presence down to earth, thus infusing the physical matter with holiness. Holiness with G‑d is a more mature relationship than we had at Mount Sinai. It is a love affair. It takes two to make it work.
Where Did We Go Wrong?
The Jews in the desert were being noncommittal. They had the ultimate romance with G‑d, who granted them constant miracles. We had found our perfect match, and yet we were scared to move on to the next stage of the relationship. Our greatest flaw was that we did not want to grow. We wanted the overwhelming passion of new love, and were afraid to move into an unknown future.
The romantic stage of a relationship is indeed wonderful, but it doesn’t last, because romance is not true love. True love is based in reality. It is when we share the mundane experiences of life with our partner that we learn to truly love. Our shared moments and growth are our most intimate, and our partnership makes the world a better place.
A good relationship is not about lust, attraction or “me.” A strong relationship is borne when both partners focus on giving, and exploring what’s special about “us.” The ultimate partnership is between two people who can “build” with each other. G‑d, too, wants to partner with us in building. The Temple can stand only as long as we keep building it through nurturing our relationship to the divine.
Relationship breakups are tough. Whenever a relationship dissolves in books or movies, the woman ends up sitting on a couch and eating ice cream to “get over” her partner. But, we observe Tisha B’Av because we can never “get over” the relationship we have lost with G‑d. This relationship is not disposable. It is irreplaceable.
And yet, we cry. We cry because we know He wants a relationship with us, but we messed up. We cry because the home that we built with G‑d is destroyed, and we want to build it with Him again. We cry because, even 2,000 years after our falling out, we still crave His love and yearn to be as in love with Him as He is with us.
Rectifying the Divine Relationship
We have the chance to be the couple who emanates loveMost importantly, we don’t cry because we feel hopeless. We cry to change ourselves. We cry because through tears we hope to grow. This world was created for us to connect with G‑d, and we must cultivate our inner longing to unite with Him. Our relationships with each other are a taste of this divine relationship. With that in mind, how could we not direct every effort into developing and cultivating them? How can we settle for anything less?
Sometimes it can be difficult for us to relate to the loss of a Temple we never knew and a relationship with G‑d we never experienced. We don’t even know anyone who has known it!
But if we recognize the loss of the Temple as the loss of our greatest relationship, perhaps we can relate a bit more deeply. We’ve missed 2,000 years of anniversaries.
We have the chance to be the couple who emanates love. The pair whom people stop to ask: “What’s your secret?” We have the chance to be the light unto the nations—but we can’t do it without partnering with the ultimate source of the light.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qprr5-HMdYo&feature=player_embedded
[youtube]Tisha B'av and the secret of Jewish unity.[/youtube]
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Post-Premonition
By Leigh Spencer
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1573598/jewish/Post-Premonition.htm
I had the dream again.
I’m running
child clutched to my chest
holding in arms and legs
to avoid the bullets
that may come.
Hoping this body is thick enough
to protect him
one last time.
Footfalls of the soldiers
so much faster than mine
are close now.
I see the fence.
Run faster
kicking dust and bone fragments
at the soldiers
now just out of reach.
They reach
my shoulder
wrench me back sideways.
But the fence is right there!
I throw him
with the summoned strength
of my lost generation.
Hoist his bottom, just over
as the soldiers bear down.
His terrified, screaming face
thankfully on the other side
is the last thing I see
I called my grandmother this weekend.
She sounded tired, cried recently.
She and Zeide were watching
a documentary on Auschwitz.
She tells me again
that she would give everything she owns
for just one picture
of her mother.
I wonder—
Whose dream am I having?
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http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/on-faith/post/maimonides-prescribed-prayer-and-action/2011/08/10/gIQALxea6I_blog.html
Maimonides prescribed prayer and action
Q. The S&P downgraded America’s credit rating, the country remains engaged in two wars, millions are unemployed and approval ratings for Congress are at historic lows.
It was against this backdrop that Texas Governor Rick Perry held The Response, a prayer event in which he prayed for the economy, among other areas of ”darkness” in America.
In a critique of the revival, Frank Bruni wrote in his New York Times column that when it comes to fixing out country’s problems, “faith and prayer just won’t cut it. In fact, they’ll get in the way.”
Is Bruni right?
A. Time to ring in the jokes. You know, like the guy who prays to win the lottery until God finally says “It would help to buy a ticket!” Or the man in the flood who, as the water level rises, is so confident in his faith that he ignores the rescuers in the boat and the helicopter, proclaiming “God will save me!” When the flood overtakes him and he drowns he finds himself in heaven. Crestfallen, he says to God, “Why didn’t you rescue me? I trusted you.” “What do you want?” answers God, “I sent you a boat and helicopter!”
These jokes make fun of people who believe that prayer is all one needs. There is an old Yiddish saying, “Love is good. Love with noodles is better.” Prayer is good. Prayer with action is better. To say it will “get in the way” misunderstands prayer and misunderstands those who pray. People do not pray as a substitute for action, but as a supplement to action. The greatest philosopher of Judaism, Maimonides, was a physician. He did not advise his patients to pray alone. Indeed he specifically inveighed against the practice of using the Torah as a magical talisman to cure illness. People think, wrote Maimonides, that the words of the Torah are a healing of the body, but they are not; they are a healing of the spirit. Pray, but also go to the doctor.
Surely we can all agree that the spirit of this country cries out for healing. We need it very badly and for people to pray together is a powerful statement of spiritual solidarity. There was one element of the rally that troubled me; it ought not to be specifically Christian rally. As a Jew, I wish to be included in any prayer that the government sponsors. But to maintain that prayer, which is the mobilization of the human spirit toward God, is a hindrance to solving our national ills is fatuous. There is a lot of work to do. Let us pray we have the courage and wisdom to do it. Buy the ticket and send the boat.
DAVID WOLPE | AUG 10, 2011 10:01 AM
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Printed from Chabad.org
Living through the Parshah
Fusing Idealism and Realism
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1238823/jewish/Fusing-Idealism-and-Realism.htm
By Rochel Holzkenner
There are two types of people: the idealists and the realists. The idealistic folks dream of a world with social justice, body-soul synchrony, environmental conservation, and of living with higher consciousness. The realistic people invest in practical and obtainable goals like financial security, time management and maintaining a healthy lifestyle.
Personally, I resonate with both the idealist and the realist. I think we're probably all a composite of both, albeit a little more of one side than the other.
To be a true idealist you cannot consider the resistance that you may encounter while implementing your dreams. Pure idealism follows the dictates of truth alone, and doesn't bend to environmental or social constraints.
Pure idealism follows the dictates of truth alone, and doesn't bend to environmental or social constraintsOn the other hand, without realistic thinking my dreams would stay in the world of fantasy, never tested, never validated in the real world, and never helping anyone.
In 1940, when the sixth Chabad-Lubavitch Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, was on the boat from war-torn Europe to America, he called over one of his aides, Rabbi Hodakov, and instructed him to take out pen and paper; the Rebbe would dictate, and he would write. The Rebbe then proceeded to outline his plan for creating a flourishing Judaism in America. He described how he would create three institutions upon his arrival in the new country – a publishing house, and an educational arm: one for children, another for adults – and he outlined the details of each institution.
After dictating his plans, the Rebbe said, "You would perhaps think that I would wait until getting to America to begin formulating my plans. Then, I could evaluate the needs of the American community and plan accordingly. No! Then I would be influenced by what I see, and my vision for America would be tainted. I want a European (uncompromised) Judaism, not an American (compromised) Judaism!"
Our life's work is to integrate our highest ideals into the most practical framework of life, say the kabbalists. And this merge requires integrity and lots of creative work.
What will the world be like in the Messianic Era? The kabbalists characterize it very simply: the fusion of the loftiest ideals for humanity with a pragmatic lifestyle; a fully expressed soul that lives comfortably in a physical body. That's what they call redemptive living.
G‑d didn't allow Moses to enter the Land of Israel. He begged and pleaded with G‑d to forgive him and allow him entrance. G‑d had forgiven the Jewish people when Moses pleaded on their behalf, but when it came to Moses' own mistake, G‑d did not budge.
G‑d didn't want him in Israel, sin or no sin. The sin seemed like a convenient pretext; bottom line, Moses wasn't going.
Which is hard to swallow in light of the fact that Moses never wanted the job of leader in the first place, and yet was an incredibly dedicated leader for over 40 years. And now, when the journey was about to culminate and the nation would finally settle in a land of their own, Moses was excluded.
Moses' power was such that if he had led the Jews into Israel, things would have been simpleThe Talmud compares Moses to the light of the sun and Joshua to the light of the moon.1 Think about the sun's intensity. When it shines its rays, everything is entirely illuminated. The moon is more subtle. The sky stays black when it shines; the night retains its dark intrigue.
Moses' power was such that if he had led the Jews into Israel, things would have been simple. They would have conquered the land without great challenge. If Moses would have built the Holy Temple its holiness would have been so intense that it could have never been destroyed.
Which sounds great!
But G‑d didn't want it to be that simple. Yes Moses was dynamic, and could outshine darkness, but then the Jews would be passive and let Moses do the work for them. In order to take ownership of the land, they'd have to be active participants.
Joshua was a perfect candidate. He was a strong a leader, but not strong enough to banish darkness entirely. Together they would work to resolve the many challenges that confronted them and ultimately to settle the land.
The people had a vision—to settle in the Promised Land. Practically, this vision was very hard to implement. Other people were living in the land. It would be hard for them to self-govern, to get along. Moses' leadership would have ironed out these problems. But G‑d didn't want them to miss out on the healthy process of planting seeds of vision into the rough soil of reality. And that they'd have to do without Moses.
The Ten Commandments in Exodus are about G‑d; when they're repeated, they're about the impression they made belowAs if to emphasize how sacred is the fusion of vision with real life living, in the fifth chapter of the Book of Deuteronomy Moses repeats the Ten Commandments. In his rendition, however, the experience at Sinai seems so different. In the initial account, in the Book of Exodus, the Torah describes Sinai as filled with smoke while G‑d descended upon it in a fire. The whole nation trembled. Thunder and lightening preceded G‑d's words. After hearing G‑d speak to them directly, the people begged Moses that he should transmit G‑d's words, because every time He uttered a word, it knocked them out.
Yet here in the second rendition, Moses barely makes mention of all the fanfare. What he does describe is the impression that the experience at Sinai had on the nation. "You were shown to know that G‑d is your G‑d... On the earth G‑d showed His great fire and His words you heard... Face to face G‑d spoke to you."
The Ten Commandments in Exodus are all about G‑d; when they are repeated in Deuteronomy, they're about the impression they made here below. Together they create the charge to thread the lofty idealism of Torah into the reality of life.
This successful fusion is what the sages call the "Torah of Moshiach."2
FOOTNOTES
1.
Bava Batra 75a. According to Rashi (on Numbers 27:20, based on the Sifri), this statement has a literal basis. Upon descending Mount Sinai, Moses' face shone with rays of light (see Exodus 34:29). Years later, when Moses officially designated Joshua as his successor, he granted him "from his glory" (Numbers, ibid.)—but not all his glory. This means that though Joshua's countenance also shone, it paled in comparison to Moses' light as the moon pales in comparison to the sun.
2.
Based on the Rebbe's talk delivered on Shabbat Parshat Va'etchanan 5751 (1991).
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What Is Love?
By Shais Taub
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1577531/jewish/What-Is-Love.htm
Why Do We Ask, “What Is Love?”
Whenever we ask, “What is love?” it’s usually because a) we’re unsure if a certain special someone really loves us, or b) because a certain special someone just accused us of not really loving them.
When we are truly engaged in giving and receiving love, we don’t ponder such philosophical questions. It’s only when something is lacking that we begin to analyze and contemplate what that thing actually is. For example, nobody sits down to a full meal and asks, “What is a pastrami sandwich?”
It’s only when something is lacking that we begin to analyze and contemplate what that thing actually isSo, if we’re even asking the question, “What is love?” it probably means that we don’t feel completely loved, or that someone doesn’t feel completely loved by us.
But since we’re asking, let’s try to answer the question.
“Am I Loved?” Vs. “Do I Love?”
The two scenarios that usually cause us to contemplate “What is love?” give meaning to the question. Either we wonder, “Am I loved?” or we ask, “Do I love?”
It is easier to first address the “What is love?” question in terms of the love we feel coming toward us. If we understand how to recognize when we are being loved, we can also learn to recognize our love for another.
When we are loved, we tend to feel it intuitively in our guts. But how does it work? Is there an extrasensory perception in the heart that is able to read the feelings in another person’s heart?
In fact, it’s really not that ethereal or supernatural. On the contrary, it’s pretty practical and down-to-earth. Our hearts take cues from our senses. Everything we see, hear, taste, touch or smell teaches us about our universe. We don’t need to contemplate or ask questions. Our sensory organs report to our brains, and our brains interpret the data and send the report to our hearts. So, if we see a loving smile, hear loving words, or feel a loving touch, the brain processes this information and concludes, “Hey, we are being loved right now!”
In short, when we are loved, there is tangible proof. It’s not an abstract thought or feeling, it’s concrete and evidenced. As King Solomon wrote in his book of Proverbs (27:19), “As water reflects a man’s face back to him, so is the heart of one man to another.” This means, when you are treated with love, your heart feels that love.
Love is an Action
Now we can address the second part of the “What is love” quandary—how to know if we love someone else?
The answer is straightforward. When we behave lovingly towards someone, it means we love that person.
When we ask a question like “What is love?” we assume that we’re trying to define an abstract concept similar to “What is freedom?” or “What is good fortune?” But truthfully, love is not a concept. It’s an action.
To ask, “What is love?” is like asking, “What is running?” or “What is swimming?” If you’ve ever seen someone run or swim, you know exactly what running and swimming entail.
In order for love to be real love, it has to be expressed as an actionThe Hebrew word for love, ahavah, reveals this true definition of love, for the word ahavah is built upon the root consonants h‑v, which means “to give.” In order for love to be real love, it has to be expressed as an action. If you love your beloved, then you must show it. By the same token, if you are loved, that will show, too. You will recognize it by the way you are treated.
G‑d Teaches Us How to Love
G‑d commands us (Deut. 6:5), “And you shall love the L‑rd your G‑d.” This precept leads us to voice the age-old question, “How can we be commanded to feel a feeling?” Either you feel it or you don’t, right?
An answer offered by our tradition explains that we are not being ordered to feel a feeling in the abstract sense. Rather, the command is for us to behave lovingly. In this light, “And you shall love,” actually means, “You shall perform acts of love.”
This is the true test: action, deeds, performance.
Feelings can be deceptive. Sometimes, what we perceive as love may in fact be another emotion. But actions cannot be mistaken. So, rather than ask, “What is love?” we must ask, “Do I perform acts of love for my beloved?” and “Does my beloved perform acts of love for me?”
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Rachel:
I think I get the point, but what of the meaning of someone acting as described out of a sense of duty, not feeling?
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I think this is underrated. I miss George Carlin and his insight.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNk_kzQCclo[/youtube]
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http://www.ted.com/talks/ric_elias.html
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Rachel:
I think I get the point, but what of the meaning of someone acting as described out of a sense of duty, not feeling?
Marc: A brief answer to you question
Judaism values action more than thoughts and believes that action leads to thoughts. If you want to be charitable give to charity and you feel more charitable. I have certainly found this true in my own life and any psychology I have studied
Also I am going to be much happier if my husband treats me well all the time even if sometimes he is just being dutiful. He will probably feel more loving to me than he if treats me badly and we will both be happier.
I believe marriage/love is a commitment beyond fluctuating feelings of desire, attraction, and loving feelings.
If you are speaking of sibling and parents. I would try to increase positive interactions and then feelings of love would follow.
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Weekly Sermonette
Virtue, Vice and Vision
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/302406/jewish/Virtue-Vice-and-Vision.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Blessings and curses. Stirring stuff from the Bible this week as Moses again cautions his congregation. The great prophet reminds them that living a life of goodness will bring them blessings while ignoring the Divine call must inexorably lead to a cursed existence.
Moses prefaces his admonition with the Hebrew word Re'eh, "See." See, I present before you today a blessing and a curse. But why "see"? What is there to see? Did he show them anything at all? The Torah does not use flowery language just because it has a nice ring to it and sounds poetic. What was there to behold? Why Re'eh?
One answer is that how we look will, in itself, determine whether our lives will be blessed or cursed. How do we look at others, at ourselves? Our perspective, how we behold and see things, will result in our own lives being blessed or, G-d forbid, the opposite.
The saintly Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev once chanced upon a strong, young man who was brazenly eating on Yom Kippur. The Rabbi suggested that perhaps he was feeling ill. The fellow insisted he was in the best of health. Perhaps he had forgotten that today was the holy day of fasting? "Who doesn't know that today is Yom Kippur?" responded the young man. Perhaps he was never taught that Jews do not eat on this day? "Every child knows that Yom Kippur is a fast day, Rabbi!" Whereupon Rabbi Levi Yitzchak raised his eyes heavenward and said, "Master of the Universe, see how wonderful Your people are! Here is a Jew who, despite everything, refuses to tell a lie!" The Berditchever was always able to look at others with a compassionate, understanding and benevolent eye.
How do we view the good fortune enjoyed by others? Are we happy for them, or do we look at them with begrudging envy? How do we look at ourselves and our own shortcomings? Are we objectively truthful or subjectively slanted? "He is a stingy, rotten good for nothing. Me? I am just careful about how I spend my money." "She is a bore of bores, anti-social. Me? I just happen to enjoy staying at home." "He is as stubborn as an ox! Me? I am a determined person."
Clearly, the manner in which we look at our world and those around us will have a major impact on the way life will treat us. Quite justifiably, Moses says, "See." For how we see things in life will undoubtedly affect life's outcomes.
The sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn (1880-1950), once told how when he was a young child he asked his father: "Why does a person have two eyes?" "The right eye," his father replied, "is to be used lovingly, when looking at a fellow Jew; the left eye is to be used discerningly, when looking at sweets or other objects that are not that important in the grand scheme of things."
(When I was in yeshivah, the same building also housed a synagogue where we would often interact with the adult men who would come to the daily minyan. One particular gentleman, may he rest in peace, always seemed to us rather cantankerous, what you might call a grumpy old man. I cannot remember whether he was actually a bit cross-eyed or not, but we referred to him as "left-eyed Sam" because he always seemed to be looking at us students with that proverbial left eye.)
The Parshah that is entitled Re'eh, "See," is a perennial reminder to all of us that even our vision can bring virtue or vice. Let us look at the world correctly and invite the blessings of G-d into our lives.
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Rachel:
I think I get the point, but what of the meaning of someone acting as described out of a sense of duty, not feeling?
Marc: A brief answer to you question
Judaism values action more than thoughts and believes that action leads to thoughts. If you want to be charitable give to charity and you feel more charitable. I have certainly found this true in my own life and any psychology I have studied
Also I am going to be much happier if my husband treats me well all the time even if sometimes he is just being dutiful. He will probably feel more loving to me than he if treats me badly and we will both be happier.
I believe marriage/love is a commitment beyond fluctuating feelings of desire, attraction, and loving feelings.
If you are speaking of sibling and parents. I would try to increase positive interactions and then feelings of love would follow.
I think duty is a vastly undervalued (In most places, forgotten) concept in today's society, to our great loss.
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Amen!!!
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You Think You’re Busy?
By Aron Moss
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1561845/jewish/You-Think-You%E2%80%99re-Busy.htm
Question:
Rabbi, I appreciate your invitation to join your classes, but I just don’t have time in my life for spirituality right now. My week is packed with work, family commitments, fitness, and a little socializing and time to relax. I don’t see where I can fit in spiritual activities. I don’t want to burn out, do I?
Answer:
Is the pot full?There was once a rabbi teaching a classroom full of students. He started his lesson by saying, “My dear students, today is our last class together before you graduate. For this special occasion I am going to do something different. I am going to teach you the secret of a good cholent.”
The students were aghast. Cholent, the traditional Shabbat stew, is a classic of Jewish cooking, but hardly a profound subject for a rabbi to teach his students for their final lesson.
The rabbi took out a crockpot and filled it to the brim with potatoes. He then turned to his students and asked, “Tell me, now that I have filled the pot with potatoes—is the pot full?”
“Yes,” his students replied, confused by the simplicity of the question, for there was no way to fit in any more potatoes into the pot.
With a smile, the rabbi took out a bag of beans and poured it into the pot, and the beans managed to slip between the spaces among the potatoes. “Okay,” said the rabbi, “now is the pot full?” Looking into the pot, the students agreed that it was indeed full.
Without missing a beat, the rabbi took out a bag of barley and poured it into the pot. The small kernels meandered effortlessly between the cracks and crevices among the potatoes and beans.
“Now it’s full,” said the students.
“Really?” said the rabbi, taking out his collection of spices. He then began shaking generous amounts of salt, pepper, paprika and garlic powder all over the pot. The students watched dumbfounded as the spices easily settled into what had seemed to be a completely full pot.
The rabbi, obviously enjoying himself, asked again, “Is it full yet?”
Without waiting for the answer, the rabbi produced a jug of water and proceeded to pour its contents into the pot. To the amazement of his students, he was able to empty the entire jug of water into the pot without a drop spilling over the sides.
“All right,” said the rabbi, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Now it really is full, right?” The students all nodded in agreement. “Are you sure?” prodded the rabbi. “Are you absolutely certain that I can’t fit anything more into this pot?” Suddenly unsure of themselves, the students looked at each other nervously and said, “Surely you can’t put anything else into there!”
With drama and pathos, the rabbi raised a finger in the air, lowered it slowly, and flicked a switch on the side of the pot, turning on the heating element lying beneath. “You see,” said the rabbi triumphantly, “I just filled the pot with the most important ingredient of all—warmth. Without it, the pot may as well be empty.”
The rabbi paused, and looked deeply into the eyes of his stunned students. “My children,” he finally addressed them, “you are about to leave my class and go on to live busy lives. In the big world out there, you will no longer have the luxury of studying holy texts all day. In time you will be consumed by the pressures of looking after a family and making a living. But always remember this: your material pursuits are just the potatoes and beans of life. Your spirituality, that is the warmth.
“Until the fire is turned on, the pot is full of disparate ingredients. It is the warmth that unites them all into one single stew.
It is the warmth that unites them all“If you don’t maintain a spiritual connection, through praying every day, studying the holy books, and keeping focused on the true meaning of your lives, then you will end up as a cold, raw cholent —very busy, very full, but completely empty. When you have lost touch with your soul, your family life will suffer, your career will be unfulfilling, you won’t be motivated even to exercise.
“But if you keep the fire burning in your soul, if you stick to a daily schedule that nourishes the spirit, even if it is only for a few minutes a day, then those few minutes will bring warmth and inspiration to all your other activities. A spiritual connection imbues your entire life with meaning, keeps you anchored and directed, inspired and motivated. It permeates all you do with a sense of purpose, and makes you succeed.
“You may be wondering,” continued the rabbi, “how will you have time for all this. How will you be able to juggle the demands of material life along with your spiritual development? You will find the answer by looking at the cholent. Did you notice that, though the pot seemed full of potatoes, beans, barley, spices and water, when I added the warmth it did not overflow? Never think that adding spirituality to your schedule will overburden you. On the contrary, it will bring everything else in your life together, because it will remind you why you do all these other things in the first place: you work in order to be able to live a life of meaning, you get married in order to bring the best out in yourself and your spouse, you have children in order to educate them in the ways of goodness, you keep fit in order to have the strength to fulfil your mission. Spirituality is the warmth that does not take up space, it creates more.”
With a loving smile, the rabbi concluded his farewell with words of wisdom that I think apply equally to you:
“You should never think that you are so busy that you can’t afford to concentrate on your soul. The truth is, you can’t afford not to. May G‑d bless you that each and every one of you should always be a warm pot of cholent.
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You find some real gems Rachel.
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Marc-- Thanks! I'm glad you liked them.
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/412042/jewish/Both-Mother-and-Father.htm
Printed from Chabad.org
Life's Passages
Both Mother and Father
By Chana Weisberg
My Father in Heaven, My King,
Do You hear me? Little me, all the way down here?
Can You possibly care about what I'm going through?
You seem so distant. So powerful and so removed.
Up there. So far away. So infinitely removed from little me down here.
Do You remember what You are putting me through--the difficulties I face daily, the challenges that seem so insurmountable to me?
Do You care about such small things?
Yet, somehow, my G-d, I feel You do care.
Hold my hand, strengthen me, help me overcome this hurdle.
Comfort me like a parent soothes her child.
Let me feel Your closeness, not Your distance.
Let me be surrounded by the warmth of Your presence, not Your indifferent, infinite Omnipotence.
Wipe away my tears.
Embrace me like a mother.
"See, I present before you today a blessing and a curse. The blessing: that you hearken to the commandments of G-d…And the curse: if you do not hearken to the commandments of G-d and you stray from the path that I command you today…" (Deuteronomy 11:26-28)
In this week's parshah, Moses reviews some of the fundamental commandments, including serving G-d, not straying after idolatry and living a life of purity in the Holy Land.
Moses puts these commandments into perspective by explaining that the choice of whether or not to accept the Torah in its totality is nothing less than the choice between blessing and curse, between life and death.
Later in the parshah (Deuteronomy 14:1), Moses declares:
"You are children to the L-rd, your G-d"
How are we like children to G-d? In what way is G-d like a parent to us?
To understand this, we must first understand the behavioral and psychological differences between a mother and father.1
The Talmud relates:
Rebbe said: It is known that a son [affectionately] honors his mother more than his father because she sways him by her tender words…and it is known that a son fears his father more than his mother because he teaches him Torah.
Elsewhere, the Talmud2 states:
The father is duty bound to circumcise his son, to redeem him (if he is a first born), to teach him Torah, to teach him a craft, and some say to teach him how to swim.
The mother, however, is not obligated with these educational duties to her son.3
With these statements, the Talmud is teaching us about the mother and father archetypes.
(It is important to clarify that we are not referring to mothers and fathers or women and men per se, but rather to archetypes. An actual mother may have some "fatherly" characteristics and vice versa, and at different stages of the child's life and development, each parent will necessarily need to adjust their archetypical approach to their child.)
Maternal love involves being affectionate, playing with the child and showering him with love and tenderness. 4
Paternal love is involved in passing on knowledge, teaching him Torah or helping him acquire a skill.
The mother never stops being affectionate and loving to her child, even when the child is an adult. No matter how mature and independent her child grows, in her mind's eye she still cannot forget the fact that this child was once a part of her. She gave her life and blood for this baby, and will therefore always see her child as needing her help and protection.
Both the mother's and the father's relationship are genuine and powerful. Both feel passionate love and indisputable affection for their child.
Yet the mother and father are moving in opposite directions vis-a-vis their child. Father moves away from his child, while mother moves toward him.
Father is preoccupied with disengaging himself from the child by acting as a teacher and a leader, offering opportunities for the child's growth and change. Through his guidance in teaching his child, he is weaning him to live independently and responsibly.
The mother, on the other hand, is not obligated with such educational duties since her instinct is to hold onto her child, to repress his adulthood--the very result that education is meant to foster.
The paternal love helps the child free himself from the parents' authority and move away from him, while the maternal love intensifies her attachment to her child.
The mother's and father's archetypical approaches to expressing their love are rooted in G-d's bilateral relationship with His people.
"You are children to the L-rd, your G-d."
G-d acts as both a mother and a father. He displays both modes of love: protecting and helping, as well as disciplining and teaching. We cry to G-d like a young child trusting in his mother's solacing embrace, while we also revere G-d and serve Him with utmost respect and veneration.
G-d, as our Father, is at an infinite distance from us, charging us with responsibility to display independence. He demands our courage in making the right decisions in our lives. He expects us to combat evil and rebukes our weaknesses or fluctuations. He orders us to overcome temptations, to "hearken the commandments" and choose "blessings" rather than "stray from the path" and choose "curses."
In truth, "evil" and the path of the "curses" is a nonentity. Darkness is just the concealment of light, a state of being veiling the inner truth. Darkness exists only to challenge us to defeat it, to rouse our innermost strengths and convictions. Its purpose is to allow us to conquer it and in this way offers us the ultimate in freedom of choice.
By revealing the light and transforming the negativity into underlying goodness, we are being forced to push ourselves to the limit and cultivate innate, dormant capabilities. We thus mature into spiritually complete individuals.
Yet, at the same time that G-d as our Father decrees Divine law, G-d as our Mother, as the Shechinah, provides Divine help. The Shechinah comes down to be together with her children. Nothing, not even sinfulness and disobedience, can sever the unshakable bond between Mother and child. The more independent and mature the child seems, the more the Mother sees his need for her help, and intensifies her love, cleaving to her child. The Shechinah--"the One who dwells with them in their impurity"5--is always present, ministering to and facilitating for her child.
G-d provides us with freedom of choice and warns us to choose blessing and goodness on our journey towards independence and spiritual growth.
But at the same time, G-d is with us like a mother, helping us wipe away our tears and frustrations, tenderly holding our hand.
FOOTNOTES
1. The concepts in this essay are further developed in the essay "Torah and Shechinah" in Family Redeemed by Rabbi J. B. Soloveitchik (Toras Harav 2000).
2. Kiddushin 29a.
3. Talmud, ibid.
4. The words in the Talmud, meshedalto bidvorim, "she sways him with words," is related to the phrase (Jeremiah 13:19), yeled shaashuim, a child with whom one plays, laughs, dances and sings.
5. Leviticus 16:16.
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Chutzpah Menachem Av 25, 5771 · August 25, 2011
Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe, Rabbi M. M. Schneerson Print this Page
The first thing you must know before anything else applies: Truth demands chutzpah. If what you are doing is the right thing to do, don’t give two cents about what others have to say.
Without that knowledge secure in your heart and soul, don’t imagine you can take a single step forward. Once you’ve passed its test, then you can begin to grow.
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Rabbi Wolpe
Why light Shabbat candles? Judaism teaches us that, rather than action resulting from emotion, our emotion often arises out of our actions. Do good and you will feel the motivation to do more good. Sometimes your heart follows your hands. Light candles each week and holiness will grow in your life through sacred deeds. Spread the light. Shabbat Shalom.
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Here Comes the Judge
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/305268/jewish/Here-Comes-the-Judge.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Don't be judgmental. Unless, of course you happen to be a judge. Then it's your job.
This week's parshah, Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9) , lists the Biblical command for judges to be appointed in every city and town to adjudicate and maintain a just, ordered, civil society. Interestingly, it occurs in the first week of Elul, the month in which we are to prepare in earnest for the Days of Judgment ahead, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
There are, however, some significant differences between earthly judges of flesh and blood and the Heavenly Judge. In the earthly court, if, after a fair trial, a defendant is found guilty, then there's really not much room for clemency on the part of the judge. The law is the law and must take its course. The accused may shed rivers of tears, but no human judge can be certain if his remorse is genuine. His feelings of regret are touching but of limited legal consequence. After all, a human judge may only make a decision based on "what the eye can see." The misdeed was seen to have been committed. The remorse, who knows? Perhaps he's a good actor and is only acting contrite. The Supreme Judge, however, does know whether the accused genuinely regrets his actions or is merely putting on an act. Therefore, He alone is able to forgive. That is why in heavenly judgments, teshuvah (repentance) is effective.
The Maharal of Prague gave another reason. Only G‑d is able to judge the whole person. Every one of us has good and bad to some extent. Even those who have sinned may have many other good deeds that outweigh the bad ones. Perhaps even one good deed was of such major significance that it alone could serve as a weighty counterbalance. The point is, only G‑d knows. Only He can judge the individual in the context of his whole life and all his deeds, good and bad.
Our goal is to emulate the Heavenly Court. We should try to look at the totality of the person. You think he is bad, but is he all bad? Does he have no redeeming virtues? Surely, he must have some good in him as well. Look at the whole person.
A teacher once conducted an experiment. He held up a white plate and showed it to the class. In the center of the plate was a small black spot. He then asked the class to describe what they saw. One student said he saw a black spot. Another said it must be a target for shooting practice. A third suggested that the plate was dirty or damaged. Whereupon the teacher asked, "Doesn't anyone see a white plate?"
There may have been a small black spot but, essentially, it was a white plate. Why do we only see the dirt? Let us learn to find the good in others. Nobody is perfect, not even ourselves. Let's not be so judgmental and critical. Let's try to see the good in others.
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My Encounter with Hemingway
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
Judaism is a religion of life.
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=127941528§ion=/sp/so
The year was 1956. I had just been ordained and felt I needed a vacation after completing years of rigorous study. Together with two other newly minted rabbis, we decided on a trip that in those days was considered rather exotic. We chose pre-Castro Cuba as our destination - not too far away, not too costly, beautiful and totally different from our New York City environment.
One day as we drove through Havana and its outskirts, our combination taxi driver/guide pointed out a magnificent estate and told us that this was the residence of the writer, Ernest Hemingway. "Stop the car," we told him. "We want to go in." He shook his head and vehemently told us, "No, no, that is impossible. No one can just come in to visit. Only very important people who have an appointment."
With the chutzpah of the young, I insisted that we would be able to get in and approached the guard with these words: "Would you please call Mr. Hemingway and tell him that three rabbis from New York are here to see him."
How could Hemingway not be intrigued? Surely he would wonder what in the world three rabbis wanted to talk to him about. We held our breaths, and the guard himself could not believe it when the message came back from the house that Mr. Hemingway would see us.
We were ushered into Hemingway's presence as he sat with his wife Mary in their spacious den. What followed, we subsequently learnt, was a verbal volley meant to establish whether it was worthwhile for him to spend any time talking to us. He questioned us about our backgrounds, threw some literary allusions at us to see if we would understand their meaning, asked what we thought was the symbolic meaning of some passages in his A Farewell To Arms - and then after about 15 minutes totally changed his demeanor and spoke to us with a great deal of warmth and friendship.
"Rabbis," he said to us, "forgive me for having been brusque with you at first but before continuing I had to make certain it was worth my while to talk to you. To be honest, I've long wanted to engage a rabbi in conversation. I just never had the opportunity. And now suddenly out of the blue you've come to me."
Hemingway then opened up to us in most remarkable manner. He told us he had a great interest in religion for many years which he pursued privately and never discussed or wrote about. He said during one period of his life he set aside time to study many of the major religions in depth. On a few occasions he even attempted to personally follow the rituals of certain faiths for a short time to see if they would "speak to him."
"I'm basically not a spiritual person," he confessed. But he said that after he thought deeply about the different religions he studied, he came to an important conclusion. Fundamentally he realized all religions divide into one of two major categories. There are religions of death and there are religions of life. Religions of death are the ones whose primary emphasis is preparation for an afterlife. This world and its pleasures are renounced in favor of dedicating oneself totally to the world to come. "Obviously," he added, "that isn't for me." What he respects, he continued, are religions like Judaism which stress our obligations to what we are here for now on earth rather than the hereafter.
With his perceptive mind, he summed up the essence of Judaism perhaps better than most Jews themselves can. Judaism is a religion of life. "Choose life," says the Bible. Death of course is recorded but what happens afterwards purposely remains hidden from the reader.
I took the opportunity to compliment Hemingway on his analysis and had the temerity to ask if I might teach him something that would add to his insight. I told him of the biblical law that prohibits the Kohanim, all the members of the Jewish priesthood, from coming into any contact with the dead. If they did so, they would be considered impure. To this day Kohanim cannot enter a funeral chapel with a body inside.
The rabbinic commentators questioned the reason behind this law. The answer that resonates most with scholars is that the Torah wanted to ensure that the priestly class, those assigned to dedicate themselves to the spiritual needs of their people, did not misconstrue their primary function. In all too many religions, the holy men devote themselves almost exclusively to matters revolving around death. Even in our own times, the only connection many people have with a spiritual leader is at a funeral. That is why the Bible forbade the priests from having any contact with the dead - so that they spend their time, their efforts, their concerns and their energy with the living.
Hemingway smiled and thanked me for sharing with him this beautiful idea.
My encounter with Hemingway became all the more poignant when on July 2, 1961 I learned with the world that the man whose hand wrote the books we revere to this day chose to use it to put the barrel of his shotgun into his mouth and commit suicide. Somehow he was never able to find a spiritual source on which to lean in order to give him a reason for living. He had taught the world, in his words, "But man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but not defeated." And yet, tragically, the biblical ideal to "choose life" that he praised in our meeting could not guide him in the end.
Related Article: Heaven Can Wait
Worshipping Death
But his insight into the diametrically opposed fundamental difference between religions is today more relevant than ever. Osama bin Ladin is dead but his words aptly describe the contemporary clash between two major spiritual orientations. Fanatical Islam stands opposed to Western civilization. Bin Laden starkly defined the difference between the two: "You Americans worship life; we worship death."
To worship death is to teach children from early youth that their greatest achievement is to die the death of a martyr. To worship life is to teach children that the best way to make their lives meaningful is to live up to their potential so that through their achievements they leave a legacy to help future mankind.
Our biblical heritage directs us to reject the idolization of death. God has entrusted us with too many things to do while we are alive to opt to forsake it.
The Torah was given at a time when the religions of the Hebrews’ neighbors were preoccupied almost entirely with death. The Egypt from the ancient Hebrews fled was a nation which devoted its efforts and much of its wealth to preparations for the afterlife.
Death in Egypt of old was viewed not as an ending but the beginning of a journey to eternity. A process of embalming preserved the corpse by extracting the organs, filling the shell with salt and linen, and wrapping it in bandages and amulets. The next life, ancient Egyptians believed, would be an enhancement of this one. The dead would need to be sustained and amused, so their tombs were filled with food and drink, instructive texts, games, and jewelry. Model figures, called Shabti were also buried with the dead between the Middle Kingdom (3500 - 4000 years ago) and the Ptolemaic Period (2300 years ago). They provided friendship for the deceased, and acted as their laborers. Slaves were put to death and entombed together with their masters so that they might continue to serve them The Egyptians also believed that if the pharaoh's body could be mummified after death the pharaoh would live forever - and that's why they built the pyramids as tombs designed to protect the buried pharaoh's body and his belongings.
It was to the Hebrews of this time that a literally new way of life, rather than a way of death, was presented. The Bible didn't need to teach those who received it that the soul survives after death. Their world was populated by people who excessively devoted their lives to death, at the expense of properly living life. What they needed to hear was how to reverse these priorities.
The Bible spoke solely in terms of terrestrial obligations. Love not death, but your neighbor, as yourself. Free the slave; do not inter him with the wealthy so that he may continue to serve his master in the afterworld. Help the widow; do not just tell her to rejoice because her husband is now in a better place. Be kind to your worker; do not force him to labor with backbreaking effort in order to build pyramids for the greater glory of the deceased.
King Solomon put it well in his book of Proverbs." It [the Torah] is a tree of life unto those who grasp hold of it." (Proverbs 3:18)
Perhaps this can explain the Torah’s omission of details about death and its aftermath. It was a purposeful decision by God to help us focus on our human obligations on earth - so that we may be pleasantly surprised when our time comes to leave it.
This is an excerpt from Rabbi Blech's latest as yet unpublished work, Why We Shouldn't Fear Death.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/so/My_Encounter_with_Hemingway.html
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Rosh Chodesh
The Jewish Calendar ( A Video)
http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/media_cdo/aid/676125/jewish/Rosh-Chodesh.htm
Rosh Chodesh, the head of the month, plays a big role in the Jewish calendar, where the lunar cycle is front and center. Learn how the Jewish calendar works.
Riding with the Moon
By Yanki Tauber
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/39695/jewish/Riding-with-the-Moon.htm (http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/39695/jewish/Riding-with-the-Moon.htm)
(http://w3.chabad.org/media/images/3143.jpg)
Clowns are cavorting to the music, children are clamoring for sweets, people are lining up to be frightened or thrilled or amused. Another day in the glorious theme park of life.
Do you take the Ferris wheel or the roller coaster?
If you’re a Ferris wheel kind of guy, you want your ups and downs to follow an even cycle. You acknowledge that life is a ride—that there are times to ascend and times to descend, times to move and times to halt, and times to sway gently in the breeze. But you need for it to follow a regular pattern, so that you can reflect on what has been and prepare for what’s to come.
If you opt for the roller coaster, it’s because you know that the real fun comes when you’re caught unawares. When you inch up a long, seemingly endless incline, only to plunge into a bottomless pit; when a slow, graceful somersault follows a twisting hurdle through dark tunnels. When you never know what the ride will throw at you next, and have only your grip on the handlebar and your faith in the designer’s ingenuity to get you through it.
Another day in the theme park of life. Do you take the Ferris wheel or the roller coaster?
Did you ever wonder why our calendar has both weeks and months? Why follow two different cycles that never match up?
The week came first. As the Bible tells it, G‑d created the world in seven days—six days of work and a seventh of rest. According to the Kabbalists, everything in creation is modeled upon a structure of seven sefirot (“lights” or “spheres”)—including time itself. The weekly Shabbat, first observed by Adam only hours after his creation, is thus the key to living our lives as “partners with G‑d in creation,” of attuning our own creative powers with those of our Creator.
In other words, the seven-day week is nature’s inner clock—the system by which it was brought into being, and by which it continues to be sustained and maintained by its Creator.
And then, one dark night in Egypt some 2,448 years after the first Shabbat, the month was born.
And G‑d spoke to Moses and to Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying: “This new moon shall be for you the head of months, the first of the month of the year for you . . .” (Exodus 12:1–2)
The week is generated by seven sunsets and seven sunrises, a repetitive event by which each day in the cycle is virtually indistinguishable from its fellows; the month, on the other hand, has its progress marked by the moon’s phases, as it grows from crescent to fullness, only to dwindle back to oblivion and await another rebirth. The week was programmed by the Creator into creation; the month, on the other hand, must be created anew each time—according to Torah law, a new month is proclaimed only after the Sanhedrin (supreme court) hears testimony from two witnesses who saw the new moon. Shabbat, which commemorates the creation of the natural order, is a product of the week; the festivals that commemorate the miracles of Jewish history (Passover, Sukkot, Chanukah, Purim, etc.) are all products of the month.
If the week represents all that is regular and immutable in our world, the month represents the new, the unanticipatable, the miraculous.
Do you take the Ferris wheel or the roller coaster? Imagine that you could ride both simultaneously. If you can imagine that, you know the experience of living with the Jewish calendar.
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A Tiny Fix and a Little Snip
Two Elul Parables
By Nissan Mindel
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/4372/jewish/A-Tiny-Fix-and-a-Little-Snip.htm
The Hole In The Boat
A man was called to the beach to paint a boat. He brought his paint and brushes and began to paint the boat a bright, new red, as he was hired to do. As he painted the boat, he noticed that the paint was seeping through the bottom of the boat. He realized that there was a leak, and he decided to mend it. When the painting was done, he collected his money for the job and went away.
The following day the owner of the boat came to the painter and presented him with a large check. The painter was surprised. "You have already paid me for painting the boat," he said.
"But this is not for the paint job. It is for mending the leak in the boat."
"That was so small a thing that I even did not want to charge you for it. Surely you are not paying me this huge amount for so small a thing?"
"My dear friend, you do not understand. Let me tell you what happened.”
"When I asked you to paint the boat I had forgotten to mention to you about the leak. When the boat was nice and dry, my children took the boat and went fishing. When I found that they had gone out in the boat, I was frantic for I remembered that the boat had a leak! Imagine my relief and happiness when I saw them coming back safe and sound. I examined the boat and saw that you had repaired the leak. Now you see what you have done? You have saved the lives of my children! I haven't enough money to repay you for your 'little' good deed...”
A Piece of String
A wealthy merchant bought a wonderful candelabra for his home. It was a masterpiece, made of pure crystal and studded with precious stones. It cost a real fortune.
Because of the candelabra's massive size, the ceiling in the merchant's dining room could not support its weight. In order to hang this beautiful candelabrum, a hole was bored in the ceiling, through which a rope was run and fastened to a beam in the attic.
Everybody who came to the house admired the wonderful candelabra, and the merchant and his family were very proud of it.
One day a poor boy came begging for old clothes. He was told to go up to the attic, where their old clothes were stored, and to help himself to some. He went up to the attic, and collected a neat bundle of clothes. After packing them into his bag, he searched for a piece of string with which to tie it. He saw a rope wound around a nail and decided to help himself to a piece. So he took out his pocketknife and cut the rope.
Crash! There was a terrific smash, and the next moment the whole family rushed to the attic crying: "You idiot! Look what you have done! You have ruined us!"
The poor boy could not understand what all the excitement was about. He said: "What do you mean, ruined you? All I did was to take a small piece of rope. Surely this did not ruin you?"
"You poor fish," replied the merchant. "Yes, all you did was to take a piece of rope. But it so happened that my precious candelabra hung by it. Now you have broken it beyond repair!"
These two stories, my friends, have one moral: Very often, by doing what seems to us a "small" good deed we never know what wonderful thing we have really done. And conversely, in committing what seems to us a "small" transgression, we are causing a terrible catastrophe. Both good deeds and bad deeds cause a "chain reaction." One good deed brings another good deed in its succession, and one transgression brings another. Each of them, no matter how seemingly small, may create or destroy worlds. Don't you think these two stories are worth remembering?
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ABC's of Elul
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=48966581§ion=/h/hh/e/guide
by Rabbi Shraga Simmons
The last month of the Jewish calendar is actually the most important – serving as preparation for the High Holidays.
If you had an important court date scheduled ― one that would determine your financial future, or even your very life ― you'd be sure to prepare for weeks beforehand.
On Rosh Hashana, each individual is judged on the merit of his deeds. Whether he will live out the year or not. Whether he will have financial success or ruin. Whether he will be healthy or ill. All of these are determined on Rosh Hashana.
Elul ― the month preceding Rosh Hashana ― begins a period of intensive introspection, of clarifying life's goals, and of coming closer to God. It is a time for realizing purpose in life ― rather than perfunctorily going through the motions of living by amassing money and seeking gratification. It is a time when we step back and look at ourselves critically and honestly, as Jews have from time immemorial, with the intention of improving.
The four Hebrew letters of the word Elul (aleph-lamed-vav-lamed) are the first letters of the four words Ani l'dodi v'dodi lee ― "I am to my Beloved and my Beloved is to me" (Song of Songs 6:3). These words sum up the relationship between God and His people.
In other words, the month preceding Rosh Hashana is a time when God reaches out to us, in an effort to create a more spiritually-inspiring atmosphere, one that stimulates teshuva.
Slichot
Beginning on Saturday night before Rosh Hashana, we recite "Slichot", a special series of prayers that invoke God's mercy. If Rosh Hashana falls at the beginning of the week, then "Slichot" begin on the Saturday night of the previous week. (Sefardim begin saying "Slichot" on Rosh Chodesh Elul.)
After the sin of the Golden Calf, Moses asked God to explain His system for relating with the world. God's answer, known as the "13 Attributes of Mercy," forms the essence of the "Slichot" prayers. The "13 Attributes" speak of "God's patience." The same God Who created us with a clean slate and a world of opportunity, gives us another opportunity if we've misused the first one.
"Slichot" should be said with a minyan. If this is not possible, then "Slichot" should still be said alone, omitting the parts in Aramaic and the "13 Attributes of Mercy."
Finally, the most important aspect of Elul is to make a plan for your life. Because when the Big Day comes, and each individual stands before the Almighty to ask for another year, we'll want to know what we're asking for!
Additions to the Services
Beginning the second day of Rosh Chodesh Elul, it is the Ashkenazi custom to blow the shofar every morning after prayers, in order to awaken us for the coming Day of Judgement. The shofar's wailing sound inspires us to use the opportunity of Elul to its fullest.
Also beginning in Elul, we say Psalm 27 in the morning and evening services. In this Psalm, King David exclaims: "One thing I ask... is to dwell in the house of God all the days of my life." we focus on the unifying force of God in our lives, and strive to increase our connection to the infinite transcendent dimension.
40-Day Period
Rewind 3,000 years to the Sinai Desert. God has spoken the Ten Commandments, and the Jews have built the Golden Calf. Moses desperately pleads with God to spare the nation.
On the first day of Elul, Moses ascends Mount Sinai, and 40 days later ― on the seminal Yom Kippur ― he returned to the people, with a new, second set of stone tablets in hand.
For us as well, the month of Elul begins a 40-day period that culminates in the year's holiest day, Yom Kippur.
Why 40? Forty is a number of cleansing and purification. Noah's Flood rains lasted 40 days, and the mikveh ― the ritual purification bath ― contains 40 measures of water.
Elul is an enormous opportunity. During this time, many people increase their study of Torah and performance of good deeds. And many also do a daily cheshbon ― an accounting of spiritual profit and loss.
Events of the Year 2448
Many of the Jewish holidays are based on the events of one crucial year in Jewish history -- 2448, or 1312 BCE.
About 3,300 years ago, in the Jewish year 2448, the Jewish people were freed from slavery in Egypt ― following the plague of the First Born. The date was the 15th of Nissan, the first Passover celebration.
One week later, with the Egyptian troops in full chase, the Red Sea split ― and the Jewish people walked through on dry land. This occurred on the seventh and final day of the Passover holiday.
Ten Commandments and Mount Sinai - Fifty days later, on the holiday of Shavuot, God gave the Ten Commandments to the Jewish people on Mount Sinai. At Sinai, the Jews regained the immortal level of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.
Moses' First Ascent - Following the revelation, Moses went up Mount Sinai to learn more details of the Torah directly from God. At the end of 40 days, God handed Moses two sapphire tablets of identical shape and size ― upon which the Ten Commandments were engraved.
The Golden Calf - On the 16th of Tammuz, when Moses had not yet returned from the mountain, the Jewish people began to panic. They sought a new "leader" and built the Golden Calf. Immediately, the Clouds of Glory ― the divine protection of God ― departed. The Jews had relinquished their spiritual greatness and become mortal again. On the 17th of Tammuz, Moses came down from the mountain, smashed the Tablets, destroyed the Calf, and punished the transgressors.
Moses' Second Ascent - On the 19th of Tammuz, Moses ascended Mount Sinai again to plead for the lives of the Jewish people. He prayed with great intensity, and after 40 days, God agreed to spare the Jewish people in the merit of their forefathers. On the last day of Av, Moses returned to the people. Their lives were spared, but the sin was not yet forgiven.
Moses' Third and Final Ascent - Moses ascended Mount Sinai on Rosh Chodesh Elul and stayed in the heavenly camp for 40 days (bringing the total number of days spent there to 120). Henceforth, the month of Elul became a special time for drawing close to God. At the end of the 40 days ― on the 10th of Tishrei ― God agreed to mete out the punishment for the Golden Calf over many generations. He then gave Moses a new, second set of Tablets.
Moses came down from the mountain with good news for the people: The reunification was complete, and the relationship restored. Thereafter, the 10th of Tishrei was designated as a day of forgiveness for all future generations: Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.
Midrashic Sources: Exodus Rabba 32:7, 51:8; Tanchuma - Ki Tisa 35
Recommended Reading
Rabbeinu Yitchak Abohav writes in "Menoras HaMeor":
Any intelligent person who is scheduled for trial before a mortal king will surely spend sleepless nights and days preparing his case. He will seek the advice of every knowledgeable person he knows who can help him prepare his case. He will go to great lengths to attain a favorable verdict, even if all that is at stake is but a small part of his fortune, and he faces no personal risk.
Should he not do so as well when brought to judgment before the Supreme King of Kings, the Holy Blessed One, when not only he, but his children and his fortune all hang in the balance?
With this in mind, here is some suggested reading for the High Holidays.
Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur Survival Kit (Shimon Apisdorf, Leviathan Press) - The award-winning guide to getting more meaning out of the High Holidays. With humor and sophistication, this book offers invaluable insight to the significance of the holidays and prayers. User-friendly format.
ArtScroll Machzor - The most complete and well organized prayer book on the market today. Includes full English/Hebrew text of all prayers, plus explanations, laws and customs. Features a masterful essay on the essence of the High Holidays. Separate volumes for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.
The Book of Our Heritage (Rabbi Eliyahu Kitov, Feldheim 1978) - A thorough review of the Jewish calendar. Includes month-by-month explanations of all the holidays, laws and customs throughout the Jewish year. A classic.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/hh/e/guide/48966581.html
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The Covenant A Jewish Reflection on 9-11
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vqeh_BaV5bI
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vqeh_BaV5bI[/youtube]
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The Covenant A Jewish Reflection on 9-11
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vqeh_BaV5bI
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vqeh_BaV5bI[/youtube]
Awesome!
Thanks Rachel.
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GM, You are welcome. I'm glad you liked it.
9/11: Forgive and Forget?
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
http://www.aish.com/ci/sept11/911_Forgive_and_Forget.html
We are not the ones who have the right to make that decision.
God, I need your guidance. I continue to grieve for all the victims of 9/11 even after a decade has passed. My heart is filled with pain, and with anger at the terrorists responsible for the horrible deaths on that day of infamy in which 3,000 innocents perished. But I know that you teach us to forgive those who sin. In the Bible you often tell us that you are a God who is slow to anger, merciful and forgiving. We are supposed to imitate you and adopt Your behavior as guidelines for our own personal conduct.
Does that really mean that no matter how difficult it is, I have to now tell myself to forgive all those who intentionally and with callous premeditation committed these unspeakable crimes? Am I guilty of failing my spiritual obligations if I'm not willing to respond to barbaric acts with love and forgiveness? God, how far does clemency go? In the name of religion, must I today be prepared to pardon even those who committed murder?
Forgiveness is a divine trait. It defines the goodness of God. Without it, human beings probably couldn't survive. Because God forgives, there's still hope for sinners. When we do wrong, God reassures us that He won't abandon us as a result of our transgressions. Divine forgiveness is the quality that most clearly proves God's love for us.
That is why the many passages in the Bible that affirm God's willingness to forgive our sins are so important. They comfort us and they fill us with confidence. We know none of us are perfect. If we would be judged solely on our actions, we would surely fall short. Thank God, the heavenly court isn't that strict. We can rest assured, as the prophet Isaiah told us, "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow."
It makes perfect sense, then, for us to understand that if we expect God to forgive us for our failings, we have to be prepared to forgive others as well. What we need when we're being judged from above certainly deserves to be granted to those we are judging. We are guided by the profound words of Alexander Pope: "To err is human; to forgive, divine."
That all makes it seem like we have no choice in the matter. Forgiveness appears to be our only moral option. But the more we study the Bible, the more we recognize a peculiar paradox. The same God who preaches forgiveness very often doesn't forgive. Instead, He punishes sinners. He holds people responsible. He criticizes, He condemns, and afflicts those who committed crimes. Adam and Eve sinned, and they were kicked out of the Garden of Eden. Cain sinned and was condemned to become a wanderer over the face of the earth. The generation of Noah sinned and a flood destroyed them. The builders of the Tower of Babel sinned and their speech was turned into babble. In one story after another, from the Five Books of Moses through the works of the prophets, we read of retribution, of accountability, of divine punishment, and the withholding of automatic forgiveness.
Isn't this an innate contradiction in the Bible? The same book in which God identifies himself as merciful and forgiving, repeatedly shows us a God of justice who withholds undeserved pardons. There must be something we're missing. There can't be such an obvious contradiction in the Bible. And sure enough, just a little reflection makes clear why there are times when God forgives people for their sins, and why at other times He refuses.
The Price for Forgiveness
Heavenly pardon is predicated on a condition. Before God grants forgiveness, He asks us to acknowledge that we were wrong and renounce the sinful behavior.
God is willing to overlook the sins of the past for the sake of an altered future. He is ready to pardon the most terrible wrongs for the price of remorse, regret and the desire for a new beginning. But the one thing God's forgiveness is unwilling to do is to condone vicious crimes by simply accepting them. An unrepentant sinner mistakes God's mercy for permission to continue his ways. To forgive such a person isn't kindness; its cruelty to all those who'll be hurt by the evil that wasn't stopped before it could do more harm.
Yes, it was the same God who drowned the wicked generation of Noah and who saved the evil people of Ninveh. Those who were destroyed by the Flood were given plenty of warning. They watched Noah build his ark for many years. Noah told them what God planned to do if they didn't repent. But they didn't believe him – even when it started to rain and pour like never before. So of course people who didn't see the need to ask for forgiveness weren't forgiven.
But when Jonah told the residents of the city of Ninveh that they were doomed due to their evil behavior, they took the message to heart and committed themselves to a new way of life. The people who changed were immediately forgiven. God wasn't going to hold their past against them – because it was really a thing of the past.
Don't Forgive Them Unless
Forgiving people who don't personally atone for the sins makes a statement: Repentance isn't really necessary. Can anything be more immoral than encouraging evil by refraining from any condemnation of those who commit it?
The day after the Columbine High School massacre, a group of students announced that they forgave the killers. A short while after the Oklahoma bombing, some people put out a call to forgive Timothy McVeigh. And on September 12th, on several American campuses, colleges groups pleaded for forgiveness for the terrorists responsible for the horrific events of the previous day.
These weren't just misguided gestures of compassion. They were serious sins with potentially tragic consequences. Evil unchallenged is evil condoned. To forgive and forget, as Arthur Schopenhauer so well put it, "means to throw valuable experience out the window." And without the benefit of experience's lessons, we are almost certain to be doomed to repeat them.
The terrorists who piloted the planes into the Twin Towers never asked to be forgiven. They expressed not the slightest remorse as they went to their deaths together with their victims. Those who sent them, those who financed them, and those who applauded their mission never for a moment regretted what happened. Forgiving them is no less than granting license to murder thousands of more innocent people.
To speak of forgiveness as if it were the automatic entitlement of every criminal is to pervert a noble sentiment into a carte blanche for mayhem and chaos. We might as well open the doors of every jail and release all the thieves, rapists and murderers. Our wonderful act of compassion wouldn't take too long to be followed by the cries of the victims of our folly! To forgive those who remain unrepentant is to become an accomplice to future crimes.
What If A Nazi Asked For Forgiveness?
What if a Nazi asked for forgiveness at some later date? What if a brutal murderer realizes the enormity of his crimes and honestly regrets his past deeds? What if the plea for forgiveness is accompanied by sincere remorse? Can the crimes of the past be forgotten? Is a troubled conscience sufficient to secure automatic forgiveness?
This is not just a theoretical question. Something exactly like that happened toward the end of the Holocaust. And the man who had to decide what to do in such a situation, a concentration camp victim who had suffered indescribable mistreatment and torture, wrote a remarkable book about his experience.
Simon Wiesenthal was a prisoner of the Nazis, confined to slave labor in a German hospital. One day he was suddenly pulled away from his work and brought into a room where an SS soldier lay dying. The German officer, Karl, confessed to Wiesenthal that he had committed atrocious crimes. Although raised as a good Catholic and in his youth God-fearing, Karl had allowed himself to become a sadistic accomplice to Nazi ideology. Now that he knew his end was near and he would soon be facing his Maker, Karl was overcome by the enormity of his sins.
More than anything else, Karl knew that he needed atonement. He wanted to die with a clear conscience. So he asked that a Jew be brought to him. And from this Jew, Simon Wiesenthal, the killer asked for absolution.
Wiesenthal has been haunted by this scene his entire life. When it happened, he was in such shock that he didn't know how to respond. His emotions pulled him in different directions. Anger mixed with pity, hatred with compassion, and revulsion with mercy. His conclusion was to leave in utter silence. He didn't grant Karl the forgiveness the German desperately sought.
Years later, Wiesenthal shared the story with a number of prominent intellectuals, theologians and religious leaders. How would they have reacted? he asked them. In the light of religious teachings and ethical ideals, what should have been the proper response? Was there a more suitable reply than silence?
Wiesenthal collected the answers and had them published as a book entitled, The Sunflower. The range of responses offers a fascinating insight into different views on forgiveness. Some, like the British journalist Christopher Hollis, believe that the law of God is the law of love, no matter what the situation. We have an obligation to forgive our fellow human beings even when they have caused us the greatest harm. A remorseful murderer deserved compassion.
And Who Are You To Forgive?
One rabbi offered a different perspective. No one can forgive crimes not committed against him or her personally. What Karl sought could only come from his victims. It is preposterous to think that one solitary Jew can presume to speak for 6 million.
This rabbi had been invited to address a group of prominent business executives. Among them were some of the most important CEOs in the country. His lecture dealt with the Holocaust and its lessons for us. He stressed the importance of memory and the need to continue to bear witness to the crime of genocide.
When he finished, one of the very famous names in American corporate life angrily rebutted the essence of his talk. "I'm tired," he said," of hearing about the Holocaust. You claim that you're speaking in the name of morality. Why can't you demonstrate true morality by learning to forgive and forget?"
To a stunned audience, the rabbi replied by asking them for permission to tell a story about Rabbi Israel Kagan, commonly known as the Chafetz Chaim. In the history of the Jewish people, he explained, there has hardly ever been someone considered as saintly as the Chafetz Chaim. A Polish rabbi and scholar of the late 19th and early 20th century, he was universally revered not just for his piety but more importantly for his extreme concern for the feelings of his fellow man.
Rabbi Kagan was traveling on a train, immersed in a religious book he was studying. Alongside him sat three Jews anxious to while away the time by playing cards. The game required a fourth hand so they asked the unrecognized stranger to join them. Rabbi Kagan politely refused, explaining that he preferred to continue his reading. The frustrated card players refused to take no for an answer. They began to beat the poor Rabbi until they left him bleeding.
Hours later, the train pulled into the station. Hundreds of people swarmed the platform waiting to greet the great sage. Posters bore signs of Welcome to the Chafetz Chaim. As the rabbi, embarrassed by all the adulation, walked off the train with his bruises, the crowd lifted him up and carried him off on their shoulders. Watching with horror were the three Jews who had not long before accosted the simple Jew sitting in their cabin, now revealed as one of the spiritual giants of their generation. Profoundly ashamed and plagued by their guilt, they managed to make their way through the crowd and reached their unwilling card player partner.
With tears, they poured out their feelings of shame and remorse. How could they possibly have assaulted this great Rabbi? They begged for forgiveness. And incredibly enough, the rabbi said no. The man who spent his life preaching love now refused to extend it to people who harmed him and regretted their actions. It seemed incomprehensible. So the three Jews attributed it to a momentary lapse. Perhaps, they thought, it was just too soon for the rabbi to forgive them. He probably needed some time to get over the hurt. They would wait a while and ask again at a more propitious moment.
Several weeks passed and it was now close to Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Even the simplest Jews knew that they had to gain forgiveness from their friends if they wanted to be pardoned by God. With trepidation, the wicked three wrangled an appointment and once again were able to speak to the Rabbi. They pleaded their case. Still the Rabbi said no. He would not forgive them.
The rabbi's son was present as this strange scene played itself out. Puzzled by his father's peculiar behavior, he couldn't contain himself. It was so unlike anything he had ever witnessed before. Why did his father suddenly act so cruelly? Why would he persist in tormenting people who only asked for a simple expression of forgiveness?
The son dared to ask. His father explained. "Do you really think I don't want to forgive these poor Jews before the High Holy days? If it were only in my power to do so, don't you know that I would have forgiven them when they stood before me at the railroad station? Of course I, Rabbi Kagan, forgive them for what they did to me. When they learned who I was, they were mortified and filled with shame for what they had done. But the man they beat up was the one they presumed to be a simple, unassuming poor person with no crowd of well-wishers waiting to greet him. He was the victim and only he is the one capable of granting them forgiveness. Let them go find that person. I am incapable of releasing them from their guilt."
Upon completing the story, the rabbi turned to the executive who suggested that it was time for us to move on after the Holocaust and to forgive and forget. "I would be more than happy to do so if I only could. But I was not the one who was sealed in the gas chambers to die a horrible death. I didn't have my child pulled from my breast and shot it in front of my eyes. I was not among the tortured, the beaten, the whipped, and the murdered. It is they and they alone who can offer forgiveness. Go and find those 6 million and ask them if they are prepared to forgive and forget."
A decade after 9/11 there are those who raise the question: Should we forgive those who murdered the thousands of innocents?
Perhaps the most appropriate response is simply this: We are not the ones who have the right to make that decision. Though 10 years have passed, we may not forgive and we dare not forget.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ci/sept11/911_Forgive_and_Forget.html
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Printed from Chabad.org
Living through the Parshah
Outreach or Self-Promotion?
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/969316/jewish/Outreach-or-Self-Promotion.htm
By Rochel Holzkenner
Most things I hear are either immediately deleted, or backed up in my long-term memory. But some things I’ll hear will germinate in my active memory for days, tumbling around and calling for attention.
It happened on Thursday evening, as I was working through Shabbat cooking. I was listening to a stimulating Torah class while my hands moved through greens and challah dough. Rabbi G. was giving a lecture to shluchot (female Chabad emissaries) about the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s vision. “We are not in the business of expert outreach,” he began, “we are in the business of passionately loving G‑d. If you love G‑d, you’ll naturally love His children. As passion tends to be infectious, if you’re into Him, the people you love will eventually share your passion.” In this organic process, we are to reach out to our fellow Jews and “share our love” of G‑d with others.
I needed to pinpoint the difference between the two modalities. After all, the end result of both was Jewish outreachThis was a paradigm shift that I needed to process, and it rested anxiously on my cerebral cortex for days. I needed to pinpoint the difference between the two modalities that Rabbi G. had described. After all, the end result of both was Jewish outreach.
Then I learned about a fascinating commandment in Deuteronomy (22:8):
When you build a new house, you shall make a guardrail for your roof, so that you shall not cause blood [to be spilled] in your house, that the one who falls should fall from it [the roof].
Like people, the mitzvot are multi-dimensional and operate on many planes simultaneously. At its primary plane, the obligation to build a rail around a roof teaches the fundamental importance of personal liability and responsibility. On another plane, this same commandment is talking of metaphysical rails and roofs. Let’s hang out in the metaphysical and explore the same commandment again.
“When you build a new house, you shall make a guardrail for your roof.”
There are houses made of wood and bricks, and houses built of effort and accomplishment. One can “build” up a friend to be a solid edifice of G‑d-centered living, or build a network that develops into an oasis of spirituality. Although these houses have noble engineers, the Torah cautions these “home builders” to make a guardrail for their roof!
Idealist drives can easily become enmeshed with self-promotion. The ego will surreptitiously enter into the psyche, camouflaging itself as the drive to help and inspire others. I may aspire to be an influential mentor or an outreach expert only in order to feel great about myself and get my name out there. So G‑d asks me to be conscious of this tendency, and advises a spiritual home builder to “make a guardrail for your roof”—to keep my ego in check. Strive for altruism.
The question is: who cares? As long as good work is being done, houses are being built, why the scrutiny? If self-promotion will inspire outreach, then perhaps it is a good thing. Addressing this doubt, the Torah writes:
“. . . so that you shall not cause blood [to be spilled] in your house, that the one who falls should fall from.”
Ego talk may speak the same words, but those words can’t penetrate heartsThe surest way to touch the life of another person is to talk to him or her from your heart, with tender sincerity. Ego talk may speak the same words, but those words can’t penetrate hearts. When the ego goes unchecked, the house that’s built is tenuous, and the people will fall off. In other words, it’s irresponsible to let your pride go unchecked, because other people are depending on you guidance, and your guidance is potent only when you can let go of your own hidden agenda.
The magic way to inspire others is to communicate from the heart, sharing what is real and meaningful to you. That’s not something that comes from outreach training, but from loving G‑d, trying to draw yourself close to Him, and inviting the people you love to join you in your process.
Based on a talk by the Rebbe (Likkutei Sichot, vol. 24, p. 137).
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Wanton Hatred, Wanton Love
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1607017/jewish/Wanton-Hatred-Wanton-Love.htm
By Zalman Shmotkin
September 17, 2001
Standing only a few hours before Rosh Hashanah, when we pray to G‑d to demonstrate His mercy to the entire world, please allow me to share with you some reflections about the recent events that have so affected us.
We all look for consolation, and we seek to console. But the sheer enormity of the evil we just experienced is so hideous, so repellent, we’re left with no words.
Of course, we stand behind our military, our intelligence agencies and our elected leaders in their efforts to eradicate this evil.
But we shy away from personally looking this evil straight in the eye; we shrink from taking it on. Timidly, we prod and encourage each other to “return to normal life.”
For how could anyone of us purport to combat something so grotesque and so awesome?
I’d like to propose, though, that we can and need to do just that.
Much has been written about the motivation, the conditioning, the bloodcurdling ruthlessness, the precision of last week’s crimes against humanity.
All accounts and hypotheses point to the same simple truth. The primary motivation, the underlying force behind every action executed by last week’s murderers was: hatred.
Pure, unbridled, blind, indiscriminate Hatred. Hatred of freedom, hatred of democracy, hatred of “infidels,” hatred of Jews, hatred of anything and everything besides the murderers themselves. Wanton, simple hatred.
It is this that we must combat. It is this that we must eradicate.
What is the remedy to wanton hatred? The Lubavitcher Rebbe of righteous memory answered this many times, with clarity and certitude: Wanton love.
Raw, cold-blooded, fanatical, baseless, relentless hatred can be matched and combated only with pure, undiscriminating, uninhibited, unyielding, baseless, unsolicited love and acts of kindness.
But we need not just plain love. We need love that costs us. Love for which we get nothing back.
The barbarians willingly gave up their lives to sow their hatred. We need to be willing to lose sleep, to suffer losses, to be uncomfortable, to sacrifice our pleasures, in order to help another human being—with at least the precision, determination and passion that evil’s compatriots of last week employed to fulfill their mission of hate.
Every one of us can make a difference.
The Rebbe would always quote the Maimonidean adage: Each person should see himself as though the entire world is on a delicate balance, and with one deed, he or she can tip the scales.
Only a few handfuls of terrorists turned our world upside down. Let us not underestimate the power of each of us to turn it upright again.
Every good act, every expression of kindness and love, will be a thousand antibodies to neutralize the viruses put in place by the forces of evil.
In response to darkness, we will fill the earth with light. To defeat evil, we will saturate our globe with good.
And when we do our part, G‑d will surely do His part to protect us and transform our world into the one we all hope and yearn for, one that will be filled with His glory, like the waters fill the ocean.
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G-d in the Fast Lane
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/420918/jewish/G-d-in-the-Fast-Lane.htm
Can one plan to be blessed? Obviously, we believe that when we live life as G-d intended us to, we will find or lives blessed in many ways. Even if we do not always see the results tangibly or immediately, we certainly are aware of many blessings that come with the territory of leading a G-dly life. But there is a verse in our Parshah, which promises us blessings we never even dreamed of.
If you will listen to the voice of G-d... and observe the commandments... All these blessings will come upon you and overtake you... (Deuteronomy 28:2)
What does it mean that blessings will overtake you? Rabbi Ovadia Sforno, one of the classic Biblical commentators, suggests that it means you will be blessed even when you made no effort to seek those blessings. It will come out of the blue, an unexpected windfall.
"How do you know that your livelihood's in that direction and you're running after it? Perhaps it lies in the opposite direction..." The story is told of the saintly Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev that he once saw a young man running down the street. The Chassidic master stopped him and asked, "Where are you running?" The fellow answered, "To make a living, rabbi." To which the Berditchever responded, "So how do you know that your living lies in that direction and you're running after it? Perhaps your livelihood is to be found in the opposite direction, and you're running away from it?"
Do we ever know for sure? How often do the best laid plans of mice and men come to naught? Haven't we all had the experience of trying our hardest to do a deal, and yet with all the planning and strategizing nothing whatsoever materialized? And on the other hand, there may have been times when we put no work into it at all and suddenly from nowhere we landed the deal of the year? The truth is we don't know where the blessing of our livelihood lies.
Our soul may hear something on a higher plane and it filters down And so it is with spiritual blessings. There are times when we make the effort and remain uninspired and there are times when we become inspired effortlessly. According to the Baal Shem Tov, our unconscious soul may hear something on a higher plane and it filters down to our conscious soul and we are touched, moved or inspired.
We live in an era of much confusion. Many are lost, floundering about in spiritual wildernesses. But many are finding themselves too. There have been many who didn't necessarily go looking for G-d but G-d found them. "How did you get inspired?" "To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure. I was minding my own business and I bumped into this Rabbi." Or, "I was sitting next to this fellow on the plane..." If you feel the spirit overtaking you, slow down Or, "I was just a tourist at the Western Wall but something moved me." Everybody has a story. In some stories we went looking for G-d, in others He came looking for us.
So if you feel the spirit overtaking you, don't speed up. Slow down. Let it catch up with you. May the blessings of G-d overtake you and transform your life.
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The First Day of Creation
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1606368/jewish/The-First-Day-of-Creation.htm
By Ted Roberts
It had been a busy six days, even for the King of the universe. The earth and all its contents—well, that was accomplishment enough. But the galaxies and rules governing their orbit—sun, moon and stars, and that concept of infinite space. He was particularly proud of that. Just imagine! The garden and its two occupants on planet Earth dwelled not in a boxed enclosure, but in nothingness. No beginning, no end, no top, no bottom. It had to be that way, since the universe was the mind of the Creator, and no one should stretch out his hand and touch that boundary. Thus was mystery introduced into the world.
Now, at the end of this sixth day, He would rest. And so, with great satisfaction, He surveyed His handiwork and meditated on all that He had done. It was flawlessly complete. At least, as complete as He intended it to be. Several ragged edges were purposely left unfinished. The creature called “man” must have some mission besides mere survival.
It was flawlessly complete. At least, as complete as He intended it to beBut what was that squeak, that dim voice from below? It was the human He had made. It was addressing Him, its Creator. It was asking for His attention.
“Master, Creator, are you up there? Can you hear me?”
“I, who can hear a grasshopper land on a blade of grass, can certainly hear my most favored creation when he calls out for me. Speak,” roared the L‑rd G‑d of creation.
“Beg your pardon, Sir, but You forgot something.” This was before the dialogues with Abraham and Job and the prophets. He was the architect of the universe, and this puny voice out of a structure that He had engineered was accusing him of carelessness. Impudence of the highest degree!
“I know You imbued your creation with hate, because Cain threw a sharp stick at me. I beg of you that when you issue your rules, it would be helpful to include one commanding our offspring to honor us, the nurturing parents. And Sir, You forgot love. May I ask that of You? We humans need love, or we shall treat each other like the animals. You took great care with the mechanism whereby we nourish ourselves. A great job, Sir. And you marvelously designed the tools of procreation so that, like the muskrats and elephants, we could prolong our species. It seems to work splendidly. Already, two rabbits have grown to two hundred, and it works wonderfully with mosquitoes, too. They swarm everywhere and feed off my flesh, but as I surveyed the garden I noticed an unpleasant truth. Some of the creatures who existed on that first day no longer walked upon the garden’s mossy turf. I think I counted more rabbits yesterday. I think the wolves are eating the rabbits.”
The L‑rd listened with divine patience. Later, did He not endure forty years of official complaints from the stiff-necked Children of Israel? He answered with controlled brevity. “Ah, you finally discovered the flaw in creation. Know that it is yours to correct. What exactly do you think is missing?”
“It is difficult to explain, Sir,” said Adam, for he was voicing the complaint that something that should be within us is missing. “A feeling of kindness, of warmth, plainly was lacking in the animals. And humans, too. I know it is missing because I do not have it for the woman—is that the right word?—you made for me. It’s like a warm feeling in the chest.
And without hesitation, He bestowed love upon His human creatures. Not too much. It was their responsibility to fill the void“It is not necessary—this feeling—for me and the woman to make more of us. I know, wait. I know how to explain it. It is like the feeling you have for us. In a lesser degree, of course, but it would be constructive if we had that glow for our fellow creatures, like the new one that the woman carries in her stomach. Please, Sir, bestow upon us that warmth. I call it love.”
“It must come from you,” boomed the Master of the universe. “Even I have not the power to bestow it upon you. It is the blemish I left for you to cure. I was waiting for you to notice this absence.”
But the L‑rd was proud of His creation and His wisdom. And without hesitation, He bestowed love upon His human creatures. Not too much. It was their responsibility to fill the void. And He imbued a small dose even into the beasts. Some inherited much, some a little.
Consequently, given the effectiveness of the procreation mechanism and the L‑rd’s granting of Adam’s wish, His breed still walks upon the earth. And on Eden’s green fields, the wolves, sometimes, lie down with the rabbits.
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Weekly Sermonette
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/416679/jewish/Choose-Life.htm
Choose Life
By Yossy Goldman
I call today upon heaven and earth as witnesses for you. I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. And you shall choose life, so that you and your children may live. (Deuteronomy 30:19)
Do we really need the Torah to tell us to choose life? Which person of sound mind would choose death?
One possible answer is that one must make a conscious decision to live and not just vegetate. And I don’t mean to live it up by living life in the fast lane. To “choose life” means to choose to live a meaningful life, a life committed to values and a higher purpose. Did it make any difference at all in that I inhabited planet Earth for so many years? Will anyone really know the difference if I’m gone? Is my life productive, worthwhile?
It is told that when the fist Chabad Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, wanted to bless Reb Yekutiel Liepler with wealth, he declined the offer, saying that he was afraid it would distract him from more spiritual pursuits. When the rebbe then offered to bless him with longevity, Reb Yekutiel stipulated that it should not be “peasant’s years, with eyes that do not see and ears that do not hear, where one neither sees nor senses G‑dliness.”
Reb Yekutiel was rather fussy, it seems. The holy rebbe is offering him an amazing blessing, and he is making conditions! Yes, he chose life, and he chose to live a life that would be purposeful and productive, and that really would make a tangible difference. He wasn’t interested in a long life if, essentially, it would amount to an empty life.
As we stand just before Rosh Hashanah, let us resolve to choose life. Let us live lives of Torah values and noble deeds. And may we be blessed with a good and sweet new year.
By Yossy Goldman
I call today upon heaven and earth as witnesses for you. I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. And you shall choose life, so that you and your children may live. (Deuteronomy 30:19)
Do we really need the Torah to tell us to choose life? Which person of sound mind would choose death?
One possible answer is that one must make a conscious decision to live and not just vegetate. And I don’t mean to live it up by living life in the fast lane. To “choose life” means to choose to live a meaningful life, a life committed to values and a higher purpose. Did it make any difference at all in that I inhabited planet Earth for so many years? Will anyone really know the difference if I’m gone? Is my life productive, worthwhile?
It is told that when the fist Chabad Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, wanted to bless Reb Yekutiel Liepler with wealth, he declined the offer, saying that he was afraid it would distract him from more spiritual pursuits. When the rebbe then offered to bless him with longevity, Reb Yekutiel stipulated that it should not be “peasant’s years, with eyes that do not see and ears that do not hear, where one neither sees nor senses G‑dliness.”
Reb Yekutiel was rather fussy, it seems. The holy rebbe is offering him an amazing blessing, and he is making conditions! Yes, he chose life, and he chose to live a life that would be purposeful and productive, and that really would make a tangible difference. He wasn’t interested in a long life if, essentially, it would amount to an empty life.
As we stand just before Rosh Hashanah, let us resolve to choose life. Let us live lives of Torah values and noble deeds. And may we be blessed with a good and sweet new year.
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Good one :-)
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Why Young Americans Can't Think Morally
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Last week, David Brooks of The New York Times wrote a column on an academic study concerning the nearly complete lack of a moral vocabulary among most American young people. Below are some excerpts from Brooks' summary of the study of Americans aged 18 to 23. (It was led by "the eminent Notre Dame sociologist Christian Smith.")
"Smith and company asked about the young people's moral lives, and the results are depressing ...
"When asked to describe a moral dilemma they had faced, two-thirds of the young people either couldn't answer the question or described problems that are not moral at all ...
"Moral thinking didn't enter the picture, even when considering things like drunken driving, cheating in school or cheating on a partner ...
"The default position, which most of them came back to again and again, is that moral choices are just a matter of individual taste ...
"As one put it, 'I mean, I guess what makes something right is how I feel about it. But different people feel different ways, so I couldn't speak on behalf of anyone else as to what's right and wrong ...
"Morality was once revealed, inherited and shared, but now it's thought of as something that emerges in the privacy of your own heart."
Ever since I attended college, I have been convinced that either "studies" confirm what common sense suggests or that they are mistaken. I realized this when I was presented with study after study showing that boys and girls were not inherently different from one another, and they acted differently only because of sexist upbringings.
This latest study cited by David Brooks confirms what conservatives have known for a generation: Moral standards have been replaced by feelings. Of course, those on the left believe this only when a writer at a major liberal newspaper cites an "eminent sociologist."
What is disconcerting about Brooks' piece is that nowhere in what is an important column does he mention the reason for this disturbing trend -- namely, secularism.
The intellectual class and the left still believe that secularism is an unalloyed blessing. They are wrong. Secularism is good for government. But it is terrible for society (though still preferable to bad religion) and for the individual.
One key reason is what secularism does to moral standards. If moral standards are not rooted in God, they do not objectively exist. Good and evil are no more real than "yummy" and "yucky." They are simply a matter of personal preference. One of the foremost liberal philosophers, Richard Rorty, an atheist, acknowledged that for the secular liberal, "There is no answer to the question, 'Why not be cruel?'"
With the death of Judeo-Christian-God-based standards, people have simply substituted feelings for those standards. Millions of American young people have been raised by parents and schools with "How do you feel about it?" as the only guide to what they ought to do. The heart has replaced God and the Bible as a moral guide.
And now, as Brooks points out, we see the results. A vast number of American young people do not even ask whether an action is right or wrong. The question would strike them as foreign. Why? Because the question suggests that there is a right and wrong outside of themselves. And just as there is no God higher than them, there is no morality higher than them, either.
Forty years ago, I began writing and lecturing about this problem. It was then that I began asking students if they would save their dog or a stranger first if both were drowning. The majority always voted against the stranger -- because, they explained, they loved their dog and they didn't love the stranger.
They followed their feelings.
Without God and Judeo-Christian religions, what else is there?
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second post of morning:
We are not passive observers of this universe, but rather partners in its creation. We are the ones who assign each thing its meaning, who bring definition and resolution to an otherwise ambiguous world.
In fact, we are legal witnesses who determine a matter of life or death: For each thing we hold, each event that enters our life, our word declares whether it breathes with G‑dly life or simply idles itself into oblivion.
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Marc,
I'm glad you enjoyed the post.
Identifying Your Life’s Mission
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
This Rosh Hashanah, electrify your life with purpose.
http://www.aish.com/h/hh/rh/theme/Identifying_Your_Lifes_Mission.html
After six months of working for the company, it’s time for your evaluation. You walk into the boardroom, where three designer-suit-clad personnel managers are sitting behind a mahogany desk. The one on the left scans your file, looks up at you accusingly, and says, “I see here that you did not report for work at 9 am one time during this entire period.”
The woman in the middle shakes her head and remarks, “This is a Fortune 500 Company. Instead of a jacket and tie, you report for work wearing jeans.”
The man on the right stares at the papers in his hand and says grimly, “Our surveillance cameras show that you spend less than 10% of your working hours at your desk. The rest of the time you’re walking around the building.”
The first evaluator shoots the question: “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Yes," you reply with confidence, "I was hired as the night watchman.”
Rosh Hashanah is a time of evaluation. But to accurately assess your performance this year, you have to know your job description. Judaism asserts that every soul comes into this world charged with a unique, positive purpose.
According to the great 16th century Kabalistic master known as the Arizal, no one has ever or will ever come into this world with the exact same mission as yours. The light you are meant to shine into the world is yours alone, as individual as your fingerprint, as personal as your voiceprint.
Your mission can be interpersonal, such as counseling couples with troubled marriages, or scholarly, such as researching ancient Chinese culture, or an expression of your talent, such as painting landscapes or playing the violin. It can be concrete, such as establishing a home for Alzheimer’s patients, or abstract, such as manifesting in the world the Divine attribute of truth or patience. It can be on a large scale, such as inaugurating the recycling system in your city, or on a small scale, such as caring for your handicapped child with joy. You may have two, or at most, three different missions, which can be consecutive (after finishing one job you start another) or simultaneous. Yet, even if there are 500 marriage counselors in your city, your particular approach and way of helping people is unique. Not one of us can be replaced—ever.
Related Article: 20 Questions for the New Year
Identifying Your Mission
Imagine you are an undercover agent sent into Iran. You’ve had years of training, have two vital contacts in Tehran, and are equipped with the latest hi-tech spy gadgetry. Only one thing is lacking: You have no idea what your mission is.
Many of us go through life like that: We follow the route laid out by society: going to college, finding a job, getting married, raising a family, but with no clear sense of the unique mission entrusted to us. We are pulled in many different directions, feeling compromised in what we do and guilty for what we don’t do. Identifying our mission is, according to Rabbi Aryeh Nivin, the first step in leading a life of vibrancy and joy. “When you intersect with your life’s purpose,” he explains, “you feel excitement.”
Knowing your personal mission is essential preparation for Rosh Hashanah. On Rosh Hashanah God apportions to each of us life, health, livelihood, and everything else. What is your plan for how you propose to use the life God gives you? The CEO is not going to dole out a million-dollar budget to an employee who doesn’t have a carefully worked out proposal.
We are used to praying for life, health, and livelihood as ends in themselves. In the Divine accounting, however, life, health, and livelihood are simply the tools – the hi-tech spy gadgetry – that will enable you to accomplish your mission.
Rabbi Nivin offers two methods for discovering your mission:
Ask yourself (and write down): What were the five or ten most pleasurable moments in my life?
Ask yourself: If I inherited a billion dollars and had six hours a day of discretionary time, what would I do with the time and money?
When answering the first question, eliminate the universal transcendent moments, such as witnessing the beauty of nature or listening to music. Your mission, of course, may have to do with nature or music, but on a much more individual level than the high all people feel when they see the Grand Canyon. Although your mission may require hard work or genuine sacrifice, when you are engaged in your life’s mission you experience, as Rabbi Nivin puts it, “This feels so good that I could do it all day long.”
When I did the first exercise, these are the answers I came up with:
When someone in my Johannesburg audience came up after I spoke and told my son, “Your mother’s words changed my life.”
When someone tells me, “Your book changed my life.”
When reading the comments to my Aish.com articles, I see, “This was exactly what I needed to read today.” When I see that the reader’s way of thinking or acting is impacted by what I wrote.
When someone passing through Israel (often on the way to India) comes to talk to me about Judaism, and two or five or ten years later I find out that they stayed in Jerusalem, starting learning Torah, and are observing the mitzvot.
When my children mention that they talked to God about something bothering them and I realize that their relationship with God is strong.
The common theme that emerged for me was that my mission is: “To inspire people, through writing and speaking, to move forward in their spiritual/personal development and relationship with God.” That’s what excites and energizes me. That’s why, to my friends’ amazement, when I am lecture touring, I can speak in five different cities in five days, waking up at dawn every day to make an early flight and giving a three-hour workshop twice a day, and, at 63 years old, never feel tired. Knowing my mission is like installing an energy pack in my life.
Barbara Silverstein is a wife, mother, and hospice nurse. When talking to me recently about her “life’s mission,” she shrugged. Although her personal and professional lives are fraught with difficulties, she soldiers on with dedication and integrity. I asked her what she would do if she had loads of money and six hours a day of discretionary time. Barbara thought for a few minutes, then replied with passion: “I would set up a Jewish outreach center for the elderly. In my work with the terminally ill, I’m always facing men or women who are about to lose their spouse and they say to me, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do about the funeral. I don’t have a rabbi.’ They want a spiritual connection with their Jewish roots, but they’re clueless about how to do it.” The more that Barbara talked, the more fervent she became.
“So that’s your mission,” I told her, “to establish a Jewish outreach center for the elderly. That’s real pioneering work. No one else has done it.”
“Are you kidding?” Barbara replied. “Between my family and my work, I don’t have time for anything else.”
Remembering Rabbi Nivin’s advice, I suggested: “Take a half hour twice a week, and sit down with a pen and paper, and just start brainstorming. Write down whatever comes to your mind, what the first steps would be, and what you want it to look like in the end. And ask the Almighty for help in making it happen. He can give you whatever He deems you should have. And then see if the opportunity to take the next step emerges.”
Two weeks later, Barbara phoned me, brimming with excitement. “This has really gotten my imagination going,” she effused. “Everything I’ve learned throughout my life is coming in handy with this plan. I don’t know if it’ll ever amount to anything, but just thinking about it is like an electrical charge in my whole day. My husband and kids ask me why I’m smiling so much.”
The Creator has outfitted you with a unique set of aptitudes, talents, and interests perfectly suited to what you are charged with accomplishing. By following your inclinations and abilities, you may already have found your mission. Sometimes your mission is deposited in your lap, such as the birth of a special needs child. The National Tay-Sachs Association, for example, was founded by the parents of children suffering from Tay-Sachs; the parents’ daunting challenge metamorphosed into their life’s mission.
If your mission is not yet clear to you, take a half hour between now and Rosh Hashanah and reflect on, “What do I really want to do with my life?” Perhaps you work full time developing software for Microsoft, but you’ve always felt a tug to write a book about internet addiction. Perhaps your greatest pleasure is tending your vegetable garden in suburban Detroit, but you’ve always dreamed of living on an agricultural settlement in Israel. Such inner urges may be whisperings from God, the secret message from Headquarters disclosing your true mission.
Guilt, Respect, Validation
Clarity about your mission dissipates guilt for all the worthy endeavors you’re NOT engaged in. Once you realize that you’re in this world to develop a new healing modality for autism, you won’t feel guilty that you’re not volunteering for the local soup kitchen or marching on the U.N. to protest anti-Israel discrimination.
Once I identified my mission, I stopped feeling guilty that I really don’t like to cook for myriads of Shabbat guests. I also understood why I love writing for Aish.com and its spiritually upwardly mobile readers, while I resigned from writing for a women’s magazine that features how to fold napkins and sculpt vegetables.
The concept of each person having an individual life’s mission is a key to respecting other people. Otherwise, you may feel that what’s important to you should be important to everyone. You’re an environmental activist? You may blame your sister for being oblivious to the environment without appreciating that her mission is to fight Holocaust denial. You belong to a group that feeds the homeless? You may find it reprehensible that that other group is apparently heedless to the homeless and spends all their time in pro-Israel activism on campus. Being able to say, “This is my mission and that is theirs,” is the gateway to true tolerance and respect.
Knowing your individual mission validates your life and releases you from the pernicious habit of comparing yourself to others. Jonah Salk’s mark on the world may seem as deep as a crater while your taking care of your handicapped brother may seem like a fingernail impression, but from a spiritual perspective the light you are shining into the world is unique and is exactly the light you came here to radiate.
One more point: Fulfilling your individual life’s mission does not exempt you from your global missions, such as supporting your family or raising your children. Starting an outreach center for the elderly may have to wait until your children are grown. Writing that book on internet addiction may have to be tucked into your few spare hours after your full-time job. Don’t worry. The God who assigned you your mission will make sure you have everything you need—including time now or later—to fulfill it.
So when the shofar sounds this Rosh Hashanah and you stand for your annual evaluation, be prepared to declare, “This is my job, and I’m working on it.”
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/hh/rh/theme/Identifying_Your_Lifes_Mission.html
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[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVNKdx1Wt7M&feature=player_embedded#![/youtube]
http://www.aish.com/h/hh/rh/theme/100244454.html
Torah Daily
As the Jewish New Year begins, may we all be blessed with health, happiness, prosperity and peace. May it be a good and sweet New Year!
https://www.facebook.com/torahdaily
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Does God really care about the nuances of my life?
http://www.aish.com/h/hh/yk/theme/Yom_Kippur_Partner_Track.html
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ya8OUb0SQY&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ya8OUb0SQY&feature=player_embedded
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Yom Kippur is a special time in Israel; everything is silent and cars don't drive on the roads. It's a time for forgiveness and when we look back at the past year and reflect on how we can be better people in the year to come. It's also a time when we remember the fallen of the Yom Kippur War when Arab armies led by Egypt and Syria interrupted the most solemn day in the Jewish calendar and invaded Israel in 1973. We wish our Jewish friends an easy and meaningful fast from all our team in Jerusalem.
(https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/297598_10150334501667585_33172352584_8237120_1891221656_n.jpg)
Rabbi Wolpe
From Maimonides (1135-1204), the greatest Jewish philosopher and legal scholar: "One must not be cruel by refusing an apology; he should be easily pacified, and provoked with difficulty. When an offender asks his forgiveness, he should forgive wholeheartedly and with a willing spirit. Even if he has caused him much trouble wrongfully, he must not avenge himself, or bear a grudge. This is the way of Israel and their upright hearts." An ideal to aspire to on these ten days of repentance.
Rabbi Wolpe
The Kotzker Rebbe taught that God fashioned a great ladder and on this ladder people climb down from heaven to earth. When we reach this world the ladder is drawn up and we are told to get back to heaven. Most give up because there is no ladder. Some leap but quickly become discouraged. Others leap and leap, knowing that if God sees their effort, God will reach down in mercy and lift them up to the presence of the Divine. So what is our task, asked the Kotzker? We must be leaping souls.
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Repentance Is a Trap
The real way to do Yom Kippur
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/1625044/jewish/Repentance-Is-a-Trap.htm
By Tzvi Freeman
There was a time when people would spend every evening of the days before Yom Kippur (and especially just before Yom Kippur) pondering their sins, their faults, and just everything wrong, bad and crummy about themselves. They would cry and sob from their hearts, fall asleep weeping, and then they would get up the next morning with a pure soul to serve their Maker. They often did this on other days of the year, and it worked pretty good then too.
Nowadays, when someone ponders his failures, it almost inevitably leads to depression. When pondering a past sin, a person starts asking himself why he did such a stupid thing, remembers what a geshmak1 it was, and ends up doing more.
So what happened? Quite simply, the darkness got thicker. When you’re surrounded by light, it’s okay to stick your nose into a few dark corners—maybe you’ll find something valuable you lost in there. But when you live in a world with the lights dimmed and all the blinds pulled down, dark corners become black holes with relentless gravitational pull.
Pondering your sins, you may just come to the conclusion that you actually enjoyed them.
That’s why repentance is so darn dangerous nowadays. When someone calls me up and says, “Rabbi, I messed up! How do I repent?” I tell them, “Repentance? Stay away from that stuff! It’s hazardous!”
So they say, “But rabbi, what am I gonna do about this sin messup deal in my life?”
And I tell ’em, “Just start running towards the light.”
“But then I’ll never do the repentance thing, like it says in all those books, about deep remorse and weeping over your sins.”
“Right now, forget the remorse and the weeping. Just get past it! It’s a trap. It’s your nasty, self-destructive snake inside trying to take you for lunch. And you’re the lunch.”
“No, rabbi, no! I gotta repent!”
“You don’t want to repent. You want a replay!”
“A what?”
“A replay. Okay, I’ll explain: When your mind experiences something pleasurable, it’s programmed to go replay it again and again, until it rewires all its neurons, readies the limbic system and has the entire endocrine system on board. That way, when the associated stimuli turn up again, by sight, smell, sound or whatever, your entire visceral person is primed to lunge for it like a hawk.
“But you won’t let your mind replay this particular messup, because you know it was real immoral, bad and crummy. So your mind, being just as smart as you are—since it is your mind after all—comes up with a solution: It says, ‘I don’t want a replay. I want to repent.’ Well, you don’t. You want a replay. Nothing to do with repenting.”
And you say: “But when will I rip away all the ugly stuff clinging to me because of this lousy thing I did?”
The brain will do anything to get its replay. Even convince you to repent.
And I answer: “So don’t repent. Do teshuvah instead.”
“That’s what I said I want to do!”
“No, you said you wanted to do repentance. I’m telling you to do teshuvah. That means “return.” Return towards the light from which your soul originally came. When you are running towards the light, filling your life with more wisdom, more understanding, more mitzvahs; more joy, love and beauty; and the light is getting brighter and brighter, and you want to reach out and talk directly, sincerely with your G‑d . . .
“. . . that’s when it hits you that the crummy messup from the past is holding you back, like a useless backpack weighing you down, like a lump of clay in your heart, like a wall between you and the true place of your soul. That’s when a genuine, aching remorse overcomes you, just swelling up all on its own from the bottom of your heart. That’s when you scream, ‘Get off my back!’
“You look behind for a sec, throw that junk away, and fly ahead. That’s when you repent. But not until then.”
During the ten days from Rosh Hashanah until Yom Kippur, there’s a lot of light. Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the year. Don’t go wasting that away. Especially, don’t go spending the holiest time of the year dwelling on stupid things you did.
Why waste the holiest day of the year dwelling on everything you messed up?
Instead, reach towards the light. Feel the presence of an Infinite G‑d, Creator of all things, who awaits your return to Him, with love.
And as you return, let that messy, gunky stuff just fall away, never to come back again. ’Cause you’ll never want it back again, once you’ve felt the embrace of His light.
Today, only the children of light can rise.
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A Backpack Full of Kisses
Sukkot
By Rivka Zahava
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1627322/jewish/A-Backpack-Full-of-Kisses.htm
“Don’t make me go! I don’t want to go to school!”
My son’s little pudgy hands pulled on my skirt, and his huge teary eyes pulled on my heart. It was the fourth day of preschool, but he still was scared to be there without me.
These moments are so hard for a mother. Of course I knew that I was doing what was good for him, but seeing him so tormented tied my stomach up in doubt.
“I want to be with yoooooooooooooou!” he pleaded.
An idea sparked.
There are moments that are ultimately for our good, but are excruciatingly hard to go throughI kneeled down in front of him and asked me to hand me his backpack. Sniffling, he shrugged it off and shoved it into my hand. Unzipping the bag a few inches, I created a small hole.
“Look,” I said softly, “This morning I put a sandwich and carrot sticks in your bag, so that you won’t be hungry. Do you know what I am going to put in now? Kisses! And hugs! And smiles! Lots and lots of them! When you begin to feel sad in school, then you just open up the bag a little bit and put your cheek on the hole, and kisses and hugs will fly at you!”
His eyes brightened, and he couldn’t help but smile, revealing the tiniest little teeth that always remind me of little square soup nuts.
I kissed and kissed into the opening while he giggled. Then I smiled into the bag, hugged it tight, and zipped it up. My son, looking much braver, took my hand and we began to walk together.
As we walked, I listened to the morning songs of the birds, and felt the early sun caress my skin, and it occurred to me that we all essentially have a backpack on our backs. Ours have been packed by G‑d.
G‑d sends us out into this earthly world, where we can’t see Him or hear Him. There are moments that are ultimately for our good, but are excruciatingly hard to go through. Whether it is the stress of waiting a week for an emergency MRI appointment, or the pain of saying goodbye to a loved one forever, sometimes it feels as if He has abandoned us, and we shrivel up in fear. Even in those bleak moments, if we look around us, we will find millions of His “kisses” in every moment of every day. Sometimes it is a helpful neighbor who saves the day, sometimes it is a child’s laugh. Maybe it is a starry sky, or the smell of an overflowing jasmine plant. Whatever the kiss may look or feel like, it is a moment when we are comforted and encouraged, when we feel that the world is perfectly wonderful and that we have so much to be happy for.
Maimonides gave us a guaranteed way to arouse the affection between ourselves and our Creator. It’s called nature. Examining an autumn leaf or the structure of a banana is enough to instill awareness of the Creator’s greatness. A moss-covered rock, a line of marching ants—we are surrounded by boundless miracles. Read about one day in life of a human embryo, and you will find your mouth hanging open in awe. Allowing ourselves to see nature’s wonders will open us up to feeling grateful and loved by the One who is behind it all.
Examining an autumn leaf or the structure of a banana is enough to instill awareness of the Creator’s greatnessOne hiker testified that his first time feeling G‑d in his life was when he stood at the top of a mountain overlooking Doubtful Sound, a fjord in New Zealand. At that moment he realized that the Creator of this spectacular place created him too, and he owed it to himself to find out why.
Sukkot. We leave the wallpapered concrete and ceramic tiles of our home, and move out to nature. Outside, we can hear the leaves dancing in the wind, and see the stars sparkling between the branches of the sechach that covers our sukkah. The crickets sing a lullaby to those falling asleep on a mattress in the sukkah, and the dew kisses them awake at sunrise. Out in the world that G‑d created for the pleasure of mankind, mankind can shake away the indifference to His love and begin to reciprocate.
“I am for my Beloved and my Beloved is for me, the Shepherd of roses.” Why “the Shepherd of roses”? Since when do roses need shepherding? Do they stray away like sheep or goats? King Solomon’s hidden message to us is that when we make ourselves into roses, He is our Shepherd. A rose is a symbol of freshness, of love that is alive and thriving. If a rose is not fresh, it is not beautiful; when the relationship between man and his Creator is not fresh and alive, then it is like a withered rose. We, the Jewish people, are forever in the stage of newly opened buds: always questioning, learning and thinking, to deepen our lives and connection to what is real.
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My Son the Doctor-Murderer
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
Unconditional love and the holiday of Sukkot.
Nava’s doctor killed a woman. Not by malpractice. The woman was claiming that her baby was Dr. X’s child. He got fed up with her, went with a loaded gun to her apartment, and murdered her. Dr. X is now serving a life sentence in an Israeli jail for first degree murder.
Nava knew that people could make dramatic turn-arounds because in her own life she had transformed herself from non-religious Israeli to observant Jew. So she visited her former doctor in prison in order to encourage him to do teshuva [repent]. Dr. X was totally uninterested. All he wanted to talk about was how angry he was at his mother because she refused to visit him in prison.
Nava related this story at our family Shabbat table. It led to a lively discussion. I took the mother’s side. A human being is, I contended, the aggregate of his actions. A person who does good is good, while a person who commits evil deeds is evil. Why should his mother, who had given him a high level of education and every opportunity to become a mensch and an asset to society, visit a son who had willfully chosen to murder someone in cold blood?
Other guests at the Shabbos table disagreed. “What about unconditional love?”
I never got the concept of “unconditional love.” It’s not true that “you are what you eat.” Rather, “you are what you do.” How can you love your son the murderer? Your son the rapist? What exactly are you loving in the miscreant?
THE TOUCHSTONE
I have only one son, who was born when I was 46 years old after five years of intensive fertility treatments. Of course, I adore him and lavish on him love and attention. Many months after the discussion about the doctor convicted for murder, my son, then 14 years old, got into trouble in school. We got a phone call from the rabbi in charge recounting my son’s offense. With my volatile nature, I ordinarily would have let into my son, but my husband calmed me down and coached me on what to say when he came home from school.
“I thoroughly disapprove of what you did,” I told him, “but I still love you.”
My son’s impassioned response almost knocked me off my chair: “But you wouldn’t visit me in prison!”
Apparently he had taken in more of that long-ago conversation than I had realized. Now he was saying loud and clear: Your love has its limits. If I really misbehaved, if I did something terrible, you wouldn’t love me. Your conditional love for me isn’t good enough.
Since honesty had always characterized our relationship, I could offer no soothing platitudes. I shook my head and admitted, “No, if you murdered someone, I wouldn’t visit you in prison.”
This “wouldn’t visit you in prison” touchstone became a pebble in the shoe of our relationship. At regular intervals he threw it up to me. I realized that my profuse love for my son was like being allowed to live in a gorgeous home — complete with swimming pool and gym — but with the insecurity of knowing you could be evicted at any time. I would have to learn to love my child unconditionally, but how?
GOD’S LOVE
Rabbi Efim Svirsky once gave a class-cum-meditation in my home. He guided the assembled women to induce a meditative state, then asked us to experience “God is here now.” Check. I did it easily.
Next, he asked us to experience, “God loves you.” Check. I feel it all the time.
Lastly, he asked us to experience, “God loves you unconditionally.” Gulp. I ran into a stone wall.
My problem, I realized, is that I had no experience of unconditional love. My mother no doubt loved me unconditionally, but my father always loomed larger in my life. He was 44 years old when I, his only daughter, was born. He adored me and showered me with love. And I gave him good reason to. I brought home straight-A report cards, won a prestigious essay contest, got into the National Honor Society, was President of my synagogue youth group, was accepted at several top colleges, and graduated Phi Beta Kappa, magna cum laude. My father was always, as my mother put it, “bursting his buttons” with pride at my accomplishments.
But what if I had no accomplishments? Would he still love me as much? I never dared think about that frightening “what if.”
When Rabbi Svirsky asked us to experience God’s unconditional love, however, I realized that I had to go deeper. Does God love me because of my accomplishments? No, God loves me because my soul is a spark of God’s own luminous Divinity. Just as a mother loves her newborn, sans accomplishments, because the baby is part of her, so God loves us because our soul essence is part of God. I was wrong in my contention that a person is the aggregate of his actions, like an onion that has no core. A person is, in essence, his core, his Divine soul. One’s actions are the layers of curtains that surround the soul, sometimes becoming so opaque and dark that they obscure the soul’s light entirely. But God made a covenant with our forefather Jacob that He would never allow a Jewish soul to fall below the point of irredeemability. That spiritual essence, what we call the pintele Yid, is always worthy of unconditional love.
After working to make this concept real in my mind and heart, one day I sat my son down and announced, “I would visit you in prison even if you committed murder. I’m there.”
He smiled broadly. Our relationship made a quantum leap up.
SUKKOT
By fulfilling the mitzvah of dwelling in a sukkah during the holiday of Sukkot, a Jew is literally surrounded by the Shechina, the feminine Presence of God. This is generally conceived as the “reward” for the repentance the person undertook during the Rosh Hashana-Yom Kippur period. Now that the soul is cleansed of its dross, the person can dwell in God’s presence in the sukkah.
But what if a person fails to repent? We are taught that for a person to attain atonement on Yom Kippur, the person must have passed through the stages of teshuvah: admitting, regretting, and resolving to change (plus, if he hurt another person, seeking that person’s forgiveness). What if a person did teshuvah on some misdeeds, but not others? Or didn’t do teshuvah at all? Then he enters the sukkah with his misdeeds still clinging to his soul, as if dressed in filthy, stinking rags. Is such a soul still visited by the Shechina when sitting in the sukkah?
The answer is “Yes!” There are no admission criteria to the sukkah. You don’t have to have an “I-did -teshuvah ticket” to get in. The feminine Divine Presence descends and hovers over and around the sukkah, whether it is inhabited by saints or sinners. And since this gross physical dimension is often in Jewish parables considered a prison for the soul, that means that during Sukkot God’s “Mother aspect” visits Her child the sinner in prison.
As you sit in the sukkah this week, think about that and feel God’s unconditional love.
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I have posted this before but we read it every Yom Kippur and I always find it very moving/
Prayer of an Unknown Confederate Soldier
I asked God for strength, that I might achieve;
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked for health, that I might do greater things;
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.
I asked for riches, that I might be happy;
I was given poverty, that I might be wise.
I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men;
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life;
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.
I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am among all men most richly blessed.
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Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe, Rabbi M. M. Schneerson
Anger at your faults is arrogance, and of a very self-destructive form. Every failure becomes pain, every pain becomes a gruesome punishment. An objective person is able to look at his faults and what needs to change and say, "This is what G–d gave me to work with." He accepts stormy weather as part of the course and slowly and patiently steers his ship to port.
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Unleashing the Soul in Your Child Cheshvan 4, 5772 • November 1, 2011
By Rochel Pritsker
I was speaking with a ten-year-old about her birthday and why it is important. From her perspective, the best part of a birthday was getting older and enjoying cake and presents. I smiled. I have heard this answer many times before, from most children, whether they are preschoolers or preteens. I told her that what makes her birthday important is that it is a reminder of the day she was created by G d with a special and unique mission. No one else has her mission. She holds the one piece of the puzzle that no one else can fill, to help bring a good, positive change to the world. Like all of us, she was created because she was needed.
The young girl shook her head and replied simply, “That’s not true. The world can continue with or without me, it wouldn’t make any difference. It doesn’t need me for anything.” I told her she is partially right—the world could continue without her, but it could never benefit from what she in particular has to offer, in what she was created to accomplish in life.
The young girl replied simply, “The world can continue with or without me"
It is obvious that much of our society is achievement-driven, as opposed to purpose-driven. This is the reason why grownups often love to ask children, “So what do you want to be when you grow up?” And sometimes, if the child happens to give a response that doesn’t meet the adult’s expectations, the child is talked out of it: “Why not become a governor instead? Or a scientist? You can become a great doctor—you know, you can be anything that you want to be!”
But can a child truly become anything he wants? To be raised with that mindset neglects one main fact—he already is someone. And that someone is not dependent on a “thing” to become. Rather, he is brought to life with a soul that has a unique mission. And what is that mission? To effectively utilize what G d brings his way, while revealing the truth of good in every situation; and what will come his way will be unique to him, and him alone.
For this reason, it is false to tell a child that he can become anything he wants to be. The truth is that a child can become the best he can be—not anything or anyone else other than whom he is meant to be.
Imagine the kind of freedom and joy a child lives with when the focus is not on climbing a ladder that takes him on pursuits that belong to someone else, but instead this ladder takes him to his own great heights—the best he has to offer to the world. And he doesn’t need to wait until he is a grownup to believe that he has purpose—he is needed today.
I remember when my son first switched from homeschooling to a traditional school setting. It was the first time my son was in a classroom of children, with a teacher who wasn’t me. Understandably, he felt nervous and unsure about starting this new experience. But throughout his first week at school, I noticed a few of the kids in the higher grades high-fiving my son every day as I picked him up from school. I could see on my son’s face how he felt accepted and included. Those kids lived up to the purpose that existed for them at that particular moment—making a new child feel welcomed. That moment belonged to them, and they didn’t waste it, they claimed it.
Can a child truly become anything he wants?
Learning to unleash your child’s soul means responding to him with the intent that your role as a parent is to guide his soul every day, and uncover his purpose for fulfilling good things in the world. When you interact with your child with this mindset, you start to see him not through your own eyes, but through G d’s eyes. Your response is no longer about you—who you are, your fears, your past failures, your dreams and hopes. Your response is about him, who he is, and all the good he has to offer.
A young child can, and should, be told that he has a soul; that he was created in this world not to simply exist for the sake of achievement, but to live for the sake of his unique, G d-given purpose. This is the secret to lasting motivation and living with passion. And this is where true self-worth is created, knowing that you have something significant to contribute. When we realize that our child can answer a need in this world, we then behave in a way that inspires his soul to shine, to make the difference it was intended to make.
I remember one Shabbat morning we were late to synagogue. I left the house in a rush, with my two boys trailing behind me. My five-year-old son, who is happy-go-lucky and appreciates simplicity, sensed my negative mood and tried to lighten things up several times. Finally, he said, “I know! Why don’t we play ‘I Spy’?!” It’s a game he loves, and one that we usually play every Shabbat morning on our thirty-minute walk to synagogue. This time, I didn’t even turn around to look at him. I quickened my pace and replied, “No, we’re late! We can’t play that game now! Hurry up!”
As soon as I said the words, I felt guilty. Sure, maybe my son needed to understand that sometimes we do need to hurry. But at that moment, this lesson would save me only ten additional minutes. Whereas it would shut him out of thirty minutes of feeling Shabbat in a positive light, while also keeping him from the opportunity to contribute what he could offer to Shabbat.
It is not the adult who constantly waits for the child. It is the child who waits for the adult
I turned around to him. The sun was beaming on him. He looked disappointed. He was no longer skipping as he usually does. So I came up to him and whispered in his ear, “I am ready to be nice. I would love to play ‘I Spy’ with you! You have such a way of making our Shabbat so happy!” He beamed when he heard my words, and instantly he came alive again. He was no longer separated from Shabbat, but an important part of it.
As adults, it seems that we are endlessly waiting for our child to listen, to behave, to get things done. But if we are completely honest, it is not the adult who constantly waits for the child. It is the child who waits for the adult—waits to be understood, waits to be discovered, waits for proper limits to be set, and waits until he is seen and guided towards what he has to offer to life—shining the light of his soul upon the world.
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second post
Why Aren’t Men Born Circumcised? Cheshvan 4, 5772 • November 1, 2011
By Tzvi Freeman
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Question:
You keep touting mitzvahs as things G d wants us to do. But if that were true, why didn’t He create the universe that way in the first place? If He doesn’t want us eating pork, why did He make it edible? If he wants men circumcised, why aren’t they born that way? Why are we messing around with the way He made things—and claiming that we’re doing His will?
Answer:
Funny thing, I get that circumcision question a lot—but no one ever asks about ear-piercing, shaving or hair removal. Seems it’s an oldie, because Rabbi Judah the Prince, the famous redactor of the Mishnah, also had it posed to him by some Roman philosopher.1 In typical Jewish fashion, he responded that the same question could be asked of haircuts—why not let it grow? Or of grain growing in the field—why don’t bread loaves grow instead? Similarly, I could ask why G d makes earthquakes and then require that we go and pull the people out. Why make illness and then require that we develop medicines? And if we were supposed to wear clothes, I suppose He would make us furry, right?
Rabbi Judah’s answer was that everything G d made in His world requires some sort of fixing. That’s how the creation story in Genesis sums it up: “. . . all His work that G d created to do.” To do, the sages say, means to fix.
The question remains, why? If He wants it fixed, why not fix it Himself? Or better, don’t make it broken to begin with.
The answer takes more than one fascinating form:
1. To make us partners
Providing us mitzvahs to do is the ultimate act of generosity. If He had made a perfect world and beamed us down to enjoy it, He would effectively be rendering us parasites. By leaving some things incomplete and instructing us to fill them in, He promotes us to a full partnership in His creative work. And what aspect of His creative work? That which fulfills its true inner purpose, His innermost desire.
2. To render us real
Taking that a little further: Imagine a world conjured out of G d’s imagination, instantly behaving exactly the way He wished it should behave. What is there that is real or significant about this creation? What makes it any more than a whimsical fantasy?
Imagine you just made Pinocchio. Imagine you wanted Pinocchio to be your little boy. But imagine that Pinocchio has no free will, and even if he did, had everything laid out for him with no options in which to express that free will. Pinocchio is not your little boy, he’s just a nicely carved hunk of wood with suspenders.
By turning to us, the conscious characters within that creation, and saying, “Please do this . . . ,” G d provides us free will, along with the areas in which to express that free will. Mitzvahs, then, are the elements that render us real, to become “a significant other.” Or, in Torah language, kadosh—which we translate as holy.
Not only we, but also all the objects and activities that are implicated in the mitzvah, are rendered significant and kadosh.
Which, by the way, solves an enigma in the life story of the patriarch Abraham. At one hundred years of age, Abraham underwent circumcision. But didn’t he know earlier that circumcision was a desirable act for spiritual hikers, like himself, trying to get close to G d? The question is especially acute according to the Talmud’s statement that Abraham fulfilled the entire Torah although it was not yet given.2 So why did he leave out this not-such-a-detail mitzvah until he had to be told?
Our answer, however, solves the puzzle. If Abraham had performed the circumcision before being commanded, he would be doing it just like any other created being doing something nice. Once G d declares that it is now His official will that Abraham and his household be circumcised, the act of circumcision becomes a mitzvah, rendering the body of the circumcised significant and kadosh. Since circumcision, unlike other mitzvot, is a one-time-only opportunity, Abraham waited for G d’s command before opting in.
3. That’s just the way innermost desires work
Plunging yet deeper for the intrepid intellect, this is an inherent distinction between secondary and primary desires. Feeling intrepid? Hang in there.
Let’s start with a parallel from the human being. We also have intrinsic, primary desires rumbling beneath the surface of our consciousness—for example, the desire for territory, for love, for confirmation of our existence—whatever they are and however you wish to express them. These desires surface in the form of secondary desires: to earn money, to look good, to compete—all the mad races of human beings upon this planet.
Now take a look at how these two sorts of desires manifest. The secondary desires jump out immediately and spontaneously. The inner, primary desires, on the other hand, unfold gradually, sometimes after many years—in some cases, never achieving fruition. We run through our entire lives rarely, if ever, understanding why we do all the things we do.
Why is it this way, that inner desires do not manifest spontaneously, but unfold? Rabbi Shalom DovBer of Lubavitch explained: If a desire has any outward expression, it is already not the real you. As soon as you can know of it and feel it and act upon it, it is already a movement away from the innermost core.
Ironically, by this paradigm, the deepest expressions of the divine will are those acts which He did not expressly tell us to do, but which Jewish communities derived through study and celebration of His Torah. Examples are the rabbinical enactments and safeguards, customs and embellishments known as hiddur mitzvah. We, as a community, decided to send gifts of food to one another on Purim, to eat fruits on Tu B’Shvat, to dance with the Torah on the day we conclude the cycle of its readings. These are the most exquisite expression of desire closest to the core—that which cannot be commanded or told, sometimes not even alluded to in a nuance of the text, but sensed only by those who are immersed with their entire souls in His Torah with love.
It seems more than slightly absurd to apply human psychology to the One who came up with their design to begin with. In truth, the idea applies to Him in its most absolute sense. We are but the cheap imitation, created this way, “in His image,” so that we can come to some understanding of His workings with this world by more deeply examining ourselves.
You see, our innermost desires are innate: since we are human beings, we desire territory, love, etc. Our desires are really needs. The Creator has no needs; He is entirely free in every respect to choose whatever He wishes to desire. Once He has so chosen, however, then certain needs spring into place. Since those needs are conceived by necessity, they are born into existence by necessity. But since the inner desires are chosen by His free will, they are manifest in our world through our free will.
Let’s take an example: G d decides to desire that the seventh day will be a day of rest, so that Creator and created can commune in a state of un-movement. That’s an inner desire—nothing preceded it, demanding that it must be so. But once that desire is in place, there is now a need for a world that is created in six days, so that on the seventh, G d will rest, and His created beings will rest along with Him.
The second desire appeared spontaneously, and therefore is manifest in the same way: G d never asks the creation to create itself in six days, or forbids it to be created in five or seven or any other way. He dictates and so it occurs. The primary desire, however, that we should rest together, appears as a mitzvah: Just as G d chose it of His free will, so the human being must choose of his free will to observe the Shabbat.
Another example: G d chose of His free will that there will be conscious beings inside His creation that will declare His oneness every morning and night—a.k.a. “Shema Yisrael.” Accordingly, there must be morning and there must be night. That implies us creatures living upon a planet where darkness and light alternate, which in turn is fulfilled by a simple relationship between the movements of our planet and that of a fiery globe beyond us. Again, the patterns of nature are set in firmware, while the underlying desire that gave rise to those patterns is left as a user event.
And one more: G d chose to desire that physical beings make a covenant with Him through their physical bodies—and by implication there must be physicality, bodies, and a certain place on the body for circumcision. That which exists by implication becomes the natural order, occurring spontaneously within our natural world. The innermost desire is left up to us to choose, and to carry out.
Along with our choice to rescue survivors, heal the sick, and wherever we can, otherwise fix the world.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Genesis Rabbah 11:6
2.
Talmud, Yoma 28b; Leviticus Rabbah 2:9. See How Did the Torah Exist Before It Happened?
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Wealth & the Occupy Wall Street Movement
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
Rich people are not the enemy.
I wish the Occupy Wall Street movement would be a little clearer about what they're protesting.
Even as it continues to grow and gain followers outside of New York, with satellite protests in more than 60 American cities as it threatens to go global, the demonstrators still haven't directly identified their enemy.
And before I can make up my mind whether or not I support them, I think they need to tell us whether this is more about money or morality.
Related Article: Holy Money
What troubles me is that much of the anger of the protesters seems to be fueled by a sentiment about wealth that Judaism long ago rejected. There have always been people who believed that spirituality demands that we forsake materialism. Rich people are wicked by definition. Accumulating a great deal of money is a sin.
But from a Jewish perspective, wealth is not ignoble; it presents us with precious opportunities. When Abraham first discovered God and gave the gift of monotheism to the world, we're told that he was divinely rewarded with prosperity. The philosopher Philo had it right when he summed up the Jewish sentiment in these words: "Money is the cause of good things to a good man, of evil things to a bad man."
From time immemorial Jews have recognized that their mission in life is to improve the world. They were also realistic enough to realize that a great deal of good they were required to perform on this Earth can only be fulfilled with adequate financial resources. Helping the poor, assisting the community and its needs, building synagogues and houses of study, and supporting friends, family, neighbors – all these mitzvahs require money in order to properly perform them.
In a beautiful Midrash, we’re told that when Moses was commanded to count the Jews by means of their contributing a half Shekel, Moses was baffled. He didn't understand. Then God showed him “a coin of fire" and his mind was put at rest.
What was so difficult to grasp that caused Moses to be confused? Did Moses need to be shown an actual coin before he could understand the meaning of half a Shekel? And what was the point of showing him a coin of fire?
The rabbinic commentary is profound and beautiful. The reason Moses was perplexed was because he couldn't believe that for counting Jews something so seemingly non-spiritual and materialistic would be used. How could money play a role in defining Jews and holiness?
The answer was to show him a coin of fire. Fire has two seemingly contradictory properties. Fire destroys, but it also creates. Fire may burn, but it can also cook, warm, and serve the most beneficial purposes. Money and fire are related. Wealth may destroy those who possess it but it can also be the source of the greatest blessing. Precisely because it has this quality, it becomes doubly holy. When we choose to use a potentially destructive object in a positive and productive manner, we have learned the secret of true holiness.
Twice a day Jews recite the line that defines our faith. "Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.” The words that follow define how we are supposed to express that belief through our actions. The original Hebrew from the Torah is often mistranslated, "with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your might." The more correct reading for the last phrase is "and with all your wealth."
Having a great deal of money isn't a problem. Not knowing what to do with it is what causes almost all of our difficulties. And spending it correctly is the challenge we face throughout our lifetimes that will best determine whether we can face our final judgment with confidence.
“Show me your checkbook stubs,” said the noted psychologist, Erich Fromm, “and I’ll tell you everything about yourself.” Self-indulgence or selflessness? Wine, women, and song or charitable works? Hedonism or helping others? Forsaking God because you no longer need Him or feeling more spiritually connected out of gratitude for your good fortune?
For those whose crusade against Wall Street is synonymous with a vendetta against all those with wealth, there needs to be recognition of the great good accomplished by many of those who've been blessed with prosperity. Just because someone has "made it" doesn't make him a villain. To add the adjective "filthy" to the word rich in signs hoisted by Occupy Wall Street protesters is to unfairly castigate those who God may have rewarded because they're wise enough to work on His behalf in creating a better world.
We could all learn much from Michael Bloomberg, the self-made billionaire founder of the Bloomberg financial information firm and New York Mayor, who for two years in a row was the leading individual living donor in the United States, according to The Chronicle of Philanthropy. He recently said he intends to give away most of his fortune, because “the best measure of a philanthropist is that the check he leaves to the undertaker bounces.” And that will insure that he dies a very happy man.
Capitalism isn't only about accumulating more and more money. Just a few years ago TIME named Bill and Melinda Gates as its “Persons of the Year.” Gates, a Wall Street superstar, was acknowledged as one of the most influential people in the country – not because of how much money he has but because of how much of it he is willing to give away. He came to the conclusion that greed isn’t meant to be our goal in life.
Having made more money than he will ever need, he has one more vision that drives him. He would love to convince world business leaders that being socially responsible isn’t just altruism but sound business practice. Gates says he has learned that greed is self-defeating. It destroys the very people who make it their god.
Today Gates is spearheading a drive to get the super wealthy to publicly commit themselves to giving away most of their fortunes for charitable purposes – and Warren Buffett, chairman of Berkshire Hathaway Inc. and one of the world’s wealthiest men, among others has signed on to this noble endeavor.
When the Occupy Wall Street crowd talks about cleaning up corruption, when it points a finger at all those whose financial recklessness plunged the country into the Great Recession, when it gives voice to the anger we all feel at the perpetrators of highly immoral business practices that hurt millions of innocent victims – for all of these righteous causes they deserve our unqualified thanks.
It's only when they confuse anyone who is wealthy with the enemy that I think we need to remind them that just as much as the poor don't deserve to be despised for their poverty, the rich don't deserve to be hated simply because they have money.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ci/s/Wealth__the_Occupy_Wall_Street_Movement.html
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8-)
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Weekly Sermonette
A Jew's Gotta Do
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/324053/jewish/A-Jews-Gotta-Do.htm
By Yossy Goldman
Is it a sin to argue with G-d? Is it sacrilegious to question the Divine? Well, Abraham did it. Not for himself, but on behalf of the people of Sodom, whom G-d had decided to destroy because of their wickedness. Abraham was the paragon of chesed, the personification of kindness and compassion. He grappled with the Almighty, attempting to negotiate a stay of execution for the inhabitants of the notorious cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.
"Will you destroy the righteous with the wicked?" he asks G-d. "Will the judge of all the earth not do justice?" "If there are 50 righteous men, will you spare them? 45? 40... 30... 20... 10?" In the end, Abraham cannot find even a minyan of righteous men in the cities and he gives up. And then the verse reads, V'Avraham shov l'mkomo -- "And Abraham went back to his place." Having failed in his valiant attempt, he acknowledges defeat and retreats to his corner.
But there is also an alternative interpretation to those last words. And Abraham went back to his place can also be understood to mean that he went back to his ways, to his custom. And what custom is that? To defend the underdog, to look out for the needy and to help those in trouble, even if they are not the most righteous of people. Abraham refused to become disillusioned in defeat. He went right back to his ways, even though this particular attempt did not meet with success.
What happens when we lose? We hurt, we sulk, and we give up. It didn't work, it's no use. It's futile, why bother? Just throw in the towel.
Not Abraham. Abraham stuck to his principles. He may have experienced a setback, but he would still champion the cause of justice. He would still speak out for those in peril. And he would still take his case to the highest authority in the universe, G-d Almighty Himself.
Abraham teaches us not to lose faith, not to deviate from our chosen path or our sincerely held convictions. If we believe it is the right thing to do, then it is right even if there is no reward in sight. If it is right, then stick to it, no matter the outcome.
One of my favorite cartoon characters is good old Charlie Brown in Peanuts. In one strip that sticks in my memory there is a storm raging outside and Charlie Brown is determined to go out to fly his kite. His friends tell him he must be crazy to attempt flying a kite in this weather, it'll be destroyed by the wind in no time. But in the last frame we see Charlie, resolutely marching out the door, his kite firmly tucked under his arm, and the caption reads, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."
Do we believe in our principles of faith because of expediency? Are we virtuous because we believe it is the way to the good life? Are we waiting for the big payoff for our good behavior? What happens when we don't see it? Do we become frustrated, disillusioned and angry at G-d?
Some people become religious for the wrong reasons. They are looking for some magical solution to their problems in life. And when the problems don't disappear as quickly or as magically as they expected, they give up their religious lifestyle. It didn't work; I'm outta here.
Virtue is its own reward. Sleeping better at night because our conscience is clear is also part of the deal. Or, in the words of the Sages, "the reward for a mitzvah is the mitzvah."
Our founding father reminds us that a Jew's gotta do what a Jew's gotta do, regardless of the outcome. Whether we see the fruits of our labors or not, if it's the right thing to do, then carry on doing it.
May we all be true children of Abraham.
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100 Blessings
Why should I be grateful?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saAxtLmc5Nc
[youtube] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saAxtLmc5Nc[/youtube]
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Take Wall Street, Please!
Rethinking capitalism, OWS and 7B
Thursday, November 10, 2011
By Tzvi Freeman
http://www.chabad.org/blogs/blog_cdo/aid/1675738/jewish/Take-Wall-Street-Please.htm
This is not about solidarity with the campers off Wall Street, Bay Street or any other street. It’s not about their manifestos, their motives, their methods, whether it’s the cool thing to do or the Woodstock of this generation. It’s about one thing only: Is there a problem with capitalism today?
And I think there is.
But before I explain why, first let me say this:
From where I’m looking right now, capitalism is good. Very good.
Look at the historical facts: Before commerce, industry and finance began to blossom, children were lucky to live past six years, the average life span was between 25–30 years, all but a small minority lived at bare subsistence levels or less, education was for the elite, and violent death, torture and barbarity was not something you watched on television, but witnessed firsthand on a frequent basis—whether in the name of warfare, crime, justice or entertainment.
Capitalism has been a—if not the—major force in diminishing war between nations and creating tolerance between peoples. It has allowed literally billions more people to share the planet and—percentage-wise—at a much greater standard of living. Today, thanks to capitalism, each year 70 million people leave hand-to-mouth living to become consumers-by-choice—and poverty rates are expected to continue their sharp decline.1 Without capitalism, democracy would never have proven successful, medicine could never have advanced, worldwide humanitarian efforts would be absurd and I would never have been able to compose this editorial and get it out to you so fast.
I’ll go further: Capitalism is not just “the best we got.” Capitalism is inherently good. Because capitalism, at its essence, is saying, “just as the earth can produce value and share that value with others, so too the human being.” Capitalism empowers each one of us.
And therein lies the problem with capitalism today. Because we’re grabbing the husk and leaving the fruit behind.
What went wrong?
Quite simply, we never let go of the crippling idea that equates making business with demonic greed.
And people act according to the role you give them.
There are those professions that society considers noble callings, such as doctors, judges and professors. Society respects them for what they do. Then there are business people. Society respects them, too—but are they respected for what they do, or for what they get? Do we respect their occupation, or do we see them as doing a worthless job—making money out of money?
Where is business respected? Take a look in the Talmud.
In the Talmud you’ll find spiritual and earthly duties lumped together in ways that sends the modern mind spinning:
Rava said, “When a soul stands before the heavenly court, it is asked, ‘Did you buy and sell fairly? Did you fix times for Torah study? Did you attempt to be fruitful and multiply? Did you look forward to the messianic redemption? Did you debate matters of wisdom? Did you understand one thing from another?’”2
Do you see that? Marrying, procreating and making an honest living are good and wonderful occupations—in the same breath as Torah study, gaining wisdom and keeping the faith.
Why? Because they benefit the world. As in the common talmudic term for making a living, that dignified and ennobled phrase, “settling of the world”3 —for, as the prophet states, “G‑d did not create emptiness; He formed a world to be settled upon.”4
Maimonides sums up the Jewish position with strong words:
Anyone who comes to the conclusion that he should involve himself in Torah study without doing work and derive his livelihood from charity, desecrates G‑d's name, dishonors the Torah, extinguishes the light of faith, brings evil upon himself, and forfeits the life of the world to come, for it is forbidden to derive benefit from the words of Torah in this world.
Our Sages declared: "Whoever benefits from the words of Torah forfeits his life in the world." Also, they commanded and declared: "Do not make them a crown to magnify oneself, nor an axe to chop with." Also, they commanded and declared: "Love work and despise Rabbinic positions." All Torah that is not accompanied by work will eventually be negated and lead to sin. Ultimately, such a person will steal from others.5
And so, the laws concerning earning an honest living and thereby making the world a more settled and civil place also belong in the holy books.
The medieval Augustinian view, on the other hand, saw all these as curses of the snake, the product of original sin—since they were directed by man’s evil impulse.6 Such, as well, was the view of the ancient Romans and Greeks, who looked askance at craftsmen, merchants and others who lived by toil.
And so, whereas the Jew saw work as good for the soul and moneymaking as of benefit to everyone involved, the society which enveloped them saw it as a tolerable sin. Not lending money alone, but almost every form of business was labelled “usury”—using someone else for one’s own benefit.7
Life began to change radically when European society adopted the Jewish attitude—that which Weber prudently coined “the Protestant ethic.” The Jews, wrote Montesquieu, “set the stage for the rebirth of European commerce, and with it the beginning of the decline of prejudice and the rise of a more gentle, less ferocious way of life.”8
How It Should Be
And yet, the ancient notion that making business is dirty business lives on.
If I would ask a class of medical students why they chose medicine, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear, “I think I would be fulfilled by a life of healing people.” Not just in 1967, but even today.
If I would ask a class in law school why they chose law, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear “I’m outraged at injustice in the world.” Yes, they are there, bless their souls.
What do I want to hear from the students in business school? I want to hear, “I’m going into commerce and finance because I want to fix the world.”
Because they can—in ways that no one else can. Capitalism brought us to this glorious world where (yes, there are problems, but the fact is) seven billion human lives can share the planet together, and capitalism is the solution to all the problems that come along with that 7b. Yes, we need doctors, we need social activists, we need political leaders dedicated to the welfare of their people. But more than any of those, it’s the manufacturers, the traders, the sellers and the financiers in whose hands the future of our planet rests.
Why? Because capitalism demands consumers, and the impoverished can’t afford to consume. Because capitalism demands an educated workforce, and that education has to start at an early age. Because capitalism demands renewable resources, which unsustainable practices cannot provide. Because capitalism, when done at its very best, benefits not only its shareholders, but all its stakeholders—which is every last one of us sharing this planet.
The highest form of charity, writes Maimonides, is when you give a person a partnership or find him work “…so that his hand will be fortified and he will not have to ask others.”9
Who does that? The entrepreneurs, the financiers, the people out there making business. They are blessed with the capacity to stand a human being on his own two feet, fishing rod and all—billions of human beings—and say, “Your life is in your hands.”
I can’t think of anything the world needs today more than a generation of idealist, foresighted, noble capitalists.10
Getting back to the garden
So have the tent-dwellers in Zuccotti Park got it right or wrong? As in most cases, probably both. You see, the change that’s needed is not the change that most imagine. It’s not the demise of capitalism we need, but its redemption. We need to stop equating finance with greed and start seeing it as a noble calling. And, as consumers, we need to demand it from our industries.
We need to teach that in our schools—and not just business school: Children in pre-school have to learn that firemen put out fires, doctors heal boo-boos, and people do business so they can share good things with others.
We need to give them that role, and learn to expect it from them.
One of the sitters, a 53-year-old carpenter by the name of Thomas Fox, seems to have gotten it right. As he explained to a journalist:
It's a Jeffersonian based political party uniting the youth of the world together. The key phrase is this, which Thomas Jefferson wrote to Madison, ‘the earth belongs in usufruct to the living.’ What usufruct means is stewardship. It means the older generation has a duty to turn over the earth and the financial system in a better situation than they got it.
Somewhat reminiscent of that line in Genesis, where the CEO of this universe places us in His garden “to serve it and to protect it.” In other words, to make His world even better.
At Woodstock we sang that we “have to get ourselves back to the garden.” Whether or not the occupiers of Wall Street have the same thing in mind, the garden is here now and waiting.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Goldman Sachs, Global Economics Paper No:170, page 5.
2.
Talmud Shabbat 31a
3.
See Sanhedrin 24b; Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Sefer Mishpatim, Edut, 10:4, and the Kesef Mishnah ad loc: A person who is not occupied in “settling the world” is most likely engaged in thievery and cannot be trusted.
4.
Isaiah 45:18
5.
Mishneh Torah, Sefer Madah, Hilchot Talmud Torah, 3:10
6.
The Jewish sages, on the other hand, cite the verse from Psalms (128:2), “If you eat by the toil of your hands, you are praiseworthy, and it is good for you.” From this they understand that the reward for working for a living supercedes even the merit of “fear of heaven.” He who fears heaven has a reward in the world to come, but he who eats by the toil of his hands receives a reward in this world as well (Talmud Berachot 8a). The curse that resulted from original sin added the element of toil to that work, but the work itself is not a curse, but part of the human being’s original purpose on earth—as mentioned at the end of this essay.
7.
On this topic, see Jerry Muller, Capitalism and the Jews, Princeton University Press.
8.
Montesque, Spirit of the Laws (1748), part 4, book 20, chapter 1.
9.
Mishneh Torah, Sefer Zeraim, Hilchot Matnot Aniyim, 10:7
10.
If you think I’m the only one saying this, see Michael Porter and Mark Kramer, “The Big Idea—Creating Shared Value,” subtitled “How to reinvent capitalism and unleash a wave of innovation and growth” in Harvard Business Review, January, 2011. Also, a timely book by Joseph Bower, Herman Leonard and Lynn Paine, “Capitalism at Risk: Rethinking the Role of Business.” My idea that business should be seen as a “noble profession” is taken straight out of Cavico and Mujitaba, “The state of business schools, business education and business ethics” in the Journal of Academic and Business Ethics, vol. 2, July 2009.
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I like this post of Rachel's very much. Working hard, creating value, providing well for your family and putting yourself in a position where you can be voluntarily helping others instead of needing help, these are strong, positive, moral, religious qualities. I wish they were more widely accepted and practiced.
Legitimate commercial activities of hard work, save and invest should never be confused with cheating, buying favors or trying to change the rules to advance your position.
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Quoting the piece: "Capitalism has been a—if not the—major force in diminishing war between nations and creating tolerance between peoples. It has allowed literally billions more people to share the planet and—percentage-wise—at a much greater standard of living. Today, thanks to capitalism, each year 70 million people leave hand-to-mouth living to become consumers-by-choice—and poverty rates are expected to continue their sharp decline. Without capitalism, democracy would never have proven successful, medicine could never have advanced, worldwide humanitarian efforts would be absurd and I would never have been able to compose this editorial and get it out to you so fast."
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Our blessing #101: Rachel :-D
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Thank you for your kinds works!
Living through the Parshah
The Positive Power of Negative Thoughts
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/1036961/jewish/The-Positive-Power-of-Negative-Thoughts.htm
By Rochel Holzkenner
What would you pay for a cognition detector, a mechanism that could read thoughts? What would you pay to stop your friends from having one? Socializing just wouldn't be the same if our thoughts became transparent.
Think about that time your colleague congratulated you on an impressive presentation you made. "Naw, I don't think it was any better than the job you did last week," you responded. "Finally he acknowledges that my work is superior to his..." you think. Or about the time your neighbors stops by unexpectedly. "How great of you to come by, we were just talking about you!" you say with a hug. "How rude of you to drop in without calling," you think. "And what are you thinking about my housekeeping?"
It's uncomfortable to be plagued by an ugly thought. It can erode our self-respectThere is often a significant disparity between the words we speak and the thoughts that run through our mind. Like a shiny apple with a rotten core, we often project an image of humility, graciousness and loyalty, while our inner thoughts look surprisingly ugly.
It's uncomfortable to be plagued by an ugly thought. It can erode our self-respect. What kind of person would have thoughts like these? What kind of friend am I to be so jealous? What moral integrity do I have if I scheme sinful thoughts? What kind of self-progress have I made if I'm still plagued by the same demons? Even if we choose not to act upon them, just listening to our dysfunctional thoughts can be severely demoralizing. Who am I fooling with my charade of piety when the real me is still quite crude and pleasure driven?
In the Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812, founder of Chabad chassidism) sheds some optimistic light on dark thoughts. He exposes a conspiracy played out by our yetzer hara (evil inclination). The yetzer hara drops us a thought or an urge that makes us very uncomfortable. Even if we'd never act on the impulse, just sensing its presence is embarrassing and even depressing. And that's exactly where the yetzer hara wants us to be: embarrassed and depressed. Once our spirits are down and our self-confidence is deflated, we're nice and vulnerable for the real attack.
This understanding the yetzer hara's strategy makes it clear that it's always counter-productive to inspect a shameful thought and be disappointed because of it. The key is to simply let it go.
In fact we can actually feel pleased by its arrival.
Pleased?!
Rabbi Schneur Zalman takes us to the Zohar, and we listen to a mystical understanding of a conversation that takes place between Isaac and Esau (as recorded in Genesis 27:4). Isaac asks his favorite son to prepare him a meal before he would bless him. "And make me delicacies such as I love," he instructs Esau.
"These words," says the Zohar, "is the message of the Shechinah [Divine Presence] to her children, the Jewish people."
What is the meaning of this Zohar? Why would G‑d ask His people to prepare delicacies? And since "delicacies" is written in plural form, what are the multiple kinds of delicacies that G‑d enjoys?
Rabbi Schneur Zalman explains: There are two types of delectable foods; the first type is naturally sweet and mellow, while the second type is naturally bitter or sour. Take onions—when raw they are painfully sharp to the palate, but sauté them and they'll enhance every dish. Lemons, garlic, ginger, horseradish—they are culinary necessities and add an irreplaceable edge to an entrée.
And G‑d says: Two things give Me pleasure: holy thoughts, and also unholy thoughts—that are ignoredSo, Isaac says, "Make me delicacies"; some sweet, some edgy. And G‑d says to His people: Two things give Me pleasure: holy thoughts, and also unholy thoughts—that are ignored. In fact, when an unholy thought is ignored, says the Zohar, "G‑d's glory rises… more than by any other praise."
Just like G‑d loves perfection, He loves imperfection. He watches in delight as the humiliating thought penetrates our consciousness and we chose to reject it. Not inviting the thought in and not judging ourselves for it, but just simply dropping it and thinking about something else. Apparently this sends G‑d soaring.
Our evil inclination will attack us at our weakest point and make us feel thoroughly dysfunctional before luring us into its world. But with a little meta-cognition we can reverse attack by viewing an ugly impulse as an opportunity to serve G‑d a well-prepared delicacy.
Based on Tanya Chapters 26-27.
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This idea of the "yetzer hara" reminds me a bit of Carl Jung's concept of "The Shadow"-- i.e. those parts of our self which we do our best to keep hidden from the light of day- and the view of others. Indeed Jung's words open the first video/DVD we ever did "The idea is not to imagine figures of light, but to make the darkness conscious."
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What Do You Really Believe?
By Rabbi David Wolpe
On Thanksgiving we are grateful for what we have and mindful of what others lack. It is a good time to ask — what do we really believe?
Some people believe in a God who grants good to the one who prays most or behaves best. Such people might wish to read the book of Job, or look out the window; they will discover that ease and anguish are unevenly distributed in this world and follow no discernible pattern of reward.
Others think God is completely arbitrary or absent. Such people might be mindful of the abundance of blessing that exists and how much we human beings are responsible for its poor distribution or unfair allotment.
Then there are those who find themselves in the third camp — the bewildered believers. They are like Rabbi Nahman, who said he was a 'moon man,' that his faith waxed and waned. Surely Rabbi Nahman would have understood Miguel De Unamuno, the great Spanish philosopher and man of letters: "Those who believe that they believe in God, but without passion in their hearts, without anguish in mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, without an element of despair even in their consolation, believe only in the God idea, not God Himself." Happy Thanksgiving.
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A Serving of Gratitude May Save the Day
By JOHN TIERNEY
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/22/science/a-serving-of-gratitude-brings-healthy-dividends.html?n=Top/News/Science/Columns/Findings&_r=2&pagewanted=print
The most psychologically correct holiday of the year is upon us.
Thanksgiving may be the holiday from hell for nutritionists, and it produces plenty of war stories for psychiatrists dealing with drunken family meltdowns. But it has recently become the favorite feast of psychologists studying the consequences of giving thanks. Cultivating an “attitude of gratitude” has been linked to better health, sounder sleep, less anxiety and depression, higher long-term satisfaction with life and kinder behavior toward others, including romantic partners. A new study shows that feeling grateful makes people less likely to turn aggressive when provoked, which helps explain why so many brothers-in-law survive Thanksgiving without serious injury.
But what if you’re not the grateful sort? I sought guidance from the psychologists who have made gratitude a hot research topic. Here’s their advice for getting into the holiday spirit — or at least getting through dinner Thursday:
Start with “gratitude lite.” That’s the term used by Robert A. Emmons, of the University of California, Davis, for the technique used in his pioneering experiments he conducted along with Michael E. McCullough of the University of Miami. They instructed people to keep a journal listing five things for which they felt grateful, like a friend’s generosity, something they’d learned, a sunset they’d enjoyed.
The gratitude journal was brief — just one sentence for each of the five things — and done only once a week, but after two months there were significant effects. Compared with a control group, the people keeping the gratitude journal were more optimistic and felt happier. They reported fewer physical problems and spent more time working out.
Further benefits were observed in a study of polio survivors and other people with neuromuscular problems. The ones who kept a gratitude journal reported feeling happier and more optimistic than those in a control group, and these reports were corroborated by observations from their spouses. These grateful people also fell asleep more quickly at night, slept longer and woke up feeling more refreshed.
“If you want to sleep more soundly, count blessings, not sheep,” Dr. Emmons advises in “Thanks!” his book on gratitude research.
Don’t confuse gratitude with indebtedness. Sure, you may feel obliged to return a favor, but that’s not gratitude, at least not the way psychologists define it. Indebtedness is more of a negative feeling and doesn’t yield the same benefits as gratitude, which inclines you to be nice to anyone, not just a benefactor.
In an experiment at Northeastern University, Monica Bartlett and David DeSteno sabotaged each participant’s computer and arranged for another student to fix it. Afterward, the students who had been helped were likelier to volunteer to help someone else — a complete stranger — with an unrelated task. Gratitude promoted good karma. And if it works with strangers ....
Try it on your family. No matter how dysfunctional your family, gratitude can still work, says Sonja Lyubomirsky of the University of California, Riverside.
“Do one small and unobtrusive thoughtful or generous thing for each member of your family on Thanksgiving,” she advises. “Say thank you for every thoughtful or kind gesture. Express your admiration for someone’s skills or talents — wielding that kitchen knife so masterfully, for example. And truly listen, even when your grandfather is boring you again with the same World War II story.”
Don’t counterattack. If you’re bracing for insults on Thursday, consider a recent experiment at the University of Kentucky. After turning in a piece of writing, some students received praise for it while others got a scathing evaluation: “This is one of the worst essays I’ve ever read!”
Then each student played a computer game against the person who’d done the evaluation. The winner of the game could administer a blast of white noise to the loser. Not surprisingly, the insulted essayists retaliated against their critics by subjecting them to especially loud blasts — much louder than the noise administered by the students who’d gotten positive evaluations.
But there was an exception to this trend among a subgroup of the students: the ones who had been instructed to write essays about things for which they were grateful. After that exercise in counting their blessings, they weren’t bothered by the nasty criticism — or at least they didn’t feel compelled to amp up the noise against their critics.
“Gratitude is more than just feeling good,” says Nathan DeWall, who led the study at Kentucky. “It helps people become less aggressive by enhancing their empathy. “It’s an equal-opportunity emotion. Anyone can experience it and benefit from it, even the most crotchety uncle at the Thanksgiving dinner table.”
Share the feeling. Why does gratitude do so much good? “More than other emotion, gratitude is the emotion of friendship,” Dr. McCullough says. “It is part of a psychological system that causes people to raise their estimates of how much value they hold in the eyes of another person. Gratitude is what happens when someone does something that causes you to realize that you matter more to that person than you thought you did.”
Try a gratitude visit. This exercise, recommended by Martin Seligman of the University of Pennsylvania, begins with writing a 300-word letter to someone who changed your life for the better. Be specific about what the person did and how it affected you. Deliver it in person, preferably without telling the person in advance what the visit is about. When you get there, read the whole thing slowly to your benefactor. “You will be happier and less depressed one month from now,” Dr. Seligman guarantees in his book “Flourish.”
Contemplate a higher power. Religious individuals don’t necessarily act with more gratitude in a specific situation, but thinking about religion can cause people to feel and act more gratefully, as demonstrated in experiments by Jo-Ann Tsang and colleagues at Baylor University. Other research shows that praying can increase gratitude.
Go for deep gratitude. Once you’ve learned to count your blessings, Dr. Emmons says, you can think bigger.
“As a culture, we have lost a deep sense of gratefulness about the freedoms we enjoy, a lack of gratitude toward those who lost their lives in the fight for freedom, a lack of gratitude for all the material advantages we have,” he says. “The focus of Thanksgiving should be a reflection of how our lives have been made so much more comfortable by the sacrifices of those who have come before us.”
And if that seems too daunting, you can least tell yourself —
Hey, it could always be worse. When your relatives force you to look at photos on their phones, be thankful they no longer have access to a slide projector. When your aunt expounds on politics, rejoice inwardly that she does not hold elected office. Instead of focusing on the dry, tasteless turkey on your plate, be grateful the six-hour roasting process killed any toxic bacteria.
Is that too much of a stretch? When all else fails, remember the Monty Python mantra of the Black Plague victim: “I’m not dead.” It’s all a matter of perspective.
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“As a culture, we have lost a deep sense of gratefulness about the freedoms we enjoy, a lack of gratitude toward those who lost their lives in the fight for freedom, a lack of gratitude for all the material advantages we have,” he says. “The focus of Thanksgiving should be a reflection of how our lives have been made so much more comfortable by the sacrifices of those who have come before us.”
Very, very true.
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A couple of years ago I had dealings with two individuals that I came to regret, yet today things really seem to have come together with someone whom I met through them.
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Sneaky Blessings
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Due to the limitations of your reality, some of your best friends can only enter
incognito.
In fact, the really big ones sometimes sneak through disguised as ugly monsters and
vicious enemies. Otherwise, the guards at the gate would never let them in.
These are the events optimists call "blessings in disguise."
Here's how to fire the guards: Expand your mind, expand your world and sincerely
rejoice in whatever G-d sends you. Then the blessings will feel free to enter in all
their glory.
A Daily Dose of Wisdom from the Rebbe
-words and condensation by Tzvi Freeman
Kislev 1, 5772 * November 27, 2011
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The secret to a Jewish marriage is hidden in the wine.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-S32gjxnWDI&feature=player_embedded
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-S32gjxnWDI&feature=player_embedded[/youtube]
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Visiting the Sick
Healing with a Smile
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/609352/jewish/Visiting-the-Sick.htm
Want to play G‑d? It’s simple, says the Talmud—and it’s a mitzvah, too: just visit the sick. G‑d visited Abraham when he was sick, so when you visit the sick, you’re playing G‑d.
In Hebrew, the game’s called bikkur cholim. Here are the rules:
Giving a Lift
No frowns, no tears, no gloomy faces. None of that is going to heal anybody. Your job is to provide a little smile, some hope, and maybe even a few laughs. Learn a few good lines, like, “What’s a spring chicken like you doing in a place like this?” or, “How’s the room service in this place?” Extra points for every smile you elicit.
Of course, you have to know when you’re overstaying your welcome. At that point, tell the patient the chassidic adage, “Think good and things will be good”—and quietly slip out.
Lending a Hand
Your presence itself is therapeutic, but the patient has other needs too. Find out how you can be of help. Grocery shopping? A ride to the doctor? Or maybe the house needs some tidying?
Time your visit with care. If the patient is in middle of a medical procedure, or in the immediate aftermath of one, it is likely that he or she won’t be in the mood for visitors.
Sometimes the situation doesn’t allow for visits. You can still do bikkur cholim by visiting the family, offering a helping hand, and . . .
Saying a Prayer
The patient’s room is a holy place. While there, say a short prayer for a speedy recovery, such as, “May G‑d care for you amongst all the patients of Israel.” Or, on Shabbat, “On Shabbat it is forbidden to plead, but healing is soon to come.” When you leave, say a psalm or other prayer.
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Ten Things Men Wish Women Knew
I think things are both lists are applicable to both men and women. I am very grateful that my husband is very supportive of my career.
http://www.aish.com/f/m/Ten_Things_Men_Wish_Women_Knew.html
Ladies, it's not complicated. And guys feel free to add your additional points in the comment sections below.
1) Just like women, we need love. Even though women have the reputation of being more emotionally needy, we find ourselves longing for those words. Please say them often.
2) Additionally we crave respect and approval. Show us admiration and your wish will be our command. Nag us or attack us and we will retreat to our caves.
3) We are not mind readers. We can’t anticipate your needs and desires. Tell us what you want. Help us out. We want to give to you but you need to tell us how. Don’t be coy; be straight. The proof of our love is not in our clairvoyance but in our response to your clearly expressed wishes.
4) We respect what a good mother you are and how much you do for the community, but we do not want to be at the bottom of your to-do list. We want to feel like we are the most important person in your life. (Would you mind getting off the phone when we walk in the door?)
5) Our desire for physical intimacy is not some trivial biological need that we should just suppress until the kids are older. It is an expression of our desire for a deep and profound connection with you. When you rebuff it, it is hurtful and we feel rejected. Imagine if we are always too tired to talk to you…
6) Our jobs are important to us – for our self-worth, for a feeling of accomplishment, and because we want to provide for our families. Please try to understand that we work hard and are actually not on the golf course all day.
7) You seem to think we’re incompetent but we are actually capable of watching our children – and even doing a good job of it! If you want to have a break and get out of the house, please go – and trust us.
8) We are not another one of your children. Please don’t speak of us that way (we don’t think it’s cute) when talking with your friends, and please don’t treat us that way. It diminishes us and you.
9) We really wish we could give you all the material possessions your heart desires. It is painful to us that we can’t. Please don’t increase the pressure by constantly criticizing us about it.
10) We are simple creatures with simple needs. We don’t require elaborate dinners on fancy china. We just want the comfort of a warm home and the love of a good woman.
Ten Things Women Wish Men Knew
What, you say: Only 10?! Yes there are more. This is just a starting point. Add your additional points in the comment section below.
1) We want you to tell us you love us. Yes, we need to hear the actual words. We do not want to be like poor Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, begging his wife of 25 years to answer the question, “Do you love me?” We want you to tell us. Frequently.
2) And we want you to match your actions to your words. (Yes, we’re very demanding!) If you tell us you love us and then proceed to ignore all of our requests, needs and desires, your declaration will ring false. Not sure how? Ask us. We have a list. :-D
3) We want to be more important than your job. We appreciate your (our) need for the fulfillment of your career ambitions but we want to feel like we are your first priority. This is usually manifested by calling during the day to check in, taking our calls and sounding like you are really interested in speaking to us, and treating us (at least) as nicely and with as much respect and sense of importance as you do your top client.
4) Time with you is much more valuable to us than more money. Yes, we appreciate the nice possessions but we’d rather go for a walk with you or spend a quiet evening together than receive a gift. Material goods do not and cannot compensate for not seeing you.
5) A few words of appreciation go a long way. “Thanks for dinner. It was delicious. I really liked the flavor” is certainly encouraging. Everyone wants to feel that their efforts are noticed and not taken for granted. Or: “I know you are also busy; thanks for going to the cleaners.” You get the picture.
6) Although you never get pregnant, our children are a shared responsibility. It is not “no big deal” (your words) when I take care of them, nor is it “an extraordinary act of kindness” (your implied words) when you do. (Along these same lines, I’ve noticed that when I go out of town you are flooded with meals and offers of help; yet when you go out of town, no one offers anything….) We are on this journey together and we are both responsible for our family.
7) We do not grow and change through criticism (do you?). You may have convinced yourself that you are only telling us for our own good but 1) you’re wrong because and it’s hurtful and ineffective and 2) you’re probably doing it to make your life easier. Like children (and plants) we grow best when nourished, nurtured and loved.
8) Just because we are capable doesn’t mean we want to do everything ourselves. Changing a light bulb or taking out the garbage are not uniquely male pursuits or skills. I am certainly capable of both (this is not a source of great pride) and frequently engage in these activities. But we want you to relieve our burden, to take care of us – in all respects. We feel emotionally tended to when you take over some of these responsibilities, mundane and otherwise.
9) Clothing costs a lot more than you realize! I’m only partially being tongue-in-cheek here. Especially for newly married men who have never walked through the women’s section of a department store, the prices of basic shoes, dresses and skirts may seem absurd. They probably are. But you need to be sensitive to our needs and to what a realistic (considering many factors) expenditure will be. This experience will stand you in good stead should you ever be the parent of teenage girls!
10) Do not ever comment on our weight except to say how thin and beautiful we look.
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More than Double
By Rabbi David Wolpe
There is a large literature of 'doubleness' — Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Poe's William Wilson, Dostoevsky's The Double, James Hogg's Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner, among many others. The idea that we are all split is an attractive explanation of our conflicting impulses.
The Rabbis speak about a good and an evil inclination, but they do not propose any sort of simple minded split. "Were it not for the evil inclination, man would not care to build, would not marry and beget children or attend to the affairs of human existence." One Talmudic legend tells of the evil inclination being captured. As a result no house was built and no egg was laid. In other words, our drives are inextricable; our energies pour out in ways that are sometimes harmful, sometimes helpful, and usually a bit of both.
In Kaddish Leon Wieseltier wrote, "But goodness and badness are almost never unmixed, since the heart is hungry and the will is free." We are less split than swirled, our characters marbled with drives. Nudging ourselves a bit closer to goodness, an effort requiring both humility and wisdom, is the deeper, daily nobility of we commingled creatures.
The Maccabeats - Miracle - Matisyahu - Hanukkah
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHwyTxxQHmQ&feature=share[/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHwyTxxQHmQ&feature=share
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Carl Jung spoke of "the shadow" being those parts of our personality that we did not want others to see (often having to do with sex, aggression, jealousy, envy, etc.). He also spoke of it containing some of our most powerful and most creative stuff.
As he said in the quote with which we began the RCSFg series "The idea is not to imagine figures of light. The idea is to make the darkness conscious."
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It's My Fault
by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
Three words that changed everything.
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=135235743§ion=/sp/pg
If you could have seen me Wednesday morning, September 28th, you would have found me with clothing and luggage sprawled all over my room. My family and I were trying to head to New York City in good time before Rosh Hashana would begin. We would be having our Hineni High Holiday prayer services in the Essex House together with Jews from every part of the world. Rosh Hashana would go straight into Shabbos so we had to pack ourselves up for the next three days. That may not sound like a lot but when you are a family trying to get out on time, tensions rise and nerves are frayed. I was trying to remember everything we would need.
“Everyone collect your luggage into my room!” I called out. “I am running downstairs to put together some stuff in the kitchen. Then please take all the suit bags and hanging things along with all the suitcases to the car. We need to leave in 15 minutes.”
I heard footsteps rushing back and forth on the floor above me.
Great, I thought. They’re listening.
Then I heard the bumping sound of luggage being dragged down the steps.
“Wow, we might really make this with time to spare!”
The car was loaded with all our gear. We piled in and made our way to the city. Traffic was heavy but we finally pulled up to the hotel. I ran out of the car to wait at the reception desk and check us all in while my husband settled the car. The bellhop sped ahead with the luggage.
Finally I was able to take a breath. Not bad, I thought. I even have a little time before Rosh Hashana begins to contemplate and put my thoughts in order. The time flew by and there were just 40 minutes left till candle lighting. My children began getting ready. You could hear the noisy blow dryers as doors slammed open and shut.
I looked around the room and tried to see where my luggage was put. I didn’t find it anywhere. I looked under the beds, in the closet, in the bathroom. Nowhere.
I stepped out into the hall. Could it have been left there? Nope, nothing there.
I ran into my children’s room and turned everything upside down. Still no luggage.
My heart began beating hard. I had this sinking feeling in my stomach. I ran back to my room.
“Okay everyone!” I called out. “I don’t see my suitcase anywhere. Does anyone know where my luggage is?”
My family began searching the room, looking under the beds, behind the curtains, in the closet. They came up with nothing, just as I had. Uh oh. This doesn't look good.
“What color was your suitcase?”
“Were your hanging things in it too, Mommy?”
I took a breath. "Does anyone remember bringing a blue suitcase into the hotel?" All I got were blank stares.
“Does anyone remember loading my blue luggage into the car?”
Silence.
“Well, I took the suit bags and hat boxes.”
“And I had to take the heavy suitcase that no one wanted to shlep.”
Everyone began to tell me what they did take – everything except my luggage.
I began to feel angry. Why does everyone remember their stuff and my stuff gets left behind? What am I going to do for the next three days? This isn’t right!
And then a thought popped into my head that totally changed my perspective. Not for just that moment, but the way I have seen things ever since.
It’s about time that I take responsibility and not blame others if there’s a mess-up, I thought to myself. Yes, I asked everyone to take my luggage and it would’ve been perfect if they did. But the bottom line is: it’s my luggage! I was supposed to check and make sure my suitcase made it to the car. I am accountable for my things. The buck stops here.
Sure, it’s great to have people help me but bottom line is it’s up to me to be sure that my suitcase makes it out the door. I have no one else to blame but myself.
My family looked at me, wondering what I would say. I could see that they felt terrible.
“Listen,” I said. “It’s my luggage! This is no one’s fault. I don’t blame anyone. It would’ve been nice if someone had put it in the car but it was really my job to be sure that it was there. And besides, it’s now 15 minutes before Rosh Hashana. How can I fail my first test of the year?”
P.S. If you are wondering what I did for the next three days, here’s the epilogue:
My husband suggested that I call a friend who lives down the block and ask her to find my luggage in our home and send it to me via taxi. At first I resisted. How could I trouble someone with all this 15 minutes before candle lighting? But my husband encouraged me, very strongly, to make the call. And my dear friend who I know wishes to remain anonymous began her year with a great mitzvah.
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Does the manner of our dying count in the final reckoning of how we have lived our lives? Nearly my first assignment at the University of Chicago was to read the Platonic dialogues on the trial and death of Socrates. "Then, holding the cup to his lips, quite readily and cheerfully he drank off the poison." It is the supreme moment in the Western philosophical tradition, when wisdom and courage, resignation and defiance, combine to overcome injustice and, in a sense, death itself.
Would that we could all die as Socrates did. Generally we don't. "The good death has increasingly become a myth," wrote the Yale surgeon and bioethicist Sherwin Nuland in his 1993 prize-winning book "How We Die." Dying, in Dr. Nuland's eloquent telling, amounts to "a series of destructive events that involve by their very nature the disintegration of the dying person's humanity." Who can—who would dare—judge a man's worth when his mind and body are being picked bare by disease?
I've been thinking about all this for over a year now as I watched a brain tumor, along with the associated medical interventions, pick away at my father bit by bit. First, an operation to remove the tumor, which erased his right field of vision and took away his ability to read and drive. Next came debilitating bouts of chemo and radiation, along with an agonizing case of shingles. Then avascular necrosis set in, leaving him unable to walk. Later, as the tumor returned, his memory began to slip. Near the end he was almost totally blind, couldn't utter a sentence, couldn't swallow a pill, couldn't hold his food down. Cancer is a heist culminating in murder.
I suppose Dr. Nuland's book should have prepared me for this. I suppose, too, that I should have known what was coming after visiting my aunt as she was dying of brain cancer. My father had been with me on that trip to wish his sister a final happy birthday. His own tumor was diagnosed three weeks later.
Enlarge Image
CloseBret Stephens
Charles J. Stephens at Gibraltar.
.But I wasn't prepared. My father, always in excellent shape, had a way of projecting an air of indestructibility. When he phoned to tell me about the diagnosis, it was in a tone suggesting it was only slightly more serious than a fender-bender. The five-year survival rate for his kind of cancer is 4%. I looked that up on the Internet, then persuaded myself that he was surely in the 4%.
"The body has 1,000 lines of ingenious defense," I remember my father telling me as a child, in what must have been one of our first talks about death. And I had believed him, because to me he was the living proof.
To grow up is to understand that the confidence a parent radiates around his children is rarely the confidence the parent feels. I knew my father well enough to know his various fears and insecurities. I knew he had seen his own father die of brain cancer and was intimately familiar with the course of the disease. I knew that, born optimist though he was, he had no faith in an afterlife. My father loved the life he had, lived it fully and well, had no desire to leave it.
All this meant that the diagnosis should have been devastating to him. Yet he never betrayed the slightest sign of fear. Except when his shingles were at their most excruciating, he remained his cheerful, interested, encouraging self. For a while I put this down to his belief that he would somehow beat the cancer, a belief I was eager to share.
Yet my father maintained his usual sangfroid even when it became clear that there would be no getting well. There were no five stages of grief, no bouts of denial, anger, bargaining and depression. About six weeks before the end, when we had brought him to a hospice, I asked if he wouldn't rather be at home. "Given where I am," he replied with a cocked eyebrow, "I am where I am." I was astonished he could even speak. We brought him home anyway.
How did my father maintain his composure in the face of his progressive deterioration? We never spoke about it. I sometimes chalked it up to being born in the 1930s, before the baby boom and the cult of self. He was not a complainer. To bemoan his illness after a life in which the good breaks outnumbered the bad ones would have seemed to him ungrateful. The worst he ever said to me about his cancer was that it was "a bummer."
Yet there was something else at work. The sicker my father got, the more dependent he became on his family, the less he had to give back. What could he offer, except not to sink us into the terror he surely must have felt? So he maintained his usual active and joyful interest in our lives and the lives of his friends and in politics and the movies we watched together. Sticking to the mundane and the lighthearted was his way of being protective with the people he loved. For as long as he could muster his wits, death was not allowed to enter the room.
Throughout his life my father taught me many lessons: about language, history and philosophy; about ethics, loyalty and love. In the end, he taught me that death cannot destroy the dignity of a dignified man.
Charles J. Stephens, 1937-2011. May his memory be for a blessing.
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“How Are You Today?”
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/233918/jewish/How-Are-You-Today.htm
Would you think that “how are you today?” can be a religious question? And that it plays an important role in a major Biblical narrative?
In this week’s Parshah, Vayeishev (Genesis 37–40), we read the dramatic story of Joseph—the technicolor dream coat, the sibling rivalry in Jacob’s family, and Joseph’s descent to Egypt, sold into slavery. After being framed by his master’s wife for scorning her attempts at seduction, young Joseph finds himself incarcerated in an Egyptian jail. There he meets the Pharaoh’s butler and baker, and correctly interprets their respective dreams. Later, when Pharaoh himself will be perturbed by his own dreams, the butler will remember Joseph, and Joseph will be brought from the dungeon to the royal court. His dream analysis will satisfy the monarch, and the young Hebrew slave boy will be catapulted to prominence and named viceroy of Egypt.
How did Joseph’s salvation begin? It began with the imprisoned Joseph noticing that the butler and baker were looking somewhat depressed. “And Joseph came to them in the morning and he saw them, and behold, they were troubled. He asked Pharaoh’s officials . . . ‘Why do you look so bad today?’” (Genesis 40:6–7). They tell him about their disturbing dreams, he interprets the dreams correctly, and the rest is history.
But why did Joseph have to ask them anything at all? Why was it so strange to see people in prison looking sad? Surely depression is quite the norm in dungeons. Wouldn’t we expect most people in jail to look miserable?
According to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the answer is that Joseph was exhibiting a higher sense of care and concern for his fellow human beings. Torn away from his father and home life, imprisoned in a foreign land, he could have been forgiven for wallowing in his own miseries. Yet, upon seeing his fellow prisoners looking particularly unsettled, he was sensitive enough to take the time to inquire about their well-being. In the end, not only did he help them, but his own salvation came about through that fateful encounter. Had he thought to himself, “Hey, I’ve got my own problems, why worry about them?” he might have languished in prison indefinitely.
Sometimes, says the Rebbe, a simple “how are you today?” can prove historic.
It’s a lesson to all of us to be a little friendlier. To greet people, perhaps even to smile more often.
Some years ago, after studying in the Talmud how one of the great sages declared that he had never allowed anyone else to greet him first but always made a point of initiating the greeting, I made a personal resolution to try and put this approach into practice. Every Shabbat I walk quite a few kilometers to and from our shul here in Johannesburg. I pass by many fellow pedestrians, mostly local black residents. Rarely had any of them greeted me, but now I am the one to say “good morning” to them. They always respond, though I must confess that some do look rather surprised. In a country where for many years they were not acknowledged as full-fledged citizens, a simple “hello” can become a very humanizing experience. Conversely, I am sometimes unpleasantly surprised when, ironically, a fellow Jew will walk right by me without even so much as a nod.
When we meet someone we know and ask, “Hey, how are you doing?” do we wait for the answer? Try this experiment. Next time you are asked how you are doing, answer “Lousy!” See if the other person is listening and responds, or just carries on his merry way, oblivious to your response.
Aside from Joseph’s many outstanding qualities which we ought to try and emulate, in this rather simple passage Joseph reminds us to be genuinely interested in other people’s well-being. And that it should not be beneath our dignity, nor should we be inhibited, to make an honest and sincere inquiry as to their condition. Who knows? It may not only change their lives, but ours.
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Image and Influence
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/455031/jewish/Image-and-Influence.htm
How much do our parents and grandparents influence us? Of course, the genes we inherit from them determine lots of important things about us – from our cholesterol levels to when we will go grey. But what about emotionally or spiritually?
I'd like to suggest that they influence us more than we might care to admit. We also tend to underestimate the potential they have in molding the value systems of the next generation.
A powerful case in point is the story in this week's Parshah. Joseph is sold into slavery down in Egypt and winds up in the house of Potiphar. His master's wife casts her lustful gaze on the handsome young man and repeatedly attempts to seduce him. Joseph is consistent in his refusal to even consider her advances. Then one day, the entire household goes to the temple for a special occasion. She feigns illness in order to be home alone with Joseph. He comes to the house "to do his work" (Genesis 39:11). Rashi offers two interpretations: the simple--that he came to work; and another, that he actually came to do his work with her!
Determined as he was, on this occasion Joseph was beginning to falter. Morale and morality were weakening and it seemed as if he was about to succumb to the temptress' entreaties.
Then suddenly something happened to help Joseph regain his senses and self-control. What was it--did they come home early? Did the postman ring the bell? Says Rashi, there appeared before Joseph an vision, an vision so potent that it restored his composure there and then. What was that image? Quoting the Talmud, Rashi says it was "the image of the visage of his father." Joseph suddenly saw his father Jacob's face, and with that his moral resolve was restored.
Was this a telepathic message transmitted from the Holy Land? According to the simple reading, at that stage Jacob didn't even know that Joseph was alive. He had been missing and presumed dead, devoured by a wild animal. The straightforward understanding of this Talmudic passage is that Joseph remembered his father and envisioned his patriarchal face, the classical image of the sage with the long, white beard. And with that image in his mind, Joseph found renewed spiritual stamina to resist temptation.
Some might understand this episode as Joseph not wanting to disappoint his aged father. Others might see the image as a catalyst evoking in Joseph his own latent spiritual resources. Either way, with Jacob's visage in his mind, Joseph wasn't prepared to lose the moral high ground. He couldn't and wouldn't do it to his dad. And, through his father; Joseph remembered who he was--a proud son of Jacob and grandson of Isaac and Abraham.
Such was the effect Jacob had on Joseph and such is the effect every father and mother, grandfather and grandfather, can potentially bring to bear on their offspring. Of course, they would have to be respected by their children as men and women of stature for their image to represent any kind of moral symbolism. If the image of a parent or grandparent would send a signal to the young person to, say, "go for it, my boy!" then clearly the system will fail. I can safely say that if not for the image of my own father and grandfather and their subtle influence on me, I would never have become a rabbi. They didn't push me at all but their influence was profound. Just their image, their character and very being, was enough to guide me in the right direction during my own wavering moments of youthful indecision.
Joseph was nearly lost way down in Egypt land but that one image of his father saved him from sin and helped him go on to achieve greatness. May we all be good role models and may our own images help inspire our children and grandchildren.
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By JON D. LEVENSON
The eight-day festival of Hanukkah, which Jews world-wide will begin celebrating Tuesday night, is one of the better known of the Jewish holidays but also one of the less important.
The emphasis placed on it now is mostly due to timing: Hanukkah offers Jews an opportunity for celebration and commercialization comparable to what their Christian neighbors experience at Christmas, and it gives Christians the opportunity to include Jews in their holiday greetings and parties. What's more, the observances associated with Hanukkah are few, relatively undemanding, and even appealing to children.
The story of Hanukkah also fits the political culture of the United States. Its underlying narrative recalls that of the Pilgrims: A persecuted religious minority, at great cost, breaks free of their oppressors. It wasn't separatist Protestants seeking freedom from the Church of England in 1620, but Jews in the land of Israel triumphing over their Hellenistic overlord in 167–164 B.C., reclaiming and purifying their holiest site, the Jerusalem Temple.
Examined too casually, the stories of Plymouth Colony and Hanukkah seem to show heroes fighting for universal religious freedom. But the heroes of the Jewish story fought not only against a foreign persecutor. They also fought against fellow Jews who—perhaps more attracted to the cosmopolitan and sophisticated Greek culture than to the ways of their ancestors—cooperated with their rulers.
The revolt begins, in fact, when the patriarch of the Maccabees (as the family that led the campaign came to be known) kills a fellow Jew who was in the act of obeying the king's decree to perform a sacrifice forbidden in the Torah. The Maccabean hero also kills the king's officer and tears down the illicit altar. These were blows struck for Jewish traditionalism, and arguably for Jewish survival and authenticity, but not for religious freedom.
Over time, the stories of the persecutions that led to this war came to serve as models of Jewish faithfulness under excruciating persecution. In the most memorable instance, seven brothers and their mother all choose, successively, to die at the hands of their torturers rather than to yield to the demand to eat pork as a public disavowal of the God of Israel and his commandments.
To the martyrs, breaking faith with God is worse than death. In one version, their deaths are interpreted as "an atoning sacrifice" through which God sustained the Jewish people in their travail.
The tone here isn't the lightheartedness of the Christmas season. The Christian parallels lie, instead, with Good Friday and the story of Jesus's acceptance of his suffering and sacrificial death. In both the Jewish and the Christian stories, the death of the heroes, grievous though it is, is not the end: It is the prelude to a miraculous vindication and a glorious restoration.
The Roman Catholic tradition honors these Jewish martyrs as saints, and the Eastern Orthodox Church still celebrates Aug. 1 as the Feast of the Holy Maccabees. By contrast, in the literature of the Rabbis of the first several centuries of the common era, the story lost its connection to the Maccabean uprising, instead becoming associated with later persecutions by the Romans, which the Rabbis experienced. If the change seems odd, recall that the compositions that first told of these events (the books of Maccabees) were not part of the scriptural canon of rabbinic Judaism. But they were canonical in the Church (and remain so in the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox communions).
And so we encounter another oddity of Hanukkah: Jews know the fuller history of the holiday because Christians preserved the books that the Jews themselves lost. In a further twist, Jews in the Middle Ages encountered the story of the martyred mother and her seven sons anew in Christian literature and once again placed it in the time of the Maccabees.
"Hanukkah" means "dedication." Originally, the term referred to the rededication of the purified Temple after the Maccabees' stunning military victory. But as the story of the martyrs shows, the victory was also associated with the heroic dedication of the Jewish traditionalists of the time to their God and his Torah. If Hanukkah celebrates freedom, it is a freedom to be bound to something higher than freedom itself.
Mr. Levenson, a professor of Jewish studies at Harvard Divinity School, is co-author with Kevin J. Madigan of "Resurrection: The Power of God for Christians and Jews" (Yale University Press, 2008).
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Chanukah starts at sundown tonight. Happy Chanukah!
Chanukah in Bergen Belsen
by Libi Astaire
The rabbi was desperately looking for a small light in the sea of dark despair.
“In their very essence a Jew and despair are contradictory. They simply cannot co-exist together.” Rabbi Shraga Shmuel Schnitzler, who went by the more familiar name of Rabbi Shmelke, looked around the barracks to make sure that the others had understood his point. Amidst the crowd of weary faces that stared back at him, there were a few who were nodding their heads in agreement. Perhaps they, too, had been chassidim in another life — the life that existed before the war — and so they could appreciate the tales that Rabbi Shmelke told about chassidic Rebbes of former days.
Rabbi Shmelke didn’t tell his stories just to pass the time. His job, as he saw it, was to keep up the spirits of the Jews who were imprisoned in the Bergen Belsen concentration camp. That job would have been much easier if they were prophets, since the end of the war was just a few months away. But during that Kislev of 1944, the situation seemed as hopeless as ever. Even the thought of Chanukah, which was fast approaching, couldn’t dispel the gloom for most of them.
For Rabbi Shmelke, it was a different story. Since the beginning of the month he had been busy preparing for the holiday. He asked the same question to everyone he met: “Can you get us a little oil? Do you someone who works in the kitchen?”
The answer was always the same: No.
With dismay, he realized that Chanukah was only a few days away. He knew only too well what would happen if he couldn’t find any oil. Many of his fellow prisoners were clinging to life only by a slender thread of hope. Once that thread was snapped, they would succumb to the deep sea of dark despair that threatened to drown them. So he had to find some oil. Even if he found only enough oil to kindle the first Chanukah for a few seconds that would be enough. But no Chanukah lights? That wasn’t an option.
The day before Chanukah Rabbi Shmelke was at work — his “other” job in the camp was to remove dead bodies from the barracks — when he received an order to go to the last barrack, where some people had died during the previous night. While he walked across a field his foot got caught in a small hole in the frozen earth and he almost fell. He removed his foot from the hole and noticed that there was something buried inside. After making sure that no guards were watching him, he knelt down to see what it was.
He pulled out a small jar from the ground. Inside was some congealed liquid. Oil, he whispered. Oil for Chanukah!
Rabbi Shmelke then reached his hand inside the hole a second time. To his delight he discovered that the hiding place contained more surprises. He pulled out a carefully wrapped package and quickly undid the paper wrapping. Inside were eight little cups and eight thin strands of cotton.
It was obvious that some Jewish prisoner had buried this little menorah and the oil. But who was he? And where was he? Had he been transported to another camp? Had he died?
Although Rabbi Shmelke desperately wanted oil for his own barracks, he sincerely hoped that the Jew who had buried these things was still alive. Perhaps he was still in the camp and he would come back the next day and search for the treasure that he had so carefully hidden. So Rabbi Shmelke carefully reburied everything. But for the rest of the day and night, he asked every Jew that he met the same question: “I found some oil and a menorah. Maybe you were the one who hid them?”
The other prisoners looked at him with sad eyes, certain that at last the horrors of the Rabbi’s work had destroyed his mind. “No, Rabbi,” they said, one after another. “I didn’t hide any oil. I didn’t hide a menorah.”
Related Article: Chanukah in the Soviet Gulag
The next night, however, they discovered that Rabbi Shmelke hadn’t gone mad. When they returned to their barracks after the evening roll call they saw, to their amazement, a little menorah standing on one of the bunks. To their even greater surprise, one of the cups was filled with oil!
Rabbi Shmelke recited the blessings and then kindled the light for the first night. The group watched in silence while the tiny flame fought its eternal battle against the surrounding darkness. Some smiled, others cried. All felt a sweet spark of hope revive inside their embattled and embittered hearts.
Their own personal miracle was repeated on each night of the holiday. And then a few months later, in April 1945, an even greater miracle occurred. Germany surrendered. The war was over.
Rabbi Shmelke was one of the fortunate few who survived the war. After Bergen Belsen was liberated he returned to Hungary, where he served as a spiritual leader for other survivors and became known as the Tachaber Rav.
Several years later he made a trip to the United States, and while he was there he paid a visit to an acquaintance from the “old country” — Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum, the Satmar Rebbe. While they reminisced, the Satmar Rebbe mentioned that he had also been a prisoner in Bergen Belsen.
“I was there a year before you,” said the Satmar Rebbe. “I was rescued on the 21st of Kislev, four days before Chanukah. Before I found out about the rescue plan, I made provisions for the holiday. I bribed several camp officials and put together a package of oil, cups, and wicks, which I then buried in a field. I always felt badly that my little menorah was never put to use.”
Rabbi Shmelke smiled. “Your menorah was used. It dispelled the darkness for hundreds of Jews and helped at least one of them survive the war.”
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/c/s/h/Chanukah_in_Bergen_Belsen.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSJCSR4MuhU
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSJCSR4MuhU[/youtube]
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The Talmud teaches that "A small amount of light cancels much darkness." We begin tonight with a single candle for Hanukkah, along with the shamash, the flame that ignites the others. Place the hanukkiah in the window; dispel the darkness, one candle at a time. Celebrate the miracle of creating light.
A two minute teaching: A cruse of oil that should have lasted only one day lasted eight. But if so, the miracle was only for seven days -- it would have lasted one day in any case. So why do we light for eight days? Because the first night was the greatest Hanukkah miracle -- the courage to renew the tradition, hope in the future, to keep faith with God's promise and the steadfast human heart.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdJ8husp3dU
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdJ8husp3dU[/youtube]
The Maccabeats - Miracle - Matisyahu - Hanukkah
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHwyTxxQHmQ
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHwyTxxQHmQ[/youtube]
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Wake Up Calls
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/458214/jewish/Wake-Up-Calls.htm
Not everyone is lucky enough to get a wake-up call in life. Some people get theirs
just in time. Others get it but don't hear it. Still others hear it loud and clear but
refuse to take any notice. Pharaoh got his in this week's Parshah (Torah reading) when Joseph interpreted
his dreams and advised him to appoint "a wise and discerning man" who would
oversee a macro economic plan for the country. Joseph explained to the King of
Egypt that because he experienced two dreams and woke up in between it was a
sign from heaven to wake up and act immediately as the matter was of the utmost
urgency. Pharaoh took the message to heart and the rest is history.
On the health and well-being level, a little cholesterol, climbing blood pressure or
recurring bronchitis might be the not-so-subtle signs that it's time for a change of
lifestyle. These are the medical wake up calls we receive in life. Do we really have
to wait for a heart attack, G-d forbid, to stop smoking, or start eating less and
exercising more? That's what wake-up calls are for, to help us get the message
before it's too late.
Then there are the spiritual signs. I will never forget a friend who shared with me
the story of his own red lights flashing and how a changed spiritual lifestyle
literally saved his life. He was a workaholic driving himself to the brink. Had he
carried on indefinitely he simply would not have survived. Then he decided to give Shabbat a try. What he had never
previously appreciated about Shabbat was that it is a spiritually invigorating day of rest and spiritual serenity. And in
discovering Shabbat, he rediscovered his humanity. (He also discovered he could play golf on Sundays instead of
Saturdays.)
A short trigger film I once used at a Shabbaton weekend program depicted a series of professionals and artisans at work. As
they became engrossed and immersed in their respective roles they each became so identified with their work that they lost
their own identities. Monday through Friday, the carpenter's face dissolved into a hammer, the doctor took on the face of a
stethoscope and the accountant's head started looking exactly like a calculator. Then on Shabbat they closed their offices
and came home to celebrate the day of rest with their families; slowly but surely, their faces were remolded from their
professions to their personalities. Total immersion in their work had dehumanized them. They had become machines. Now,
thanks to Shabbat, they were human again. That short video left a lasting impression.
It's not easy to change ingrained habits. But Chanukah, which usually falls during this week's Parshah, carries with it a
relevant message in this regard. Take one day at a time. One doesn't have to do it all at once. One light at a time is all it
takes. On the first night we kindle a single Chanukah light, on the second night we kindle two lights, and on the third night
three. We add a little light each day, and before long the menorah is complete and all eight Chanukah lights are burning
bright.
It's ok to take one day at a time. It's not ok to go back to sleep after you get a wake up call. Whether it's your medical well
being or your spiritual health, the occasional wake up call is a valuable sign from Above that it may be time to adjust our
attitudes, lifestyles or priorities. Please G-d, each of us in our own lives will hear the call and act on the alarm bells with
alacrity
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Beauty and the Greeks
by Rabbi Doniel Baron
What was the underlying conflict between Jewish and Greek philosophy?
The ancient Greeks were obsessed with aesthetics and held beauty above all. The Greeks also championed the potential of the mind, and the works of their philosophers remain required reading at universities to this day. Far from keeping this idea to themselves, the Greeks spread their value system to every culture they conquered. In an astounding military campaign in which Alexander the Great conquered large swathes of the world and remained undefeated, the Greeks created a vast empire through which they broadcast their message.
Yet when Greek culture and its way of life reached the land of Israel, it met with incredible resistance from the rabbinic establishment. For the two centuries leading up to the story of Chanukah, years during which the Jews were exposed to Greek culture, the rabbis maintained their relentless opposition to the Greek way of life.
Things came to a head when Antiochus the Greek finally outlawed the most essential practices of Judaism. The rabbis refused to back down, and were willing to risk everything to preserve the Jewish way. The resulting conflict became the miraculous story of Chanukah, the Jewish triumph over the Greeks, and the establishment of an independent Jewish government in Judea.
Is Beauty Bad?
The underlying conflict between Jewish and Greek philosophy begs explanation. What was so bad about the beauty that the Greeks extolled? Are aesthetics dangerous? Why were they so vehemently against Greek culture even before it outlawed the practice of Judaism?
In a similar vein, what bothered the Greeks? They had political control and what appeared to be clear military superiority. Their culture dominated the world. What was it about the stubborn band of Jews in Judea that so irked them? What pushed them to go so far as banning another people's religion?
The answer cannot be that Judaism frowns on beauty. The Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple, was replete with gold and silver. Designed and built according to prophetic instructions, it was known as one of the most beautiful structures in the world, and the remnant of the complex that survives to our day hints to its grandeur. Jerusalem itself is called the epitome of beauty in the Book of Lamentations. The Torah commands us to beautify our fulfillment of commandments with physical beauty, and have a beautiful sukkah, shofar, and more. The Torah itself emphasizes how some of our holiest ancestors, Sarah, Rivka, Rachel and Yosef were extraordinarily beautiful people -- physical beauty noticed by the most powerful monarchs of the time.
What, then, was wrong with the Greeks? Why didn't the rabbis embrace a thinking culture that appreciated physical beauty?
What is Beauty?
The answer lies in the core definition of beauty. Classical beauty, the conception of aesthetic that survived the millennia, stems from harmony. Without harmony, we tend to find visual stimuli either boring and bland or chaotic and overly busy. One example of harmony is found in symmetry; an image which is perfectly balanced is appealing. The Greeks were obsessed with the human physique, itself a marvel of perfect symmetry. We also find harmony in sharp contrasts such as in the sight of a deep valley against the backdrop of a tall mountain.
Even for the less artistic among us, perception of color illustrates this idea. We see beauty in the use of analogous colors, colors which are adjacent to each other on the tertiary color wheel, a progressive arrangement of 12 colors ordered according to their wavelengths. Yet we also see beauty from contrasts, particularly from complementary colors which are directly opposite each other on a color wheel. Both reflect harmony that unites the colors of the medium, either through contrast or complement, and presents one with a balanced visual medium.
With this background, we can understand the real war between the Greeks and the Jews. While the Greeks understood the harmony in physical beauty, they missed the point. The ultimate harmony is the union of the spiritual and physical worlds. It creates a beauty like no other, an effect so powerful that any attempt to imitate it is an insult to the notion of beauty.
There is no greater harmony than the connection between material things and their spiritual source. Jerusalem is the essence of beauty in Judaism; it is the point where heaven and earth kiss, a bridge between two realms, one side of a symmetrical phenomenon. According to Jewish tradition, the physical energy that sustains every part of the world flows from Jerusalem. King Solomon understood how Jerusalem connects every corner of the earth to its spiritual source, and was even able to plant in Jerusalem things indigenous to other parts of the world because he understood where each channel of energy stemmed from Jerusalem and extended across the globe. Jerusalem below is the physical counterpart of the spiritual energy that flows to the world, creating the perfect harmony between physical and spiritual.
The beautiful people in the Torah were living reflections of harmony between the physical world and the spiritual. Joseph, for example, was so handsome that the local women would climb the walls just to get a glimpse of him. Instead of letting physical pleasure dominate him, Joseph stood up to the test when tempted by Potiphar's wife, and did not let his physical beauty sever him from the real harmony of living a spiritual life. Our ancestors described as beautiful were individuals whose physical attractiveness lived in perfect harmony with their spiritual essence.
The Greeks traded real harmony between heaven and earth for the cheap harmony between different aspects of the physical world. In fact, it is often physical beauty and temptation that stands in the way of one's access to real harmony. The Greeks abused beauty because they flaunted something that was only externally beautiful and ignored the pursuit of genuine harmony. From their perspective, only things that man can perceive and understand exist, and harmony with something transcendental would be impossible.
The rabbis immediately spotted the threat in Greek culture, and fought against replacing real beauty with a superficial imposter. In turn, the Greeks eventually realized the threat that the Jews posed to their own philosophy and how our idea of beauty makes theirs meaningless. They therefore went on the offensive.
We won the battle on Chanukah over 2,000 years ago, but the war continues. Our opponents brandish all that which is pleasing to see and which seems beautiful. Yet nothing they offer comes close to the harmony between body and soul. It's up to us to decide whether to settle for phony beauty that provides nothing more than harmony between physical things, or whether we are true to our legacy of striving for the ultimate harmony between the physical and spiritual, between body and soul.
The temptation prevails to this day, and the lure of all that appears pleasing, especially during the commercial "holiday season," is overwhelming. Chanukah calls to us, asking us to seek real beauty, the harmony that can only come from connection to a higher realm.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/ph/48964891.html
Light One Candle
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yZ1zxtbOJE&feature=results_video&playnext=1&list=PL4605DA5EC1089408
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yZ1zxtbOJE&feature=results_video&playnext=1&list=PL4605DA5EC1089408[/youtube]
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"Science vs. Religion: Mayim Bialik and the OTHER Big Bang Theory" Ep. 4, Season 2
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=4aT9RHmhngk[/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=4aT9RHmhngk
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Top Five Regrets of the Dying
by Bronnie Ware
It's not too late to avoid these common regrets in life.
For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives.
People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. I learned never to underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected: denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.
When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:
1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.
This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship.
Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.
By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.
3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings. Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.
As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming.
We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
Often they would not truly realize the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.
It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.
Related Article: Torah With Morrie #4: Live Like You're Dying
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
This is a surprisingly common one.
Many did not realize until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.
When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.
Life is a choice. It is your life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Top_Five_Regrets_of_the_Dying.html
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Nice post.
Some of us can learn, can change. Some cannot.
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http://pjmedia.com/victordavishanson/so-why-read-anymore/?print=1
So Why Read Anymore?
Posted By Victor Davis Hanson On January 16, 2012 @ 9:51 am In Uncategorized | 149 Comments
Is Reading Good Books Over?
There is great “truth and beauty” in Homer’s Iliad [1], but I would not try to make his sale on such platitudes. Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire [2] remains a classic. But I confess it can be hard to get through. Conrad’s Victory [3] or Knut Hamsun’s Growth of the Soil [4], if authored by writer X this year, would be trashed on Amazon.
So what are the reasons, in this age of the iPhone, Xbox, and PlayStation — or Fox News blondes and HBO — to sit down and read old stuff for an hour or two each week?
Here are a few reasons other than the usual defense of the “classics,” the “canon,” and the glories of “Western civilization.”
Mental Exercise
The mind is a muscle. Without exercise, it reverts to mush. Watching most TV or using the normal electronic gadgetry does not tax us much — indeed that is by design the very purpose: to eliminate effort, worry, unease, and afterthought. None of us thinks back a year ago to a great video game session. Few off-hand can recall the Super Bowl winner of 2001. I remember the scenes in a Shane [5]or Casablanca [6], but not many others in the other thousand of movies that I have watched.
By nature, our ways of expression and even thinking always fossilize and are withering away with age and monotony — a process accelerated by the modern electronic age and the neglect of replenishment through reading. The actual vocabulary of our present youth seems to me reduced to about 1,000 words or so. “Like,” “whatever,” “you know,” “cool,” and other pop culture fillers now substitute for entire phrases, a sort of modern porcine grunting. The Greeks used particles to accentuate vocabulary and guide syntax; we used them instead of vocabulary. Our syntax, both written and oral, is reverting to “Spot is a dog”: noun, verb, predicate — period. How did incomprehensible slang, spiced with vulgarity, become an object of emulation? I used to listen to farmers without college degrees speak wonderful English; now to listen to a member of Congress almost requires a translator.
Reading alone enriches our vocabulary; it teaches us that good writing requires a sense of melody as well as a command of grammar. Soon those well-read become the well-spoken.
A Master of Words
Think for a minute: why did the Right often ignore the contradictions of Christopher Hitchens [7], and the Left mostly give up most of its anger at him? He was not necessarily a classically beautiful stylist, and could be needlessly cruel. He wrote no great history, no great novel, no great single essay that we can instantly recall in the manner of an Orwell or Chesterton. But Mr. Hitchens surely was a rare and gifted writer, polemicist, and savant. To read 800 words was to learn something new in passing. Even in his most ridiculous rant, a nugget of wisdom could be uncovered. A reference to an obscure Eastern European politician might appear side-by-side a line from Wordsworth — and would make a better illustration of his argument than just showcasing his erudition. He mastered the odd, even perverse turn of phrase, the ability to juxtapose the colloquialism next to Latinate pomposity, or to write a ridiculous 10-line long sentence, stuffed with semi-cola, dashes, cola, and commas, followed by a two-word noun-verb sentence that a five-year old could produce. In short, Hitchens was a voracious consumer of texts, and the result was that he achieved what the Roman student of rhetoric, Quintilian, once called variatio, the ability to mix up words and sentences and not bore. He could hold, even shock, the reader or listener from sentence to sentence, moment to moment.
But We Are So Much More to the Point
But you object that at least our current economy of expression cuts out wasted words and clauses, a sort of slimmed-down, electronic communication? Perhaps, but it also turns almost everything into instant bland hot cereal, as if we should gulp down oatmeal at every meal and survive well enough without the bother of salad, main course, and dessert. Each day our vocabulary shrinks, our thought patterns stagnate — if they are not renewed through fresh literature or intelligent conversation. Unfortunately these days, those who read are few and silent; those who don’t, numerous and heard. In this drought, Dante’s Inferno [8] and William Prescott’s History of the Conquest of Mexico [9] provide needed storms of new words, complex syntax, and fresh ideas.
Humility
Technology has deluded the modern West. We equate widespread knowledge of how to use an iPad with collective wisdom. Because a rare, brilliantly inventive mind from Caltech or MIT can craft a device undreamed of in the age of Einstein, we assume that we all warrant a share in his genius, as if our generation has trumped Einstein’s. We deserve no such kudos — unless animals at the zoo that find delight in their rote enjoyment of their hoops and bars can be credited with the architect’s sophisticated zoological design.
Pumps Are Not Water
Technological progress is no guarantee of collective wisdom — other than an acknowledgement that there is a brilliant scientific elite that we foster and don’t kill off in exchange for the good stuff that they give us. Our California public schools rate about 48th or 49th these days in nationwide testing, while most of the state seems to have their heads permanently transfixed to iPhones. Do we believe then that the population is smarter because we know “apps” or because there is an Apple or Google headquarters full of engineers living in the cocoon of Silicon Valley?
There is an arrogance of an age that comes with access to always better stuff. New technology prompts an assumption that there are always better things to come. Not true. Life was far better in Rome in AD 25 than in AD 425. Would you like to buy a house in Detroit today or in 1940? Me? I would rather drive down the central section of 101 in 1970 than tomorrow. Regress — material, intellectual, and moral — can be as common as progress, if each new generation proves a poor custodian of the laws, behavior, knowledge, and learning inherited from those now gone.
We Are Not Alone
No one in my town ripped out copper wire from the street lights in 1963 as they commonly do now; my grandfather contended with swarms of vine-hoppers and spider mites, not, as I do, with thieves who destroy pumps to scavenge conduit wire. I know that this will not be a problem in 2080 — either because such crime that threatens society must cease, or society as we know it will cease. Can we see these as symptoms, as something also beyond our present anguish, as challenges shared by Athenians, Romans, and Byzantines? We can — if we have some guide that turns the nonsense of today into the sense of the ages.
Not a poet in America today could match Virgil. Few, if any, of us historians could write with the flair and judgment of a Tacitus. But how would we know that — or care — if we did not read?
Without some awareness that ideas are old and somewhat finite, and that we are young and ignorant, we assume that each new adventure must be novel because we alone — right now! — are experiencing it. If Barack Obama would read Procopius [10], he would learn the wages of his huge inefficient bureaucracy. Jerry Brown, the self-described Jesuit sage, should return to his St. Jerome [11], because the latter’s descriptions of an eroding Rome could just as well describe a drive down California’s 99. (Before a crumbling society can borrow billions for a high-speed rail to nowhere it might better bring out the dusty maps and charts of a dead generation of engineers that once bequeathed to us plans about how to finish a three-lane freeway without cross traffic.)
Ourselves and Our Archetypes
Reading literature endows us not just with a model of expression and thought, but also with a body of ideas — and the names, facts, and dates that we can draw on to elucidate them. When I used to follow the career of the brilliantly destructive Bill Clinton, he seemed to be Alcibiades reborn — and thus was surely bound to share the same fate of those with enormous talent who are consumed by their own huge and unrepressed appetites.
Richard Nixon jumped out of the pages Sophocles, another gifted Oedipus whose innate and unaddressed flaws were waiting dormant — for just the right occasion to explode him, for Nemesis to take him from the King of Thebes to itinerant blind beggar.
Obama? He came on the scene as arrogant and self-righteous as young Pentheus or Hippolytus and he is now learning firsthand the effects of his Euripidean smugness on others. Nothing that we experience has not happened before; the truly ignorant miss that, hypnotized by sophisticated technology into believing that human nature has been reinvented in their own image.
Transcendence
We all wish to live beyond the confines of our pathetic flesh and the limitations of the material world. I am here not just talking of religion, but rather of how shared ideas and learning trump age, race, class, gender, all the supposed barriers that only government alone can trample down.
At Fresno I used to teach works like Xenophon’s Hellenica or Aeschylus’s Prometheus Bound in advanced Greek classes, usually to about 10 students. Some were 60 years old and retired. Some were physically disabled and rolled in on wheel chairs. Some were Mexican-American; some women; some Asian. Often an epileptic retiree, who took every Greek course offered, would have a seizure in class. Most were poor or of middle means; but I recall there were one or two millionaires as well.
The Point of Such “Diversity”?
There was no diversity.
When they translated or sounded off about Prometheus’s pontifications or nearly wept at poor Theramenes (who perhaps deserved his fate for his triangulation) being dragged off to his death, all “difference” disappeared. What we had in common vastly outweighed our class, gender, and racial distinctions. Thucydides could belong to an immigrant from Oaxaca as much as it did to me — or even more so.
It was almost as if the mind lived without a body or perhaps despite it. In his treatise on old age and again in the Pro Archia, Cicero made the argument that learning gives us a common bond. (omnes arts quae ad humanities pertinent habent quoddam commune vinclum et quasi cognatione quadam inter se continentur.)
Old? Hardly
Literature and history become bulwarks from the cruel assaults of old age. I used to hike in the Attic hills with a group led by the septuagenarian, the legendary classical Greek scholar and topographer Eugene Vanderpool. He was to the eye almost decrepit — with few teeth (from the effects of malnourishment after internment in a German prisoner of war camp during the Nazi occupation of Athens) and recovering from a stroke. He reminded me of David’s 18th-century painting of an elderly Belisarius asking for alms outside the Hippodrome.
But as we hiked each Saturday he quietly pointed out the pass where Mardonius retreated back to Boeotia in spring 479 B.C. before being obliterated with his Persians at the subsequent battle of Plataea. “Hanson,” he once whispered, “did you realize you just stepped on the Attic Orchid; can I tell you a little about this vanishing flower that you crushed?” Someone kicked up a clay loom weight. He smiled shyly at it, and in muffled voice muttered, “Hmmm, about 400 B.C.; there must be a classical farmhouse about here somewhere.” We walked right by blank rocks; he asked, “Did anyone see back there that horos inscription? It was a boundary marker, Hellenistic I imagine.”
Ageless Man
When we got to the mountains overlooking the coast, he would rattle off the various armadas — Persian to nineteenth-century European — that had once docked below us. At 24, I felt like he was Napoleon addressing the Grand Army before the Pyramids. The result was that Mr. Vanderpool magically turned into 20-something like the rest of us, as if material existence were a bothersome afterthought. Our initial shock at his withered body vanished. He became almost an Apollo. I expected him to show up back at Athens at a Saturday night midnight disco bash to discourse on the Bee Gees as he had on the origins of ostracism.
Certificates of What?
We don’t need more technocrats who fool us that their Ivy League law degrees are synonymous with wisdom. They can be, but now are more likely not much more than tickets that allow an Eric Holder or Timothy Geithner into the first-class seating. I am not calling for us to be academics or scholastics with our noses in books or our heads up our posteriors; but to match physicality and pragmatism with occasional abstraction and reflection from the voices of the past — just a little, now and then, to remind us that Twitter or Facebook speed up communication, but can slow down thought.
Literature and history belong to us all. The recollection of ideas and thoughts can turn drudgery into something at least a little better. I once read Les Miserables and the memoirs of U.S. Grant simultaneously each night, and by day sprayed pre-emergent herbicide (in those pre-green days, per acre: ½ pound of Simazine, ½ pound of Karmex, washed down with spreader and some Parquat) all day long. Gradually the leaks, the toxicity, and the monotony of one sprayed row after another vanished. My head had gone underground into 1832 Paris and then came out again to the tricky siege of Vicksburg. That trance could mean the herbicide might once or twice miss the berm (and we would not recommend that 757 pilots dip into their Tolstoy during autopilot sessions), but for a time I was no longer cold and wet.
Links in the Chain
Somehow we must convince this new wired generation that speaking and writing well are not just the DSL lines of modern civilization, but also the keys to self-mastery, a sort of code that one takes on — in addition to others, moral and legal — to uphold standards of culture itself, to keep the work and ideas alive of our long gone betters for one more generation — as if to say, “I did my part according to my time and station.”Nothing more, nothing less.
(Thumbnail on PJM homepage by Shutterstock.com [12].)
Article printed from Works and Days: http://pjmedia.com/victordavishanson
URL to article: http://pjmedia.com/victordavishanson/so-why-read-anymore/
URLs in this post:
[1] Iliad: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0140275363/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=pjmedia-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0140275363
[2] The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0140437649/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=pjmedia-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0140437649
[3] Victory: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004QZ9URY/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=pajamasmedia-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B004QZ9URY
[4] Growth of the Soil: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0486476006/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=pjmedia-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0486476006
[5] Shane : http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0792163710/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=pjmedia-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0792163710
[6] Casablanca: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002VWNIAY/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=pjmedia-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B002VWNIAY
[7] the contradictions of Christopher Hitchens: http://www.nationalreview.com/articles/286976/goodbye-mr-hitchens-victor-davis-hanson
[8] Inferno: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1463532229/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=pjmedia-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1463532229
[9] History of the Conquest of Mexico: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0217254462/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=pjmedia-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0217254462
[10] Procopius: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Procopius
[11] St. Jerome: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Jerome
[12] Shutterstock.com: http://www.shutterstock.com
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BD:
I liked that. A lot.
Marc
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Not exactly words, but the punctuation marks discussed in this article are interesting:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/expresident/13-punctuation-marks-that-you-never-knew-existed
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Not exactly words, but the punctuation marks discussed in this article are interesting:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/expresident/13-punctuation-marks-that-you-never-knew-existed
I love the interrobang, and especially the snark.
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http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/49082201.html
Change
by Rabbi Yaakov Salomon
Three keys to catapulting from paralysis to action.
What is the most frightening six-letter word in the English language?
No, it's not, "D-A-T-I-N-G." And it's not, "S-K-I-I-N-G." And it's not, "P-A-S-T-R-Y" either.
How about, "C-H-A-N-G-E"?
If you're like most people (and don't fool yourself -- you are), C-H-A-N-G-E pretty much scares the dickens out of you. All of us try to make changes in our daily lives, but how many of us are really successful?
You try to quit smoking, or lose weight, or speak Hebrew, or visit your grandmother, or surf the Internet a bit less, or spend more time with your kids, and chances are you may make a bold and decent start, but it peters out after a few days. Or, more likely, you never really get started at all, you just talk about it all the time.
Welcome to the club. Everyone finds change difficult. But some people do seem to be better at it than others. What is their secret? How do they manage to move forward? Why do some people view life's hurdles as challenges to embrace while others perceive every new transition as a 50-ton barrier on the road in front of them?
The answer is not nearly as simple as this article appears to make it, but it is within reach.
Here are three keys that may not sound especially potent or very new, but still have the potential to catapult you from paralysis to action.
1. SEE WHAT YOU HAVE ALREADY DONE
A fundamental requirement for embarking on anything new is that you must believe in yourself. All of us have succeeded in certain areas and have failed in others. Unfortunately, the failures often seem to overshadow the achievements. We tend to magnify our deficiencies and downplay our accomplishments.
This must stop. You'll never muster enough energy to make difficult changes without compelling evidence that you are a capable human being. The only way to do this is by remembering, listing, and savoring the successes in your life. Five minutes a day should be sufficient. After a while, you WILL start believing that you can.
How do we know this is true? Because the wisest of all men, King Solomon, said so.
"The heart of the wise man looks to the right; the heart of the fool looks left" (Proverbs).
The Hebrew language has the unique distinction of being written and read from right to left. This means that every holy book is opened and every subsequent page is turned to the right side. So many of us open these books with the best of intentions. We want to study, we want to teach, we want to finish etc. But, all too often, reality sets in. We get bogged down, we slow down, we lose our interest and our resolve. We want to quit and we often do.
A great part of our bent to surrender comes from the enormity of the task. "Look at how many pages there are in this book. I'll never finish anyway. I might as well quit now."
Stop, says King Solomon. You are looking at the wrong side of the book. Only a fool looks to the left. That shows you how many pages you haven't yet studied. Look to the right. There you will see what you have already learned. That will encourage you to continue your task and complete your mission. That is the formula for becoming wise.
2. 'COLD TURKEY' IS FOR THE BIRDS
Everyone has bad habits. They range from the terribly serious kind -- drugs, gambling, over-eating, to the milder variety -- nail-biting, interrupting, and being a 'neat freak'.
One of the most potent stumbling blocks to success is the notion that the only way to quit is to do so all at once. Not true. I have found that most people make changes gradually. There are times and situations where only radical methods can be effective, but, by and large, throw a large hamburger on a high-chair tray in front of little Joey and chances are it will end up on the floor. But cut it into small, manageable, bite-size pieces and he might eat two burgers
Big Joey is a lot like little Joey. By definition, habits (and certainly addictions) are things we have done for long periods of time. The swift and sudden removal of them may produce swift and sudden change. But that is not what you are looking for. You want lasting change.
Identify a firm and specific goal. I want to stop coming late to meetings, dinners, work, synagogue, and medical appointments, whatever.
Do not attempt any alteration in your schedule for two weeks. Simply jot down every time you come late and by how many minutes.
Create an objective for the following week to reduce that late-coming by just five minutes in just two or three places.
Chart your results. Do not overreach your goal. Even if it seems easy, just stick to the plan.
Add five minutes and two more places each week.
If you fail, just extend the same projection for an additional week.
Take pleasure in your accomplishment. Reward yourself.
3. LEAVE THE COMPARISONS TO THE REAL ESTATE BROKERS
One of the side effects of this incredible Age of Communication is that everyone knows everything about everybody. Or, at least they think they do.
"Boy, Stan sure looks like he's making the big bucks."
"Debbie lives such a carefree life. Not a worry in the world."
"Well isn't Miriam just Miss Popular. No wonder she's always smiling."
The fact is that we actually know very little about Stan, Debbie, or Miriam. All we know is what we see. And the reality may be very far from the discernible.
But that doesn't stop us from making constant and damaging comparisons.
"I'll just never be as popular as Miriam. So why even bother trying to make friends with __________."
"I'll always be a worrier. That's just the way I am wired. I wish I could be more like Debbie.
"So what if I'm unemployed. Stan's making high six figures and I should start at 60K?"
We use our mistaken impressions to formulate damaging comparisons about people around us, and then conclude that we can never "match up" to our peers.
How soon we forget that God made each of us with our own unique personality, DNA, fingerprints, and purpose. No two people contain the same potential or mission on this planet. So, besides the fact that things are NEVER the way they seem, our goals must singularly be our own. What someone else, no matter how similar he may seem to you, has accomplished is completely irrelevant to your life objectives.
Focus on what is within your reach. Never forget that your capacity to change is not in any way associated with anyone else's achievements or failures. Be your own man or woman. Change is hard enough without having to compare yourself to anyone else.
In sum, focus on your successes, cut the new steps into bite-size pieces, and never ever compare yourself to anyone else. That's the simple formula to get you started on the road to change. No, the road is not perfectly paved, free of traffic, or easy to navigate. But it does not have to be nearly as daunting as we think it is.
You have the keys. Now get in the car and drive.
You'll get there.
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By ARYEH SPERO
Who would have expected that in a Republican primary campaign the single biggest complaint among candidates would be that the front-runner has taken capitalism too far? As if his success and achievement were evidence of something unethical and immoral? President Obama and other redistributionists must be rejoicing that their assumptions about rugged capitalism and the 1% have been given such legitimacy.
More than any other nation, the United States was founded on broad themes of morality rooted in a specific religious perspective. We call this the Judeo-Christian ethos, and within it resides a ringing endorsement of capitalism as a moral endeavor.
Regarding mankind, no theme is more salient in the Bible than the morality of personal responsibility, for it is through this that man cultivates the inner development leading to his own growth, good citizenship and happiness. The entitlement/welfare state is a paradigm that undermines that noble goal.
The Bible's proclamation that "Six days shall ye work" is its recognition that on a day-to-day basis work is the engine that brings about man's inner state of personal responsibility. Work develops the qualities of accountability and urgency, including the need for comity with others as a means for the accomplishment of tasks. With work, he becomes imbued with the knowledge that he is to be productive and that his well-being is not an entitlement. And work keeps him away from the idleness that Proverbs warns leads inevitably to actions and attitudes injurious to himself and those around him.
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.Yet capitalism is not content with people only being laborers and holders of jobs, indistinguishable members of the masses punching in and out of mammoth factories or functioning as service employees in government agencies. Nor is the Bible. Unlike socialism, mired as it is in the static reproduction of things already invented, capitalism is dynamic and energetic. It cheerfully fosters and encourages creativity, unspoken possibilities, and dreams of the individual. Because the Hebrew Bible sees us not simply as "workers" and members of the masses but, rather, as individuals, it heralds that characteristic which endows us with individuality: our creativity.
At the opening bell, Genesis announces: "Man is created in the image of God"—in other words, like Him, with individuality and creative intelligence. Unlike animals, the human being is not only a hunter and gatherer but a creative dreamer with the potential of unlocking all the hidden treasures implanted by God in our universe. The mechanism of capitalism, as manifest through investment and reasoned speculation, helps facilitate our partnership with God by bringing to the surface that which the Almighty embedded in nature for our eventual extraction and activation.
Capitalism makes possible entrepreneurship, which is the realization of an idea birthed in human creativity. Whereas statism demands that citizens think small and bow to a top-down conformity, capitalism, as has been practiced in the U.S., maximizes human potential. It provides a home for aspiration, referred to in the Bible as "the spirit of life."
The Bible speaks positively of payment and profit: "For why else should a man so labor but to receive reward?" Thus do laborers get paid wages for their hours of work and investors receive profit for their investment and risk.
The Bible is not a business-school manual. While it is comfortable with wealth creation and the need for speculation in economic markets, it has nothing to say about financial instruments and models such as private equity, hedge funds or other forms of monetary capitalization. What it does demand is honesty, fair weights and measures, respect for a borrower's collateral, timely payments of wages, resisting usury, and empathy for those injured by life's misfortunes and charity.
It also demands transparency and honesty regarding one's intentions. The command, "Thou shalt not place a stumbling block in front of the blind man" also means that you should not act deceitfully or obscure the truth from those whose choice depends upon the information you give them. There's nothing to indicate that Mitt Romney breached this biblical code of ethics, and his wealth and success should not be seen as automatic causes for suspicion.
No country has achieved such broad-based prosperity as has America, or invented as many useful things, or seen as many people achieve personal promise. This is not an accident. It is the direct result of centuries lived by the free-market ethos embodied in the Judeo-Christian outlook.
Furthermore, only a prosperous nation can protect itself from outside threats, for without prosperity the funds to support a robust military are unavailable. Having radically enlarged the welfare state and hoping to further expand it, President Obama is attempting to justify his cuts to our military by asserting that defense needs must give way to domestic programs.
Both history and the Bible show the way that leads. Countries that were once economic powerhouses atrophied and declined, like England after World War II, once they began adopting socialism. Even King Solomon's thriving kingdom crashed once his son decided to impose onerous taxes.
At the end of Genesis, we hear how after years of famine the people in Egypt gave all their property to the government in return for the promise of food. The architect of this plan was Joseph, son of Jacob, who had risen to become the pharaoh's top official, thus: "Joseph exchanged all the land of Egypt for pharaoh and the land became pharaoh's." The result was that Egyptians became indentured to the ruler and state, and Joseph's descendants ended up enslaved to the state.
Many on the religious left criticize capitalism because all do not end up monetarily equal—or, as Churchill quipped, "all equally miserable." But the Bible's prescription of equality means equality under the law, as in Deuteronomy's saying that "Judges and officers . . . shall judge the people with a just judgment: Do not . . . favor one over the other." Nowhere does the Bible refer to a utopian equality that is contrary to human nature and has never been achieved.
The motive of capitalism's detractors is a quest for their own power and an envy of those who have more money. But envy is a cardinal sin and something that ought not to be.
God begins the Ten Commandments with "I am the Lord your God" and concludes with "Thou shalt not envy your neighbor, not for his wife, nor his house, nor for any of his holdings." Envy is corrosive to the individual and to those societies that embrace it. Nations that throw over capitalism for socialism have made an immoral choice.
Rabbi Spero has led congregations in Ohio and New York and is president of Caucus for America.
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"More than any other nation, the United States was founded on broad themes of morality rooted in a specific religious perspective. We call this the Judeo-Christian ethos, and within it resides a ringing endorsement of capitalism as a moral endeavor."
Perhaps Rabbi Spero may want to read the New Testament......
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JDN:
The material you quote seems simple and obvious to me, yet your point is unclear. What is it?
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I'm not at a computer but my point is that Christianity (Jesus) suggested giving all your money to the poor. Further Jesus says "it is very difficult for a rich man to go to heaven" implying that capitalism is NOT the way to heaven. Jesus had no respect for those who sought material things. Rather he suggested sharing what you have.
My point is that the Rabbi I/you quoted ignores the teaching of the New Testiment yet he references Christianity.
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"(Jesus) suggested giving all your money to the poor. Further Jesus says "it is very difficult for a rich man to go to heaven" implying that capitalism is NOT the way to heaven. Jesus had no respect for those who sought material things."
You will find some mixed messages on economics in the Bible if you dig deep enough. Quoting a different verse does not make the first one go away. Giving "all" seems a bit impractical as you would likely starve to death and therefore not give much. Providing for your own family first is not IMO seeking "material things". All Christian Bibles I have owned contained both testaments unless labeled 'New Testament' instead of 'Holy Bible'.
Beyond economics, Judeo-Christian liberals will have difficulty quoting where in the Thou Shalt Nots God distinguishes between killing off your young in the various trimesters, killing for gender selection or killing off black babies at 3 times the rate of white babies as is the effect of their policies in the U.S. today.
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Yes it is all one Bible, but it's the New Testiment that distinguishes and makes it "Christianity". I agree the Old and the New Testament believe in supporting your family, doing a days hard work, but the excess.... The millions, the giant houses, yachts, material things, etc. are frowned upon and advised against very strongly and consistently in the New (Christian) Testament.
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Where does the bible say no yachts?
Yachts are built by craftsmen. Are they better off having businesses/jobs, or charity from the wealthy?
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Umm, , , for the record, the Torah (the Old Testament to you break way cults :lol: ) has quite a bit about generousity to the poor.
Not being Christian, it is from a place of utter humility that I say this, but I am completely unaware of any efforts on Jesus's part to call for Caeasar to raise tax rates and redistribute wealth at the point of a sword.
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Rabbi Wolpe
https://www.facebook.com/RabbiWolpe
The Torah teaches God blessed Abraham with "everything" (Gen. 24:1). Yet Abraham left his native home, drove one son away, nearly sacrificed the other, was forced by famine to flee to Egypt, feared for his wife, fought a war and witnessed both wickedness and destruction. How is that "blessed with everything"?
To be blessed is not only to have comfort and ease. Blessing entails struggle and uncertainty as well as sweetness. "Everything" is a full palette life, all the colors -- sting and honey, loss and hope.
Each choice is also a rejection, each embrace an exclusion. Living offers continual lessons in drawing boundaries. "Art is limitation. The essence of every picture is the frame," said Chesterton. We can do much but not all. We can choose widely, and wisely, but choose we must.
We live in buildings we did not build, using technology we did not invent as we walk streets we did not pave, buoyed by an economy and society we did not create. A moment of thanks to those who came before us, who built and innovated, ploughed and paved, and enabled us to flourish that we might improve our world for those who will follow
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"Where does the bible say no yachts?"
I thought the yacht was the centerpiece of one of the Bible's most famous stories. You don't protect very many loved ones safely at sea in a dinghy.
"...but the excess.... The millions, the giant houses, yachts, material things, etc. are frowned upon..."
How can anyone devout buy a luxury classic recreational motorcycle and take a non-essential cruise through the mountains when there still are Americans in Alaska without air conditioning?
Regarding the millions, the yachts, etc: a) There is also a clause about not coveting thy neighbor's house, and b) I am not aware of any provision in the New Testament saying the newer document shall supersedes any conflict that may arise with the 'Old Testament'.
"Millions" (plural) mean $2 million and up? Is that alone enough to be financially secure for you and your family for the rest of your lives should something unexpected occur?? The answer is NO, not necessarily, and NO it is not determined by your judgment or the government's judgment or your neighbor's judgment as to what constitutes enough financial resources to fend off the future misfortunes and expenses that you may want to guard against. Same goes for rightsizing our homes.
Crafty's point nicely covers the distinction between giving and taking.
All that about religion allegedly backing a political movement (when it doesn't) and no comment or excuse about the same political movement sanctioning the kill of innocent human life for convenience reasons in the name of 'personal freedom'. Scripture only used when convenient?
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Doug, there is no "Christianity" without the New Testament. It is a fulfillment of promises made in the Old Testament; the Old Testament merely sets
the stage. As Christians we are followers and believers in Jesus.
As for "giving and taking" taxes due Rome were rather onerous at the time of Jesus. Yet Jesus simply said, "render onto Caesar that which is Caesars..."
He didn't mention reducing taxes.
A "yacht" is a luxury/pleasure item. An ark is not nor is an oil tanker for that matter. But then as a sailor you know the distinction.
You may give away or keep what your choose, but if you wish to follow Jesus he rejected material things and frankly revered the poor a lot more than he revered the rich. Actually, on numerous occasions he specifically disparages the rich.
I have no interest in discussing abortion although if I recollect, Rachel indicated that Jews (Old Testament) believe life begins at birth. I brought up "scripture" since Rabbi Spero, talking about capitalism, referenced Christianity incorrectly in my opinion.
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"As for "giving and taking" taxes due Rome were rather onerous at the time of Jesus. Yet Jesus simply said, "render onto Caesar that which is Caesars...""
"He didn't mention reducing taxes."
Nor did he mention using the force of the State to impose his recommendations. Given this, I think the point you are attempting to make here fails.
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The whole point of "render unto Caesar" was Jesus' rejection of an earthly kingdom.
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The whole point of "render unto Caesar" was Jesus' rejection of an earthly kingdom.
I agree; Jesus rejected all material things. He instructs us too to forsake all material things and trust in the Lord. Basically, he's anti capitalist. Give away your belongings. Help the poor. Etc.
That's why I objected to Rabbi Spero's incorrect inclusion of Christianity in his summary of the virtues of capitalism.
However, that said, I haven't quit my day job yet. :-) Or given everything I own away to those less fortunate.....
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No, Jesus rejected becoming a king on earth, he lived and worked with his hands for money, built things and existed within his society at that time. He rejected the wealth and material goods offered by the devil, but I'm not aware that he required christians as a whole to live lives of poverty or to avoid making money.
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Stepping way out of my lane here, but just ask the Calvinists! :lol:
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No, Jesus rejected becoming a king on earth, he lived and worked with his hands for money, built things and existed within his society at that time. He rejected the wealth and material goods offered by the devil, but I'm not aware that he required christians as a whole to live lives of poverty or to avoid making money.
Gee where does it say Jesus worked with his hands during his ministry in the Gospels unless you count doing miracles? I suppose you could call him a wine maker :-)
His father was a carpenter. Maybe Jesus helped out a little as a kid, but Jesus as an adult didn't seem to have any income... He accepted money and food from others.... He was a teacher....
‘You are not to call yourselves Rabbi for you have one Rabbi (Teacher), Who is the Messiah and you are all brothers’ (Matthew 23:8). He called Himself a Teacher. ‘You call Me Teacher and the Lord. You have done so correctly, for that is what I am’ (John 13:13). Jesus was called ‘Rabbi’ sixteen times, and ‘Teacher’ forty-seven times, and there are fourteen verses that tell us He taught in the synagogues.
As to the best life to lead, Jesus said unto him, "If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me."
Basically, give your money away and follow Jesus....
As I said, I haven't done so yet... :-)
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**If it matters, this is a LDS website.
http://jesus.christ.org/13/was-jesus-a-carpenter
In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus Christ is identified as a tekt?n, often translated as “carpenter” in many New Testament versions (Mark 6:3). In Matthew, Joseph is also indentified as the same (Matthew 13:55). It was not uncommon for a son or dependent to follow in the trade of his father or guardian, so it is not surprising that Joseph and Jesus are identified with the same trade in the Gospels. Additionally people were some times identified with their trade (see Acts 10:5).
Tekt?n has been interpreted in various ways since New Testament times, including the generally accepted terms “carpenter” or “builder.” Joseph and Jesus may have built household furniture or homes working specifically with lintels and joists (the main wood components in a first-century house). Later traditions describe his employment as “making plows and yokes” for oxen (Didache 88:8). Another tradition prefers interpreting the word for carpenter as a homebuilder (Gospel of James 9:3). Some modern scholars point out the tekt?n can also mean a stonemason. In a small village like Nazareth, we could expect Joseph and Jesus Christ to use their talents in various ways, including working with wood and stone.
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Yes, I'm aware he is called a carpenter in Mark, but no where does it talk about him building household furniture or anything else for that matter. Rather, most scholars
refer to the term "carpenter" because his father was a carpenter and it was typical that sons followed their father. For all I or anyone knows, he may have
helped his father when he was a boy, but there is no verse or passage to confirm that.
Rather, he spent his adult life teaching, not woodworking.... Since I like wine, I'll call him a winemaker, but in that instance, back to our point, he didn't make any profit. :-)
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From memory, very little is known about Jesus from childhood to age 35. I think it's reasonable to assume he was working as a youth and adult in that time period.
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The Custom That Refused to Die Shevat 14, 5772 • February 7, 2012
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
There’s an enthralling story about the Ten Commandments and the role they played in Jewish worship and the synagogue.
It begins with a little-known fact. There was a time when there were not three paragraphs in the prayer we call the Shema, but four. The Mishnah1 tells us that in Temple times the officiating priests would first say the Ten Commandments, and then the three paragraphs of the Shema.
We have several pieces of independent evidence for this. The first consists of four papyrus fragments acquired in Egypt in 1898 by the then secretary of the Society of Biblical Archaeology, W. L. Nash. Pieced together and located today in the Cambridge University Library, they are known as the Nash Papyrus. Dating from the second century BCE, they contain a version of the Ten Commandments, immediately followed by the Shema. Almost certainly the papyrus was used for prayer in a synagogue in Egypt before the birth of Christianity, at a time when the custom was to include all four paragraphs.
Tefillin from the Second Temple period, discovered in the Qumran caves along with the Dead Sea Scrolls, contained the Ten Commandments. Indeed a lengthy section of the halachic midrash on Deuteronomy, the Sifri, is dedicated to proving that we should not include the Ten Commandments in the tefillin, which suggests that there were some Jews who did so, and that the rabbis needed to be able to show that they were wrong.
We also have evidence from both the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds that there were communities in Israel and Babylon who sought to introduce the Ten Commandments into the prayers, and that the rabbis had to issue a ruling against doing so. There is even documentary evidence that the Jewish community in Fostat, near Cairo, kept a special scroll in the ark called the Sefer al-Shir, which they took out after the conclusion of the daily prayers and read from it the Ten Commandments.
So the custom of including the Ten Commandments as part of the Shema was once widespread, but from a certain point in time it was systematically opposed by the sages. Why did they object to it? Both the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds say it was because of the “claim of the sectarians.”
Jewish sectarians—some identify them as a group of early Christians, but there is no compelling evidence for this—argued that only the Ten Commandments were binding, because only they were received by the Israelites directly from G d at Mount Sinai. The others were received through Moses, and this sect (or perhaps several of them) held that they did not come from G d. They were Moses’ own invention, and therefore not binding.
There is a midrash that gives us an idea of what the sectarians were saying. It places in the mouth of Korach and his followers, who rebelled against Moses, these words: “The whole congregation are holy. Are you [Moses and Aaron] the only ones who are holy? All of us were sanctified at Sinai . . . and when the Ten Commandments were given, there was no mention of challah or terumah or tithes or tzitzit. You made this all up yourself.”
So the rabbis were opposed to any custom that would give special prominence to the Ten Commandments, since the sectarians were pointing to such customs as proof that even orthodox Jews treated them differently from the other commands. By removing them from the prayer book, the rabbis hoped to silence such claims.
But the story does not end there. So special were the Ten Commandments to Jews that they found their way back. Rabbi Jacob ben Asher, author of Tur (14th century), suggested that one should say them privately. Rabbi Joseph Caro argues that the ban applies only to reciting the Ten Commandments publicly during the service, so they can be said privately after the service. That is where you find them today in most prayerbooks—immediately after the morning service. Rabbi Shlomo Luria had the custom of reading the Ten Commandments at the beginning of prayer, before the start of Pesukei de-Zimrah, the Verses of Praise.
That was not the end of the argument. Given that we do not say the Ten Commandments during public prayer, should we nonetheless give them special honor when we read them from the Torah, whether on Shavuot or in the weeks of Parshat Yitro and Va’etchanan? Should we stand when they are being read?
Maimonides found himself involved in a controversy over this question. Someone wrote him a letter telling the following story. He was a member of a synagogue where originally the custom was to stand during the reading of the Ten Commandments. Then a rabbi came and ruled otherwise, saying that it was wrong to stand, for the same reason as it was forbidden to say the Ten Commandments during public prayer. It could be used by sectarians, heretics and others to claim that even the Jews themselves held that the Ten Commandments were more important than the other 603. So the community stopped standing. Years later another rabbi came, this time from a community where the custom was to stand for the Ten Commandments. The new rabbi stood, and told the congregation to do likewise. Some did. Some did not, since their previous rabbi had ruled against doing so. Who was right?
Maimonides had no doubt. It was the previous rabbi, the one who had told them not to stand, who was in the right. His reasoning was correct also. Exactly the logic that barred it from the daily prayers should be applied to the reading of the Torah. It should be given no special prominence. The community should stay sitting. Thus ruled Maimonides, the greatest rabbi of the Middle Ages. However, sometimes even great rabbis have difficulty persuading communities to change. Then, as now, most communities—even those in Maimonides’ Egypt—stood while the Ten Commandments were being read.
So, despite strong attempts by the sages—in the times of the Mishnah, the Gemara, and later, in the age of Maimonides—to ban any custom that gave special dignity to the Ten Commandments, whether as prayer or as biblical reading, Jews kept finding ways of doing so. They brought it back into daily prayer by saying it privately and outside the mandatory service, and they continued to stand while it was being read from the Torah despite Maimonides’ ruling that they should not.
“Leave Israel alone,” said Hillel, “for even if they are not prophets, they are still the children of prophets.” Ordinary Jews had a passion for the Ten Commandments. They were the distilled essence of Judaism. They were heard directly by the people from the mouth of G d himself. They were the basis of the covenant they made with G d at Mount Sinai, calling on them to become a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. Twice in the Torah they are described as the covenant itself:
Then the L rd said to Moses, “Write down these words, for in accordance with these words I have made a covenant with you and with Israel.” Moses was there with the L rd forty days and forty nights without eating bread or drinking water. And He wrote on the tablets the words of the covenant—the Ten Commandments.2
Then the L rd spoke to you out of the fire. You heard the sound of words but saw no form; there was only a voice. He declared to you his covenant, the Ten Commandments, which He commanded you to follow, and then wrote them on two stone tablets.3
That is why they were originally said immediately prior to the Shema, and why, despite their removal from the prayers, Jews continued to say them—because their recital constituted a daily renewal of the covenant with G d. That, too, is why Jews insisted on standing when they were being read from the Torah: because when they were being given, the Israelites “stood at the foot of the mountain.”4 The Midrash says about the reading of the Ten Commandments on Shavuot: “The Holy One, blessed be He, said to the Israelites: My children, read this passage every year, and I will account it to you as if you were standing before Mount Sinai and receiving the Torah.”
Jews kept searching for ways of recreating that scene, by standing when they listened to it from the Torah, and by saying it privately after the end of the morning prayers. Despite the fact that they knew their acts could be misconstrued by heretics, they were too attached to that great epiphany—the only time in history G d spoke to an entire people—to treat it like any other passage in the Torah. The honor given to the Ten Commandments was the custom that refused to die.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Tamid 5:1.
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Certainly I have had some conflicts with my fellow Jews, particularly those who are liberal but nothing like this from one of the first openly lesbian celebrities who was a life long Republican, anti Roosevelt an New Deal dissenter. Interesting since she was gay and female at a time when that was far more taboo than now. Yet to nominate Hitler for the Nobel Peace prize in part for ridding Germany of Jews?? Wow.
What was that all about?
She later speaks of Roosevelt along with Trotzky, Hitler, Mussolini, and Stalin in the same breath. She certainly sounds like she believed in personal responsibility and freedom of thought and I think, at least later on from government.
****Institute for Historical Review
Gertrude Stein's Complex Worldview
Nobel Peace Prize for Hitler?
By Mark Weber
Scholars of the life of Gertrude Stein were recently startled to learn that in 1938 the prominent Jewish-American writer had spearheaded a campaign urging the Nobel committee to award its Peace Prize to Adolf Hitler. This was disclosed by Gustav Hendrikksen, a former member of the Nobel committee and now professor emeritus of Bible studies at Sweden's Uppsala University, in Nativ, a political magazine published in Israel. (Reports about this appeared in the New York Jewish community weekly Forward, Feb. 2, June 14, and Oct. 25, 1996.)
Hendrikksen, an avowed friend of Israel who is now in his late 80s, recalled that the Nobel committee rejected Stein's proposal "politely but firmly, citing among their reasons the attitude of the Nazi regime toward the Jews."
In the decades before her death in 1946, Stein was a widely acclaimed literary icon. As monarch of the "lost generation" of American expatriates in Paris during the 1920s and 1930s, she cultivated and influenced such literary figures as Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald, as well as such artists as Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse. Her Paris home was a mecca for writers and artists. Stein's own "modernist" novels, memoirs, lectures and plays -- once celebrated as stylishly avant garde -- have not aged well. Today she is remembered almost as much for who she was as for what she wrote.
Born in Pennsylvania of a wealthy German-Jewish family, she was raised in the United States, and attended Radcliffe and Johns Hopkins universities. But it was during her years of expatriate living in France that she made her lasting mark.
'Hitler Ought to Have the Peace Prize'
Stein's seemingly paradoxical views about Hitler and fascism have never been a secret. As early as 1934, she told a reporter that Hitler should be awarded the Nobel peace prize. "I say that Hitler ought to have the peace prize, because he is removing all the elements of contest and of struggle from Germany. By driving out the Jews and the democratic and Left element, he is driving out everything that conduces to activity. That means peace ... By suppressing Jews ... he was ending struggle in Germany" (New York Times Magazine, May 6, 1934).
As astonishing at it may seem today, in 1938 many credited Hitler for his numerous efforts to secure lasting peace in Europe on the basis of equal rights of nations. After assuming power in 1933, he succeeded in quickly establishing friendly relations with Poland, Italy, Hungary, and several other European nations. Among his numerous initiatives to lessen tensions in Europe, the German leader offered detailed proposals for mutual reductions of armaments by the major powers.
In a 1940 essay, Stein wrote positively of the appointment of "collaborationist" Henri Philippe Petain as France's Chief of State, comparing him to George Washington. As late as 1941, she was urging the Atlantic Monthly to publish speeches by Marshal Petain, which she had translated into English. In spite of her background, Stein continued to live and write in France during the years of German occupation (1940-1944).
She also maintained a friendship with Bernard Fay, who headed France's national library, the Bibliotheque Nationale, during the Petain era. According to a new biography of Stein, Favored Strangers: Gertrude Stein and Her Family, by Linda Wagner-Martin, Fay and Stein often discussed "the Führer's qualities of greatness" in the years before the outbreak of war in 1939. Even after the war, when he was convicted as a collaborationist, Stein and her close companion Alice Toklas remained good friends with Fay and lobbied to free him from prison.
Conflicted Sense of Jewishness
Like many of this century's Jewish American intellectuals, Stein's relationship to her own Jewishness was complex and conflicted. She was sensitive to anti-Jewish sentiment, and sometimes expressed criticism of Hitler. In 1936 she wrote: "There is too much fathering going on just now and there is no doubt about it fathers are depressing. Everybody now-a-days is a father, there is father Mussolini and father Hitler and father Roosevelt and father Stalin and father Trotzky ..."
Estranged from the organized Jewish community, in part because of her eccentricity and lesbianism, she nevertheless retained an acute and proud sense of her Jewishness. According to Wagner-Martin, Stein once said, "all men of genius had Jewish blood," and even developed a theory that Abraham Lincoln was part Jewish.
During the first decade of this century, Stein became enamored of Austrian-Jewish psychologist and philosopher Otto Weininger, whose major work, Geschlecht und Charakter ("Sex and Character"), had tremendous influence on European thinking. Following its first publication in 1903, the book was quickly translated into various languages, and went through 30 editions. Weininger contrasted the masculine "Being" of Aryanism and Christianity with the feminine "non-Being" of Judaism. Jesus was the only Jew to overcome Judaism, he argued. Zionism, in Weininger's view, is the negation of Judaism, because it seeks to ennoble what cannot be ennobled. Whereas Judaism stands for the world dispersion of Jews, Zionism strives for their ingathering.
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From The Journal of Historical Review, Sept-Oct. 1997 (Vol. 16, No. 5), pp. 22 ff.
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Weekly Sermonette
Giving or Getting?
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/346094/jewish/Giving-or-Getting.htm
The very first United Jewish Appeal was launched this week. Our Parshah deals with the first fundraising campaign in history. Moses initiated it in order to build the Sanctuary in the wilderness as well as all to acquire all the materials needed for the special utensils required for the sacred services. This is, therefore, a good time to talk about the art of giving.
The holy Rabbi Israel of Ruzhin said that while some people claim that "If you give you are a fool and if you take you are clever," Jewish tradition teaches us that those who give and think they are only giving are, in fact, the fools. But those who give and understand that they are also receiving at the same time are truly wise.
The truth is that in giving, we actually receive more than we give. And not only a slice of heaven in far-away paradise, but even in the here and now. Certainly, in our relationships--whether family, business or social--our generosity is often reciprocated and we find the other party responding in kind. But it goes beyond giving in order to get back. The very fact that we have done good, that which is right and noble, gives us a sense of satisfaction. "The takers of the world may eat better. But the givers of the world sleep better."
This explains the unusual expression in our G-d's words to Moses in our Parshah: v'yikchu li terumah--"and they shall take for me a contribution." Why take? Surely, give would be the more correct term. But because in giving we are also receiving, the word take is also appropriate. For the same reason we find that the Hebrew expression for "acts of loving kindness" ("gemilut chassadim") is always in the plural form. Because every time someone performs a single act of kindness, at least two people are benefiting--the receiver and also the giver.
I have seen people over the years who were good people, giving people, who shared and cared for others. Then, after years of being givers, they stopped. Why? They became frustrated at the lack of appreciation for all their hard work. After all they had done for others, they never even got a simple "Thank You." So they were disappointed, disillusioned, and in some instances, even bitter. They resigned from public life and from whatever community services they were involved in.
How sad that they didn't realize that even if human beings are notoriously unappreciative, G-d Almighty takes note of every act of kindness we perform. And He responds with infinite blessings in his own way. Our sages taught that if we express regret over the good that we have done, we might well forfeit all the merits we would have otherwise deserved.
The rabbinate is one of the helping professions. Anyone involved in a congregational position doesn't only make speeches and teach Torah. One is called upon to serve in a pastoral role--visiting, helping, counseling, comforting. While it can be very taxing and often emotionally draining, it is without doubt a source of deep satisfaction; particularly when one is able to make a real difference in people's lives.
There are, of course, many people I have been privileged to help in one way or another over the years. One feels a very profound sense of purpose knowing that you were able to help someone through a crisis, or lift their spirits in a hospital, or give them hope and solace in a time of loss. Sure, I was the giver. But I received so much back in return. My life was rendered so much more meaningful, more worthy, for having helped a person in need.
I shall never forget the look on a young woman's face when I gave her the good news that I had managed to locate her wayward, absentee husband and convinced him to sign on the dotted line to give her the long awaited Get that would finally free her to get on with her life. She was so radiant, absolutely beaming with joy. Whatever efforts I had made on her behalf were well worth it just to see her feel the freedom.
So whenever you think you're a big deal because you did something for a good cause, remember; you are receiving much more than you are giving. Let us all be givers and be blessed for it.
By Yossy Goldman More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Rabbi Yossy Goldman was born in Brooklyn, New York, to a distinguished Chabad family. In 1976 he was sent by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of righteous memory, as a Chabad-Lubavitch emissary to serve the Jewish community of Johannesburg, South Africa. He is Senior Rabbi of the Sydenham Highlands North Shul since 1986, president of the South African Rabbinical Association, and a frequent contributor to Chabad.org.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Judaism’s Bill of Obligations in Marriage
A daily reminder on what it means to be a mensch.
http://www.aish.com/f/m/Judaisms_Bill_of_Obligations_in_Marriage.html
Judaism is a system for living that is built on obligations as opposed to rights. This is especially true with respect to the Jewish approach to marriage. Obligations foster responsibility and giving. Rights foster a sense of entitlement which can lead to irresponsibility. In Judaism, one is not entitled to anything. Everything good we have is a gift.
So with this in mind, I present Judaism’s Bill of Obligations in Marriage:
I have an obligation to:
1. To be a mensch. (Need I say more? Then let me spell it out for you…)
2. Strive to give my spouse pleasure, not pain.
3. Avoid blaming and attacking my spouse for things that bother me..
4. Express what I need and not expect my spouse to mind read.
5. Take my spouse’s feelings and needs seriously.
6. Make sure that my spouse feels emotionally safe with me.
7. Give my spouse a consistent and enjoyable physical intimacy.
Continue Reading at
http://www.aish.com/f/m/Judaisms_Bill_of_Obligations_in_Marriage.html
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I have a question for Rachel; I have learned a lot about the Jewish faith from your post; and, a lot about life in general.
In spite of GM's accusations, I am not anti-semetic (although sometimes I do disagree with the policies of Israel) I have nothing against people of the Jewish faith; in fact, I admire them greatly for their achievement and their response to adversity. I used to work for Cantor Fitzgerald; a Jewish firm. I still remember Bernie (Cantor) saying when I asked him who is Fitzgerald he said, "I just made him up. It was good for business to have an Irish name along mine." I remember being in his office in Beverly Hills and the World Trade Center; I admired his business acumen and his love for Rodin. His offices will filled with sculptures; it was like being in a museum. It was tragic what happened; many people I knew died, however I had already left the firm by then.
Anyway, often times I am not PC. Yet I mean no insult. So my question is, with all due respect, in casual conversation, is the word "Jew" offensive? i.e. He is a "Jew" for example? I mean I often say, Christians, I don't say Christian faith, etc. I think you get my question. Of course, context is important, but as a generalization, is it offensive? I mean I have heard Jewish people say, "I am a Jew" and be proud of it. Why not? What's wrong with that?
I look forward and will respect your opinion.
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In spite of GM's accusations, I am not anti-semetic (although sometimes I do disagree with the policies of Israel)
Of course not, you just hold the only Jewish state in the world to impossible standards as they struggle to survive the constant war waged against them by the same people that cheered and celebrated when the towers came down.
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"is the word "Jew" offensive?"
Of course I only speak for myself. As for me the answer is no.
Anymore than I would think calling one Irish, Mormon, Catholic, Polish would be offensive.
Let me ask you this though:
"Cantor Fitzgerald; a Jewish firm"
I am not sure what this means. Was Cantor Fitzgerald owned and run by Jews as a "Jewish" firm?
Fitzgerald? WHy not a Jewish/Irish firm?
You worked there and are not Jewish.
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""Cantor Fitzgerald; a Jewish firm"
I am not sure what this means. Was Cantor Fitzgerald owned and run by Jews as a "Jewish" firm?
Fitzgerald? WHy not a Jewish/Irish firm?
You worked there and are not Jewish."
____
I guess what I meant was the the vast majority of the employees were of the Jewish faith. There were no Irishmen in management
to my knowledge; as I mentioned Fitzgerald was a fictional name added by Bernie for PR purposes.
And yes, I did work there and am not Jewish. It's an outstanding firm, fine brilliant people, especially on the trading desk; that said, to be honest,
if you are not Jewish, it is hard to rise in management. When I worked there, I bet 3/4's+ of the employees were of the Jewish faith and 100% of management.
Please note, that was quite some years ago. I don't know the current environment.
As a side note, the firm's generosity to families of those who died in the World Trade Center is truly amazing.
I'm glad to hear you don't think the word "Jew" to be offensive. If you search for "Jew" under Google a little while ago you received
an apology message along with your search as if you are saying something offensive. It bewildered me.
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I have a question for Rachel; I have learned a lot about the Jewish faith from your post; and, a lot about life in general.
In spite of GM's accusations, I am not anti-semetic (although sometimes I do disagree with the policies of Israel) I have nothing against people of the Jewish faith; in fact, I admire them greatly for their achievement and their response to adversity. I used to work for Cantor Fitzgerald; a Jewish firm. I still remember Bernie (Cantor) saying when I asked him who is Fitzgerald he said, "I just made him up. It was good for business to have an Irish name along mine." I remember being in his office in Beverly Hills and the World Trade Center; I admired his business acumen and his love for Rodin. His offices will filled with sculptures; it was like being in a museum. It was tragic what happened; many people I knew died, however I had already left the firm by then.
Anyway, often times I am not PC. Yet I mean no insult. So my question is, with all due respect, in casual conversation, is the word "Jew" offensive? i.e. He is a "Jew" for example? I mean I often say, Christians, I don't say Christian faith, etc. I think you get my question. Of course, context is important, but as a generalization, is it offensive? I mean I have heard Jewish people say, "I am a Jew" and be proud of it. Why not? What's wrong with that?
I look forward and will respect your opinion.
JDN,
Thank you for your kind words
You would have actually have to ask an anti-Semite that question.
Jew is more often used derogatorily than jewish so it has negative connotations. It is not that Jew is necessarily an insult but that the person using word Jew instead of Jewish is more likely being insulting.
Google Jew and Jewish for example.
Wikipedia has an explanation as well
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jew_%28word%29
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Weekly Sermonette The Missing Moses
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/346413/jewish/The-Missing-Moses.htm
A seemingly dubious distinction belongs to this week's parshah, Tetzaveh (Exodus 27:20-30:10). It is the only reading in the Torah where the name of Moses is not mentioned, from the first parshah of the Book of Exodus (in which he is born) until the end of the Book of Numbers.1 Tetzaveh's opening words are V'atah tetzaveh -- "and you shall command." The you is Moses and G‑d is telling him what to instruct the Jewish people. But the verse only says "you" -- no name, no "Moses."
Why?
Some explain that the day of Moses' passing, 7 Adar, almost always occurs in this week, and the absence of his name is an appropriate symbol of his demise. Others suggest that it is as a result of Moses' own words. Remember the Golden Calf episode? The people had sinned and G‑d was going to wipe them out and start over again with Moses and his own dynasty. Moses defended his errant flock before the Almighty arguing for their forgiveness. And if not? Well, Moses used some very strong words there. Micheini noh misifrecho -- "Erase me from your book that You have written!" Moses himself said his name should be erased from the Torah if G‑d would not forgive His people. So even though G‑d did forgive them, the words of a tzaddik (perfectly righteous person) are eternal and leave an impression. The effect of those words, therefore, was that somewhere in the Book, in Torah, his name would be erased. Moses would be missing where he normally should have appeared. Thus it is that in the week when we remember his passing, Moses' name is gone.
So say a variety of commentaries. But, characteristically, the Chassidic commentaries, reflecting the inner dimension of Torah, go a step further -- and deeper. What's in a name? they ask. Who needs a name? Does a person require a name for himself? Not really, he knows who he is. So a name is essentially for other people to be able to attract his attention, so they can call him, address him, etc. In other words, a name is only an external handle, a vehicle for others to identify or describe a person; but it is all outside of the person himself and peripheral to his own true, inner identity. Names are secondary to the essence of an individual. The essence of every person, who he or she really is, is beyond any name, beyond any title.
So why is Moses' name not mentioned? Because he said, “Erase me” at the Golden Calf? Because he spoke with chutzpah before the Almighty? You think it is a punishment? Not at all, says the Rebbe. On the contrary, this was perhaps the greatest moment in the life of our greatest spiritual leader.
What would we imagine to be Moses' finest hour? Receiving the Torah? Leading the Jews to the Exodus? Splitting the Sea? Would you be shocked if I told you it is none of the above? Indeed, Moses' finest, most glorious, absolutely greatest moment on earth was when he stood his ground before G‑d, pleading for his people, fighting for their forgiveness. His most brilliant, shining hour was when he put his own life and future on the line and said: "G‑d, if they go, I go! If you refuse to forgive these sinners, then erase my name from your holy Torah!" It was through Moses' total commitment towards his people that the faithful shepherd saved his flock from extinction. And G‑d Himself was pleased with His chosen shepherd's words and acceded to his request.
So the absence of Moses' name this week, far from being a negative, carries with it a profound blessing. It does not say the name Moses, but "v'atah" -- and You. A name is only a name, but here G‑d talks to Moses in the second person directly. You. And the You represents something far deeper than a mere name; it is the You symbolizing the spiritual essence of Moses. And what is that essence? His unflinching commitment to his people, come what may -- even if it be at his own expense.
This is the very soul of Moses, the faithful shepherd. The You that goes beyond the superficial and beyond what any name could possibly encapsulate. It represents the deepest core of his neshamah, deeper than any appellation or detailed description could hope to portray.
Moses' name may be missing, but his spiritual presence is felt in a way that no name could ever do justice to. May all our leaders take note and be inspired.
FOOTNOTES1.The Torah's last book, Deuteronomy, consists wholly of Meses' closing words to the people of Israel before his passing. By Yossy Goldman More articles... | Rabbi Yossy Goldman was born in Brooklyn, New York, to a distinguished Chabad family. In 1976 he was sent by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of righteous memory, as a Chabad-Lubavitch emissary to serve the Jewish community of Johannesburg, South Africa. He is Senior Rabbi of the Sydenham Highlands North Shul since 1986, president of the South African Rabbinical Association, and a frequent contributor to Chabad.org.
About the artist: Dovid Brook lives in Sydney, Australia, and has been selling his art since he was in high school. He is currently painting and doing web illustrations. To view or purchase David’s art, please visit davidasherbrook.com.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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JDN
Sure Jew could be used in a way that is more of an insult. Like "that Jew". Could be for anything I guess. Like that "American".
Like that "Arab". Like that "Communist" that "Nazi".
Fitzgerald - made up by founder.
I forgot you did mention that.
Yes it does sound like the firm may have been run with faith based nepotism in mind. Perhaps it just gravitated that way.
As for labels many inferences are best understood only in context.
Like calling one a liberal could just be a form of adjective describing/summarizing one's political views.
OTOH when I call someone a liberal I am clearly thinking derrogatory thoughts. :wink:
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http://www.aish.com/f/p/The_Facebook_Parent_A_Response.html
How to really help your troubled teen.
by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
The Facebook Dad got over 28 million views on You Tube.
He sits on a lawn chair, his smoking cigarette dangles at his side, looks straight into the camera and speaks to us all.
“This is for my daughter Hannah and all her friends who think that her rebellious post on Facebook is cute.”
This father spent six hours and $130 fixing his daughter’s laptop only to discover her secret post on Facebook, cursing him out. [The following quote has been cleaned up for this family site.]
“To my parents: I am not your slave….It’s not my responsibility to clean up your garbage...You could just pay me for all the stuff I do around the house…I am tired of picking up after you…. I need to clean, do work around the house, chores, and school work. I’m tired of this garbage. I have no life.”
Dad takes a moment and then responds to his daughter’s obnoxious words.
To read the rest of the article go here
http://www.aish.com/f/p/The_Facebook_Parent_A_Response.html
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May I suggest that this one would be better on the Parenting thread?
Also, it was a semi-auto, not a revolver. :lol: :lol: :lol:
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The Illustrated Guide to World Religions: A Guide to our Wisdom Traditions From the subchapter on Judaism entitled "Meaning in Morality":
"Human beings are social creatures. Without other people they fail to become human; yet with other people they often act barbarically. The need for Morality stems from this double fact. Nobody likes rules any more than they like stop lights, but without constraints, human relations would become as snarled as traffic jams. The Jews compiled their law to stipulate the constraints they thought life requires. Rabbinic Law contains 613 commandments, but four will suffice for our purposes. The four ethical precepts of the Ten Commandments, they were enacted to control the four principal danger zones in human relationships, which are force, wealth, sex, and speech.
What the Ten Commandments prescribe in these areas are the minimum standards that make collective life possible. Regarding force they say in effect: you can bicker and fight, but killing within the in-group will not be tolerated, for it instigates blood feuds that rip the community apart. "Thou shalt not murder." Similarly with sex. you can be flirtatious, even promiscuous, and though we may not approve, we will not take action unless the parties are married. Then we will step in, for infidelities there rouse passions the community can't stand. "Thou shalt not commit adultery." As for posessions, you may make your pile as large as you please and be shrewd and cunning in the enterprise, but direct pilfering off someone else's pile is tabboo; for this violates the sense of fair play and generates animosities that get out of hand. "Thou shalt not steal." Finally, regarding the spoken word you may dissemble and equivocate, but there is one time when we require that you tell the truth. If a dispute reaches such proportions as to be brought before a tribunal, its judges must know what happened. If you lie then, while under oath, the penalty will be severe. "Thou shalt not bear false witness." The importance of the Ten Commandments in their ethical dimensions lies not in their uniqueness but in their universality. They do not speak the final word on the topic they address. They speak the words that must be spoken if others are to follow."
Huston Smith "is widely regarded as the most eloquent and accessible contemporary authority on the history of religions. A leading figure in the comparative philosophy of religion, he has taught at Washington University, MIT, and Syracuse University. He currently teaches at the University of California-Berkley."
Hopefully that will answer some of the questions you had Guro Crafty. This book is the best and most informative one I have come across as an unbiased introduction into world religion.
http://www.amazon.com/Illustrated-Worlds-Religions-Wisdom-Traditions/dp/0060674407/ref=sr_1_1/104-1654534-1222333?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1188484266&sr=8-1
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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vulcan_salute
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A democrat I like! Who knew?
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcsfYgFfP1s[/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcsfYgFfP1s
Note how he doesn't need a teleprompter. I hope he is as good as he seems to be.
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Heck, I'ld like him even if he was a Republican. :-)
http://www.cnn.com/2012/04/13/us/new-jersey-mayor-rescue/index.html?hpt=hp_c1
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The Thick Lagoon of Ego
=======================
He has an opinion of how each person should be, how each thing should be done. Those
who follow his choreography are his friends, those who dare dance their own dance
are his enemies; and few, if any, are left without a label.
In truth, he has neither enemies nor friends. He has only himself, for that is all
that exists in his world.
"If you don't want to be so lonely," we tell him, "make some room for the rest of us."
A Daily Dose of Wisdom from the Rebbe
-words and condensation by Tzvi Freeman
Nissan 30, 5772 * April 22, 2012
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http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/23/education/robo-readers-used-to-grade-test-essays.html?_r=1&ref=us
A recently released study has concluded that computers are capable of scoring essays on standardized tests as well as human beings do.
Mark Shermis, dean of the College of Education at the University of Akron, collected more than 16,000 middle school and high school test essays from six states that had been graded by humans. He then used automated systems developed by nine companies to score those essays.
Computer scoring produced “virtually identical levels of accuracy, with the software in some cases proving to be more reliable,” according to a University of Akron news release.
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:-o :-o :-o
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http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-gapay-holocaust-father-20120506,0,4625482.story
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Does this go here???
http://www.livescience.com/16585-psychopaths-speech-language.html
How words give them away
To examine the emotional content of the murderers' speech, Hancock and his colleagues looked at a number of factors, including how frequently they described their crimes using the past tense. The use of the past tense can be an indicator of psychological detachment, and the researchers found that the psychopaths used it more than the present tense when compared with the nonpsychopaths. They also found more dysfluencies — the "uhs" and "ums" that interrupt speech — among psychopaths. Nearly universal in speech, dysfluencies indicate that the speaker needs some time to think about what they are saying.
With regard to psychopaths, "We think the 'uhs' and 'ums' are about putting the mask of sanity on," Hancock told LiveScience.
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BD:
I'm thinking here http://dogbrothers.com/phpBB2/index.php?topic=2314.0 would be better.
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http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2012/05/08/the_crazy_invented_worlds_of_maurice_sendak_.html
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Jew Forever Sivan 1, 5772 • May 22, 2012
By Sarah Zadok
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We recently moved away from a neighborhood where virtually everyone wears their Judaism on their long sleeves. Black hats; headscarves; yarmulkes of every size, color and texture. Long, flowing skirts; straight, kick-pleated skirts; stockings in the summertime; and, of course, the ever-present tzitzit a-flying. If there is a piece of Jewish regalia that exists, you can find it there.
When the sun sets on Friday evenings in the small city where we used to live, it’s like someone pushed a communal Sabbath button. Presto! The cars disappear, and the streets fill with men and boys in clean white shirts, and women and girls dressed to the nines in their Shabbat finery. There is even a loudspeaker that blasts a very upbeat “Oy, yoy, yoy, yoy, yoy Shabbes!” tune 18 minutes before candle-lighting, just to help get us fired up.
Even from afar, he looked a little scary
It helped a little.
We have moved to a much smaller and more diverse country town in Northern Israel, with Jews of all shapes and sizes. A good portion of the folks here are committed to Shabbat observance, while an equal-sized portion are not. There are no “oy yoy yoy's" on loudspeakers, no instant cessation of cars driving on the streets Friday nights; but there is a very special and authentic Jewish energy that pulses through this place.
That pulse just about smacked me over the head recently, when a holy Jew crossed my path and reminded me that being a Jew goes far beyond what we look like or how we dress.
I was out for a little Shabbat stroll with my kids. We were headed for the park down the hill, and a young, shirtless man was walking towards us. Even from afar, he looked a little scary. He was heavily tattooed, had a large chain swinging from his pocket, and was smoking a cigarette. He walked with a swagger that gave off an “I dare you to pass judgment on me” vibe.
I started to feel just the slightest bit anxious, so I tried my best to channel my inner “We’re all beautiful in G d’s eyes” vibe. As he got closer, I decided I would make eye contact with him and wish him a “Shabbat Shalom.” But before I could, my eight-year-old daughter, a budding reader with a tendency to read anything in bold print aloud, pointed to the man and said, “Jew forever.”
Stunned by her total acceptance and her incredible depth, I said, “That is so beautiful, love.”
“No, it says on his chest, ‘Jew Forever.’”
Oh.
Indeed, this young man had big, bold, capital Gothic letters that spelled the words “Jew Forever” tattooed across his chest. I must have been in information overload when we actually passed each other, because I don’t remember if we exchanged “Shabbat Shalom's or not . . . but something was exchanged, something I won’t be forgetting any time soon.
For the record, tattooing is explicitly forbidden according to Jewish law. If it is possible to put that aside for a moment, I would like to assert that this man’s commitment to his Jewish identity absolutely amazed and inspired me. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to speak to him and ask him for his backstory. I can only imagine what inspired such a wanton expression of Jewish pride. But, as the Baal Shem Tov teaches, we are meant to learn from the things that G d puts in our paths. I learned several things from that tattooed man.
1. Jews are hardcore.
2. Being a Jew is way more about who you are than what you look like.
3. I understood then, in a way that I hadn’t understood before, how deep my commitment needs to run.
This young man had big, bold, capital Gothic letters that spelled the words “Jew Forever” tattooed across his chest
There is an unfortunate word that is part of modern Israeli vernacular. The word is chiloni. (I’m not going to spell it phonetically for you, because I don’t want you to say it.) It’s a word that is intended to describe any Jew who doesn’t adhere to Jewish law, who doesn’t keep Shabbat or kosher, for example.
Now the root of the word is chol, which means “mundane” or “ordinary”—it is a word that is intrinsically juxtaposed with the word kodesh, which means “holy” or “separate.” An example of its use is in the havdalah prayer, which we say at the conclusion of Shabbat: “Baruch atah . . . hamavdil bein kodesh l’chol”—“Blessed [are You, G d,] who separates the holy from the mundane.”
The Jewish people were chosen by G d to be an am kadosh, a holy nation. All Jews, regardless of upbringing or behavior, were given uniquely Jewish souls in order to fulfill that mission. The Alter Rebbe, the first Chabad Rebbe, writes in his Tanya that a Jewish soul is “an actual piece of G d.” There is nothing that a Jew can do to destroy his soul, his actual piece of G d. It is an impossibility.
So to call one’s self, or another Jew, a chiloni is downright blasphemy. Ironically, had this special Jew studied a little Tanya, he would have known that “Jew forever” is already tattooed on his heart.
While there may be folks out there who opt to look at that tattooed Jew with disdain or pity for his blatant disregard for Torah law, I have a feeling that G d sees things from a much wider lens. I think it was precisely his holy Jewish soul that inspired his pectoral declaration. While his medium of choice may be misguided, I imagine that his intention was very well received.
I have a feeling that G d sees things from a much wider lens
We now are preparing to celebrate the holiday of Shavuot, the day the Jewish people received the Torah at Mount Sinai. Our sages explain that while we camped at the foot of the mountain waiting for the big day, we were k’ish echad belev echad, like one man with one heart. We looked different from one another, we chose different words to express ourselves, had different ideas about how to speak with our children and how to cook a steak . . . but we knew who we were: one, big, fat, inseparable family.
This Shavuot, as we prepare to receive the Torah anew, may G d give us the strength to push past the outer layers that threaten to separate us, and allow us to see straight into each other’s core—to the place inside all of us that is all G d, all the time.
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http://www.yaledailynews.com/news/2012/may/27/keegan-opposite-loneliness/?cross-campus
The piece below was written by Marina Keegan '12 for a special edition of the News distributed at the class of 2012's commencement exercises last week. Keegan died in a car accident on Saturday. She was 22.
We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that’s what I want in life. What I’m grateful and thankful to have found at Yale, and what I’m scared of losing when we wake up tomorrow and leave this place.
It’s not quite love and it’s not quite community; it’s just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team. When the check is paid and you stay at the table. When it’s four a.m. and no one goes to bed. That night with the guitar. That night we can’t remember. That time we did, we went, we saw, we laughed, we felt. The hats.
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• A sweet lesson on patience.
A NYC Taxi driver wrote:
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. 'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and glassware.
'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.'
'Oh, you're such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive
through downtown?'
'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly..
'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice. 'The doctor says I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now'.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.
'Nothing,' I said
'You have to make a living,' she answered.
'There are other passengers,' I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.'
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
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http://www.jlaw.com/Commentary/solomon.html
http://www.jlaw.com/Commentary/solomon.html
The Brilliant Wisdom of King Solomon
By: Baruch C. Cohen1
The Book of Kings [Melachim 1 3:12] states that Israel's great King Solomon was twelve years old when God promised him that he would be granted great wisdom. He turned out to be the wisest man ever to live. As an illustration of the fulfillment of this blessing of wisdom, the Book of Kings reports the following account of a case that was brought before King Solomon's court in Jerusalem.
Two women came to King Solomon and stood before him. One woman (#1) said: "My Lord, this woman and I dwell in the same house, and I gave birth to a child while with her in the house. On the third day after I gave birth, she also gave birth. We live together; there is no outsider with us in the house; only the two of us were there. The son of this woman died during the night because she lay upon him. She arose during the night and took my son from my side while I was asleep, and lay him in her bosom, and her dead son she laid in my bosom. when I got up in the morning to nurse my son, behold, he was dead! But when I observed him (later on) in the morning, I realized that he was not my son to whom I had given birth!"
The other woman (#2) replied: "It is not so! My son is the live one and your son is the dead one!"
The first woman (#1) responded: "It is not so! Your son is the dead one and my son is the living one!"
They argued before King Solomon.
King Solomon said: "this woman (#2) claims 'My son is the live one and your son is the dead one, 'and this woman (#1) claims 'Your son is the dead one and my son is the living one!"'
King Solomon said, "Bring me a sword!" So they brought a sword before the King. The King said, "Cut the living child in two, and give half to one and half to the other"
The woman (#2) turned to the King, because her compassion was aroused for her son, and said: "Please my Lord, give her the living child and do not kill it!"
But the other woman (#1) said: "Neither mine nor yours shall he be. Cut!"
The King spoke up and said: "Give her (#2) the living child, and do not kill it, for she is his mother!" All of Israel heard the judgment that the King had judged. They had great awe for the King, for they saw that the wisdom of God was within him to do justice. [I Melachim 3:16 - 27]. The woman was rightfully awarded custody of her son.
It should be noted, that King Solomon's was the first major recorded and published decision in the history of legal jurisprudence, and I believe that with the help of the commentaries, one can begin to appreciate the magnificent depth of his wisdom.
OBSERVATIONS
Some say that King Solomon truly knew who was the real mother as soon as he saw the two women. This was the nature of the special divine wisdom that God gave him. As King Solomon was able to understand the speech of the animals and the birds, so he could see the truth in someone's face. His knowledge was of Divine origin. It was infallible.
According to the Abarbanel and Metzudas David, King Solomon studied the countenance of each woman as they presented their claims and counter-claims, and by means of his penetrating and heavenly wisdom, understood which of the two women was telling the truth.
Still, to prove this to the people, he had to demonstrate it in a way that everyone would acknowledge. Perhaps that is why he pretended not to know who said what, and repeated their arguments in reverse order, by repeating Woman #2's argument first, and Woman #1's argument second.
He even pretended to apply the well-known law of dividing disputed property. If two people come to court holding on to the ends of a piece of clothing, and each claims it to be his, the court divides it and gives each one half. King Solomon seemed to pretend to be ignorant of the many complicated details of this law, and to think that it applied to babies as well, which would have been ridiculously simpleminded. No judge would ever make such a foolish mistake. Yet, he succeeded in convincing the two women that he was serious.
Nonetheless, he was careful not to let the trick go too far. He specifically commanded his servants to bring the sword to him, not to give it to one of the guards. They too, were no doubt fooled and he did not want them to divide the baby before he had a chance to stop them. In fact, the King's ministers said "Woe to you Oh Land, whose king is but a boy!" They thought "what has God done to us to give us such a king? How long will we have to suffer with such foolish judgments?" But afterwards, when they saw the women's reactions they knew that he had recently received Divine inspiration and rejoiced saying "Happy are you, oh Land, whose king is a free man!" - i.e., one who studies Torah (Koheles - Ecclesiastes 10:16-17).
King Solomon's trick succeeded. The imposter revealed herself by her heartless cruelty. After all, no mother would have let her own child be killed just to spite another woman.
But how could King Solomon have been sure the other woman would not also have mercy on the child? Wouldn't most people break down in such a situation and relinquish their claims? What sort of person would want to be responsible for the death of an innocent child, even if it were not her own?
Perhaps this was an aspect of the depth of King Solomon's insight - he knew that no normal mother lies on her own child and crushes him in her sleep. Babies always sleep with their mothers and fathers, yet this never happens, for perhaps God implants within a human being an innate sensitivity that prevents her from doing such a thing. A woman who lies on her child must be lacking basic human feeling, and such a person would certainly have no mercy on the child of another. According to the Abarbanel, perhaps such a woman developed a blood lust and possessed a cruel desire to see another life snuffed out.
And what of the compassionate one? Was it not possible that she was acting cunningly to impress the King with a false sense of motherly commiseration?
WHO HAD THE BETTER ARGUMENT?
Notwithstanding the outcome, many believe that Woman #1 still made a convincing and persuasive argument. She made it clear that there were no witnesses because they lived alone. Perhaps she suspected that Solomon would be able to tell how old the baby was and identify the mother. According to the Radak and the Metsudas David, her argument was bolstered by the claim that no one else knew the identities of the babies, nor had one been sick, that the neighbors might remember whose baby it was. When she first got up, it was still dark. She could not recognize the baby, so she did not suspect that it was not hers. All she knew was that it was dead. But when it got light, she saw it and realized what had happened. She asserted that her baby boy was born three days earlier, and therefore there was some reliable distinction available.
Woman #2 had only a brief presentation and did not claim to have any proof. She simply said that the child was hers. All she did was state her case.
Based on the first round of oral arguments, it would appear that Woman #1 had the better claim, and that she was the real mother.
It is noteworthy, that the women did not bring the corpse of the dead child for further identification. Perhaps the child was buried already, or its features were already changed making recognition difficult.
SUBTLE TRUTHS BEGIN TO UNRAVEL
Yet, as the women's dispute continued, their respective positions seemed to change ever so slightly. There was something disturbing and disingenuous about the way in which Woman #1 continued arguing her case, in that she subsequently seemed less concerned with having a live child and focused more on the other having the dead one. The fact that she mentioned the dead child first, in itself, was an indication of this ("It is not so! Your son is the dead one and my son is the living one!").
Woman #2, by contrast, always spoke of her own son first ("No. my son is the living one and your son is the dead one"). It seemed as if her heart was with her son. She spoke out of love and was apparently heartbroken at the thought of potentially losing her child.
According to the Devorim Rabah, King Solomon then repeated the arguments of both women, verbatim, without adding anything, making sure that he properly understood the arguments of both sides, listening carefully, and if there was anything that he misunderstood, the women had an opportunity to correct him.
ODD DEVELOPMENTS IN THE STORY
King Solomon's wisdom surely gave him the insight to foresee that the real mother (#2) would recoil in terror when she heard of his intention to kill the infant, nevertheless, could his wisdom have possibly predicted the liar (#1)'s response - to comply with this grotesque compromise?
Second, the woman who was lying (#1) was initially interested in taking the living child for herself, otherwise she never would have asserted such a bold and aggressive claim.
As soon as the real mother offered to let the liar keep the child in order to spare its life, the liar should have accepted the real mother offer's and kept the child. She could have played up her victory by saying: "Aha! She admits that the baby was truly mine all along! She is a kidnapper but not a murderer. The baby is mine." Instead, she did something totally unpredictable. She refused saying "Neither mine nor yours shall he be. Cut."
I have always wondered what made her suddenly lose interest in having the child for herself?
A brilliant and original answer to these questions is offered by Rabbi Mordechai Kornfeld of
Har Nof Jerusalem, of the Shmayisroel Torah Network (www.shemayisroel.co.il), who cited two 13th century commentators: Rav Yehoshua Ibn Shu'ib in his Drasha for Parshas Mishpatim, and Rav Menachem HaMeiri in his commentary to Yevamos 17a; and another 14th century commentator, the author of Shemen Rokeach and Sha'arHachazokas. They believe that in order to understand the real story behind King Solomon's decision, an understanding of the laws of Yibbum is necessary.
THE LAWS OF YIBBUM.
The Torah describes the practice of Yibbum in the Parsha of Ki Setzei (Devarim 25:5,7,9):
"If there are brothers, and one of them dies without children, the wife of the deceased man may not marry out to another man. Her brother-in-law (her deceased husband's brother) must marry her and thus perform Yibbum on her ... If the man does not want to marry her, she shall approach the elders and declare 'My brother-in-law refuses to establish his brother's name in Israel; he does not consent to perform Yibbum on me'
... Then she shall approach him in the presence of the elders and remove his shoe from his foot, and spit in front of him and proclaim "Such should be done to a man who would not build up his brother's house!"
Yibbum is a Halachic rite which must be performed when a man who has a living brother dies childless. If this uncommon situation occurs, the widow must not remarry unless one of two actions are taken - either she must marry the brother of the deceased or she must be released from the obligation of marrying her brother-in-law by having him perform the Chalitzah ("removing" of the shoe) ceremony.
It is obviously uncomfortable for a woman to be trapped in this situation, wherein she would be subject to the will of another man. Her brother-in-law may not be locatable, compliant or appealing.
There are several fundamental laws concerning the childless nature of the deceased and the age of the bother that control whether Yibbum applies:
LAWS CONCERNING THE CHILDLESS NATURE OF THE DECEASED
1. Rule #1: The man must die childless. According to the Talmud Yevamos 87b, Dying childless includes instances where a man once had children, but these children were already dead at the time of his own death.
2. Rule #2: Grandchildren: According to the Talmud Yevamos 70a, if the deceased man has no living children but he does have living grandchildren, he is not considered to be childless, and therefore, there is no Yibbum obligation.
3. Rule #3: Offspring: According to Talmud Yevamos 11 lb and Shabbos 136a, if the deceased left behind any offspring at all, there is no Yibbum - even if the offspring is only one day old. Even if the offspring is still a viable fetus at the time of the husband's death, its mother is exempted from being bound to the living brother. If the fetus is a stillborn or is aborted, or dies, or is killed before it lived for thirty days, it is not considered to have ever been a viable offspring, and Yibbum would be required.
LAWS CONCERNING THE AGE OF THE DECEASED'S BROTHER
4. Rule #4: Brother-In-Law: According to the Talmud Yevamos 17b, the widow is obligated to marry her deceased husband's brother. If the deceased husband does not leave a living brother, his wife is free to marry whoever she pleases.
5. Rule #5: Minor: According to the Talmud Yevamos 1 05b, if the brother of the deceased is a minor, the widow is still bound to him, and does not have the option of freeing herself through Chalitzah since a minor lacks capacity to perform the ceremony. Instead she must wait until the brother reaches the age of majority (Bar Mitzvah 13) in order for him to render Chalitzah at that time. Only then may she remarry. According to the Talmud Niddah 45a if she wants to marry him, she must wait until he reaches 9 years of age.
APPLICATION & CONCLUSION
We now return to King Solomon's judgment.
The Midrash (Koheles Rabah 10:16) tells us that the reason both of these women were so desperate to have the living child declared theirs was that they were both potential Yevamos (widows subject to Yibbum). Neither of the two had any other offspring. Whoever would be judged to be the childless woman would not only lose the infant, but would also be trapped in the unpleasant status of Yevamah, being dependent upon her brother-in-law's good will.
The Midrash (Yalknt Shimoni 2:175) asserts that the husbands of the two women were father and son, making the two women, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law to each other.
According to the Meiri in his commentary to Yevamos 17a, the two Midrashim may be complementing each other - thanks to our 5-rule Yibbum analysis.
The two women - mother-in-law and daughter-in-law - had just lost their husbands, and needed a live child to exempt them from the status of a Yevamah. Both women gave birth to babies. However, these two babies were still less than 30 days old at the time that one of them died. The mother of the dead child would therefore be subject to the laws of Yibbum (Rule #3). This was the lying mother's motivation for taking the other woman's child.
If it were the mother-in-law's child who had died, she would have no incentive to kidnap her daughter-in-law's child. Even though her son (the deceased husband of her daughter-in-law) had passed away before her own husband had, and therefore he would not exempt her from Yibbum (Rule #1), nevertheless, she would be exempt from Yibbum for another reason. The living child was her son's child, and a grandchild exempts one from Yibbum (Rule #2).
Only the daughter-in-law had the motive to lie and try to claim that the child was hers. If it was her baby who had died within 30 days of its birth, leaving her childless, she would have been bound to her husband's brother as a Yevamah (Rule #4) - and that brother would have been -none other than the living baby (who was in fact her mother-in-law's child - i.e., her deceased husband's bother)! Since her brother-in-law was a newborn, the daughter-in-law would have had to wait 13 years before this baby would be able to perform Chalitzah on her and free her to remarry (Rule #5).
King Solomon realized all of this and suspected that since the only one with a strong motive to lie was the daughter-in-law, the child must really belong to the mother-in-law.
Perhaps this also explains why King Solomon ordered that the child be cut in half.
If the remaining child were to be killed, this too would free the daughter-in-law from her Yevamah status - since the living baby was her only brother-in-law (Rule #3). From the daughter-in-law's perspective, in fact, killing the child would result in a better solution for her. By just kidnaping the child she might have convinced the earthly court that she was not a Yevamah. However, she herself would know that the child was not really hers and that she really was not permitted to remarry, until Chalitzah was performed. By having the baby killed, though, she would truthfully be released from the bonds of Yibbum.
This is the reason the daughter-in-law suddenly lost interest in keeping the child when she saw that King Solomon was ready to cut the child in half. This would serve her interests even more if she took the child for herself. Therefore she insisted: "Cut!"
Young King Solomon guessed that this would be the woman's reaction. By tricking her into making a seemingly ludicrous statement, he revealed her true motives and that she was lying.
This is why, "All of Israel heard the judgment that the King had judged. They had great awe for the King, for they saw that the wisdom of God was within him to do justice."
Respectfully,
BARUCH C. COHEN
FOOTNOTES
Baruch C. Cohen's practice includes all aspects of creditors' and debtors' rights, corporate reorganizations, personal bankruptcies, and all types of bankruptcy litigation in state, federal and bankruptcy courts.
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Practice Makes Perfect Menachem Av 8, 5772 • July 27, 2012
Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe, Rabbi M. M. Schneerson
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Any human being can climb higher than this world. But it’s not a flash from above that will take you there.
Every day, from the time you open your eyes until the time you close them, teach your eyes to see the world as it is seen from above. Teach your eyes to see wonder.
In Hebrew, this is called emunah. Already, you are living in a higher world.
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But you didn't
Remember the day I borrowed your brand
new car and dented it?
I thought you'd kill me, but you didn't.
And remember the time I dragged you to the beach,
and you said it would rain, and it did?
I thought you'd say, "I told you so." But you didn't.
Do you remember the time I flirted with all
the guys to make you jealous, and you were?
I thought you'd leave, but you didn't.
Do you remember the time I spilled strawberry pie
all over your car rug?
I thought you'd hit me, but you didn't.
And remember the time I forgot to tell you the dance
was formal and you showed up in jeans?
I thought you'd drop me, but you didn't.
Yes, there were lots of things you didn't do.
But you put up with me, and loved me, and protected me.
There were lots of things I wanted to make up to you
when you returned from Vietnam.
But you didn't.
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Welcome back Rachel!
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Thanks Marc!
Is the Law of Attraction a Jewish Idea?
Are we really the masters of our own lives?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1402579/jewish/Is-the-Law-of-Attraction-a-Jewish-Idea.htm
By Tzvi Freeman
The Law of Attraction is a popular idea that states that a person’s attitude attracts matching happenstance. Pessimism attracts misfortune, while optimism attracts good fortune.
The power of attitude to change the flow of a person’s life is a tacit assumption of much of Torah literature, particularly in that most influential source of common wisdom, the Psalms. “One who trusts in G‑d, kindness surrounds him!”1 “Fortunate is the man who puts his trust in G‑d!”2
The sages of the Talmud similarly appear to take this law for granted. For example, in dismissing as useless superstition a folk-omen to determine whether one’s journey will meet with success or doom, the sages advise, “But don’t do it.” Why not? “Because perhaps the omen will be negative, the person will worry, and his fortune will go sour.”3
The Zohar describes this optimism effect in cosmic terms:4
The Lower World is always ready to receive and is called a precious stone. The Upper World only gives it according to its state. If its state is of a bright countenance from below, in the same manner it is shone upon from above; but if it is in sadness, it is correspondingly given judgment. Similarly, it is written, “Serve G‑d with joy!”—because human joy draws another supernal joy. Thus, just as the Lower World is crowned, so it draws from above.
Yet, reading those words, you’ll note a critical distinction between this ancient attitude and the law of attraction. The law of attraction places the human being smack in the center of the universe, pulling all the strings. You create your own reality. Jewish optimism, on the other hand, is based on a faith in a fundamentally beneficent Higher Reality.
Jewish optimism doesn’t create or even attract anything new; it simply pulls back the blinds, opens up the windows and allows the light of day to shine in without distortion. G‑d is good and there’s only one of Him—and therefore all that happens must be essentially good. Our faith that this is so allows it to be visibly so.
A metaphor that might help:Optimism just lets the movie play clearly, in hi-res Think of a video streamed through narrow bandwidth, full of ugly artifacts and audio distortion. Similarly, evil and negative events are distortions of life-giving energy from above. Optimism loosens the constrictions, widens the bandwidth and allows the video to flow through in high resolution with minimal compression and zero information loss. The movie was a good movie all along—but now it looks good as well.
Truthfully, in certain situations, trust in G‑d can flip around the underlying reality as well. On the first verse from the Psalms we cited above, Rabbi Yosef Albo (c. 1380–1444) writes:
This means that even if he is not fit of his own accord, nevertheless, this is how trust in G‑d works, drawing kindness freely upon those who trust.5
Similarly, Rabenu Bachye ibn Pakuda (d. 1340):
One who trusts in G‑d is rewarded by being carried high above affliction—even when it is befitting for such affliction to befall him.6
This is more than allowing a clear signal to enter—rather, it is a reciprocal effect.Sometimes, trusting G‑d can change everything Think of a young child walking through a storm, tightly clutching his father’s hand. No matter how exasperated the father may have been with his child’s behavior a moment ago, those tight little fingers around his own elicit an instinctual response to be big and strong, provide and protect—as Wordsworth described, “The child is the father of the man.” Any vestige of anger has suddenly vanished, replaced by pure compassion. So too, our total reliance on G‑d can work wonders when all else has failed.
When the son of Reb Michel Blinner of Nevel was in mortal danger, he asked Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch, the “Tzemach Tzedek,” for a blessing. The Tzemach Tzedek responded, “Awaken the power of trust in G‑d with simple faith that He, blessed be He, will save your son. Thought helps. Think good and it will be good.”
And so it was that Reb Michel’s son was saved.7
Still, none of this makes you the author of your reality. On the contrary, it is your utter surrender to a truth infinitely greater than yourself—a.k.a. G‑d—that effects this change in your reality.
The law of attraction is attractive to human reason—and ego. The kind of optimism that has kept the Jewish People in existence all these millennia is based on neither of these. Rather, it’s firm foundation is a super-rational conviction, one that has proven itself more powerful than any other idea in human history: That life is good, because its Maker is good, and our job in life is to prove it so.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Psalms 32:10
2.
Ibid 40:5
3.
Horayot 12a
4.
Zohar, volume 3, 56a
5.
Ikkarim, maamar 4, end of chapter 46. See also chapter 47.
6.
Rabbeinu Bachya Ben Asher, Kad Hakemach, Bitachon
7.
Rabbi Yosef Yitzchaak Schneerson of Lubavitch, Igrot Kodesh (letters), vol. 7, pg. 197
By Tzvi Freeman More articles... |
Rabbi Tzvi Freeman, a senior editor at Chabad.org, also heads our Ask The Rabbi team. He is the author of Bringing Heaven Down to Earth. To subscribe to regular updates of Rabbi Freeman's writing, visit Freeman Files subscription.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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Forgiveness
By Jay Litvin
These were the days before Yom Kippur. I was lonely and couldn't figure out why. The loneliness had been there for months.
Things were good with my wife and kids. I'd been on the phone with my sisters and in close contact with my friends.
So, what was the source of this loneliness?
I was missing G-d.
I was and had been feeling distant from Him. A strange feeling for me. Even in my late teens I had been able to connect with Him when I needed to. He always answers my calls. Sometimes I don't even need to call. I just feel his companionship as I journey through life.
But these last months had been lonely. I had been separate from Him, unable even to call out. And I didn't know why.
Just before Yom Kippur, I received an e-mail from a friend. He's not a religious Jew, though we discourse often about G-d and Torah. He's a writer and has a way with words. We also share the same disease, and talk much about our symptoms, history, fears, treatments and aches. There's a special something that happens with people who share the same disease. We never have to worry about boring each other. All our concerns and obsessions about the daily changes in our health or symptoms, our latest internet discoveries about new cures and clinical trials may bore others, but are continuously fascinating to us.
At the end of this email my friend wrote: "Jay, this Yom Kippur, I don't think you should go to shul and ask G-d for forgiveness. This Yom Kippur you should stay home and G-d should come crawling on His knees and beg you to forgive Him for what He's done to you."
When I read these lines I laughed. My friend is a sacrilegious provocateur. He believed what he said, but he mainly wrote those words to shock me. I filed his words, but paid them little attention.
As Yom Kippur drew close, I continued to wonder what was taking place between G-d and me. I worried that this day of prayer and fasting would be void of the usual connection that Yom Kippur brings.
And then in a flash I realized that I was angry at G-d. And had been for some time. I was angry about my disease and I was angry that I was not yet healed. I was angry about my pain. And I was angry at the disruption to my life, the fear, the worry and anxiety that my disease was causing my family and those who loved and cared about me. I was angry about the whole thing, and He, being the boss of everything that happens in the world, was responsible and to blame.
And so, I entered Yom Kippur angry at G-d.
I put on my kittel and my tallit and I went to shul. I had received permission from my doctors and rabbi to fast. I beat my chest and listed my sins. I asked forgiveness. And yet, no matter how long the list of sins was, no matter how much I sought forgiveness, I could not find any act so heinous as to deserve the punishment that I felt was being inflicted upon me.
I prayed for G-d's forgiveness, and in my prayer book I read the words that promised His forgiveness. He would forgive me, I read, because that was His nature. He is a forgiver. He loves me. He wants me to be close to Him. And so He forgives me not for any reason, not because I deserve it, but simply because that is who He is. He is merciful and forgives and wipes the slate clean so that we -- He and I -- can be close again for the coming year.
I read these words, nice words, yet my anger remained.
Then I again remembered the email. In his cynicism, my friend had hit the mark: I needed to forgive G-d. I needed to rid myself of my anger and blame for the sickness He had given me. I needed to wipe the slate clean so that He and I could be close once again.
I realized that I was angry at G-d
But how? On what basis should I forgive Him? If He was human, I could forgive Him for His imperfections, His fallibility, His pettiness, His upbringing, His fragility and vulnerabitity. I could try to put myself in His shoes, to understand His position. But He is G-d, perfect and complete! Acting with wisdom and intention. How could I forgive Him?!
As I continued my prayers throughout the day, with my anger and inability to forgive foremost in my mind, the words in my prayer book began to transform from pleas for forgiveness to instructions on how to forgive. Could it be that on this Yom Kippur, G-d was teaching me how to forgive Him? Were these words lessons on forgiveness from the Master of Forgiveness?
The instructions seemed clear: Forgive for the sake of forgiveness. Forgive not because there is a reason that you understand (for you may never understand My ways) nor because I deserve it (for the ways that I manifest are often terrible and frightening). Forgive solely out of love, so we can be close once again. Forgive because you, created in My image, are also a forgiver. I created you with that capacity so that always, no matter what happens in your life, you and I can be close, so that you and whomever you love, despite what transpires between you, can always reunite and begin again, clean and pure, ready for a new start.
The message and instructions were there and I began to hear through the prayers G-d speaking to me, reaching out for reconciliation, waiting for my forgiveness, providing instruction on how to forgive Him.
Again I remembered my friend's provocative e-mail. No, G-d was not crawling. But was He begging? Was He beseeching me for forgiveness and reconciliation? Was our unity more important to Him than any sin I had committed against Him or any pain He had inflicted upon me?
Still, I could not do it. Even seeing the extent to which He was reaching out to me, I was incapable of forgiveness. Though I wanted to forgive, on this day of truth, I saw that I could not. What He had done to me remained too terrible, too intentional to forgive.
As the closing Ne'ilah prayer approached, I was in despair. It all seemed hopeless. When I presented my case before my invisible set of internal of judges I carry with me, I was judged right, He guilty. He deserved my distance and rejection and I would stubbornly and righteously continue it.
As the sun began to set I felt completely alone. The loneliness was intolerable.
The feeling reminded me of times when I argue with my wife. We fight about some injustice or hurt that has occurred. I present my case before my internal judges and I am proven right. I withdraw in righteousness, punish her with rejection and distance. Sometimes it will last a few hours, sometimes a couple of days. But finally, the loneliness sets in. The distance becomes unbearable. The withdrawal demands an end. My desire for reconciliation and reunification overpowers any need to be right or to punish. And so, without needing to even speak about what it was we were fighting about, eventually we forgive each other so that we can be together again, loving again, carrying on our lives and relationship and family in good will and with a fresh start. We don't forgive because of any reason, nor out of our acceptance of each other's human pettiness or frailty or imperfection. We forgive simply from the desire to love and reunite. Simply so we can be together again. So that things will be the way they should.
We forgive simply from the desire to love and reunite
And in the last minutes of Yom Kippur, out of my unbearable loneliness and separation from G-d, I found my ability to forgive. I forgave simply so that we -- G-d and I -- could be close again. So that we would return to the unity that is meant to be between us. Out my love for Him, my need of Him, my inability to carry on without Him I found the capacity somewhere in me. I reached out to Him in forgiveness and in that moment the pain and blame began to recede.
For me, Yom Kippur has not ended. This forgiveness business is not so easy as to be learned and actualized in a day. My anger and resentment, frustration and intolerance still flare, still cause damage. On my bad days it is hard for me to accept all that is happening, changing, challenging my life. But some new dynamic has entered the process. A softening. An acceptance. A letting go. A…. forgiveness.
For, you see, the last thing I want during the fragility of this time in my life is to be separate from G-d or from those whom I love or from the rising sun or a star-filled night.
I don't want anger and blame to ruin any moment of my life nor rend me from the unity with which G-d has created the world and that only I have the power to destroy.
Thankfully, G-d has provided me with the capacity to forgive and, now, in these days since Yom Kippur, he has provided me with the opportunity to reveal that forgiveness. He knows that both He and I, and all those that He and I love, will eventually, continuously do unforgivable things to each other. And despite the pain we will cause each other, we will need to forgive each other.
To not forgive would be an unbearable breach of the unity of creation.
By Jay Litvin More articles... | RSS Listing of Newest Articles by this Author
Jay Litvin was born in Chicago in 1944. He moved to Israel in 1993 to serve as medical liaison for Chabad’s Children of Chernobyl program, and took a leading role in airlifting children from the areas contaminated by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster; he also founded and directed Chabad’s Terror Victims program in Israel. Jay passed away in April of 2004 after a valiant four-year battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and is survived by his wife, Sharon, and their seven children. He was a frequent contributor to the Jewish website Chabad.org.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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What Makes Rosh Hashanah Beautiful
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=7BtgeiIdl7U
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BtgeiIdl7U[/youtube]
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Dip Your Apple - Fountainheads Rosh Hashanah
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlcxEDy-lr0&feature=related
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlcxEDy-lr0&feature=related[/youtube]
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Hey Rachel:
Any suggested readings about Rosh Hashanah so I can sound semi-informed when I explain in to my children (31 and 10)?
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It is the Birthday of the World.
It is a time to start over and plan what you want for you and your family and friends for the next year It is a time to remove bad habits and start new good habits. For the thirteen year old It is time to to ask God that you be worthy of the gift of life for another year and that you use it well.
Chabad actually has a whole kids section
http://www.chabad.org/kids/article_cdo/aid/4750/jewish/Guide.htm
http://www.chabad.org/kids/article_cdo/print/true/aid/4752/jewish/Rosh-Hashanah.htm
Put those party hats away! Getting the year started is serious business!
New Year's day is for us Jews not a time for frivolous rejoicing, but rather a solemn day of prayer. It is the Day of Memorial when all creatures of the earth are remembered by the Creator and judged according to their merits.
Yet, solemn and aweinspiring though this day is, we know that the Supreme judge of the universe is kind and merciful. He is not out to punish us, but merely wants us to follow the laws and regulations He laid down for us for our own good. He has made this Day of Judgment a day of forgiveness and mercy.
Courtesy Farbrengen Magazine
Rosh Hashanah does not find us unprepared. In the month of Elul the approach of Rosh Hashanah was heralded by the daily sounding of the shofar in the synagogue (except Saturdays). During the month of Elul the Jew is particularly careful in the observance of the religious precepts he takes more time for his prayers, he finds himself overflowing with charity and lovingkindness, and resolutely determines to cast away his evil ways and habits of the past.
And a wonderful feeling grips the heart of the true repenter, as if a magic hand has removed the heavy burden that has been weighing upon it in the past. It is the feeling of being able to begin life anew, like a newly born innocent child, with no blemish on his record.
Such is the feeling that the Jew brings with him into the synagogue on the first night of Rosh Hashanah. He finds himself close to Gd, with his prayers pouring out from the very depth of his heart.
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Adam's Birthday ‑ By Yanki Tauber
Adam's Birthday
By Yanki Tauber
Were Adam and Eve Jewish?
The reason I ask is that the Jewish calendar seems to be exclusively about Jewish history and the Jewish experience: Passover celebrates our liberation from Egypt, Shavout our receiving the Torah at Sinai, Yom Kippur is when G-d forgave us for the sin of the Golden Calf and Sukkot recalls the divine protection during our wanderings through the desert. The list goes on: Simchat Torah, Chanukah, Purim, Lag BaOmer, Tishah B'Av--virtually all our holy days, festivals and special dates are distinctly Jewish affairs, concerned with our lives as Jews.
One very significant exception: the festival of Rosh Hashanah, which marks the birthday of the first two human beings, Adam and Eve, who walked the earth some 2,000 years before the first Jew was born and nearly 2,500 years before we were proclaimed a people at Mount Sinai.
And Rosh Hashanah is clearly more than a token "Goyim Appreciation Day." As its name proclaims, it's the head of the Jewish year. And as the Chassidic masters point out, the head of a thing is its primary and most encompassing component.
We Jews have a reputation for being an insular lot. We stand before G-d as Jews, relate to each other as Jews, study, pray, and do acts of kindness as Jews, are born, marry, die and are buried as Jews. And we keep our Jewishness to ourselves: unlike most other religions and isms, we have no interest in converting non-Jews to Judaism. If people show interest, we try to talk them out of it.
So why is the very "head" of our year the one festival which relates to humanity as a whole?
Yet Judaism does have a universal message--one that is fundamental, indeed primal, to our identity as Jews. In the words of our sages, "Civility (derech eretz) comes before Torah."
Long before the Children of Israel received the Torah with its 613 mitzvot, Adam and Eve were given the fundamental laws of civilization. Later, these were reiterated to Noah and his sons and became known as the "Seven Noahide Laws." And when we stood at Sinai to receive "our" mitzvot, we were also given the job of "prevailing upon all inhabitants of the world to accept the laws commanded to the Children of Noah" (Maimonides' Mishnah Torah, Laws of Kings 7:10).
The Noahide Code is Judaism's universal message, yet it is not a "religion." The Noahide Code is not a "religion." This isn't a scaled-down Judaism for non-Jews. Rather, it's G-d's blueprint for civilization, a seven-point foundation for the building of a just, moral and ethical society on earth. The Seven Laws include basics such as: Do not murder your fellow man. Do not steal. Be faithful to your spouse. Do not tear a limb off a living animal. Establish the legal and social institutions that will ensure a just and compassionate society.
Where it gets interesting is with the first two laws: belief in G-d and the prohibition against blaspheme. I have a confession to make: some of my best friends are atheists. I can already hear them saying: "In my book, when you bring G-d into the picture, that's religion, not morality or ethics. You can be a moral person also if you don't believe in and respect G-d." But the entire point of the Noahide Code is that there's no morality without G-d. Humanism won't cut it.
How you think of G-d, how you communicate with G-d, how you serve G-d--that's between you and G-d. That's religion. That's not what we're talking about. We're talking about the basic premise that the world has a Boss. That we are answerable to a higher authority than ourselves. That the One who created human life also set down the rules for humane living, and enforces those rules.
This--the Noachide Code insists--is the only viable basis for a civilized world.
A few short weeks ago, the awful realization hit us squarely in the face with the force of a Category Five storm: How pitifully thin the veneer of civilization is, how quickly it crumbles when its artificial supports are swept away!
This is what it takes, in this great country of ours, to stave off the law of the jungle: policemen to watch what we're doing, and policemen's police to make sure the policemen show up for work in the morning. Oh, and a few more important things: electric lights so that the policemen can see us, and passable roads so that they can cart us off to jail.
Turn off the lights, flood the roads and disable the punch clocks in the police stations, and five thousand years of civilization evaporate in an hour. The strong prey on the weak, pillaging and raping simply because they can.
I have another confession: some of my best friends are cultural snobs. I hear them saying: "You say that civilization broke down? You call those people civilized? Do they attend the opera on Wednesday nights? Have they read Voltaire? Do they gather in each other's homes in the evenings to discuss the great moral philosophers of the Rationalist and Humanist schools? These are people who have lived in poverty and depravity all their lives. Nothing really changed. It's just that before the hurricane, the crime and squalor in their ghettos followed certain known patterns and were nicely contained by police reports and government statistics. What shocked you was just more of the same, without the usual frames of reference. That's all..."
Turn off the lights, flood the roads and disable the punch clocks in the police stations, and five thousand years of civilization evaporate in an hour. Ok. So let's look back not three weeks but a hundred years. Question: What country had more moral philosophers per square kilometer than any other before or since? Answer: A large Western European country, begins with the letter G. Question: What country orchestrated, but a generation later, a highly efficient operation, aided by sophisticated technologies and accompanied by strains of Wagner, which was also the most horrendous acts of torture and murder in human history? Answer: Same place.
It's really quite logical. As the ancients said, you can't raise yourself by grabbing a fistful of your own hair and pulling upwards. Nothing human-based will ever transcend the human. A philosophy conceived by the human mind will be elegantly refuted--or side-stepped--by that same mind at the service of its own instincts.
Morality and ethics--the notion that "I want to do this but I won't because it's wrong" and "I don't feel like it, but I'll do it because it's the right thing to do"--might be temporarily enforced by a philosopher's thesis or a policeman's gun. But not for long.
On Rosh Hashanah we remember, and remind the world, that G-d created man and woman, G-d gave them the gift of life, and G-d laid down its rules: respect the life, family and property of your fellow, treat the creatures of your planet kindly, do charity and uphold justice. Do so not only because it makes sense to you, not only because it "feels right," but because you are a subject of G-d and you accept your Sovereign's decrees.
This is the fountainhead of our existence. Without this, there is nothing.
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Wishing everyone new beginnings and a Sweet, Happy, Prosperous and Healthy New Year! L'shanah tovah!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_M5-qthA8w
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_M5-qthA8w[/youtube]
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The Whispers of Democracy in Ancient Judaism
The prayers of the High Holidays rest on personal responsibility—the basis of self-government..
By ERIC ROSENBERG
Jews are in the midst of a period known as the Days of Awe, which began on Sunday night with Rosh Hashanah and culminates next Wednesday with Yom Kippur. It seems almost a misnomer to call them "holidays," though the first marks the Jewish New Year. Rather, they are deeply personal events whose aim is self-reflection, self-improvement and repairing what is broken in daily relationships.
It's striking how much this most important period on the Jewish calendar shares with that most essential exercise in American democracy. Walt Whitman wrote in the late 1800s that "a well-contested American national election" was "the triumphant result of faith in human kind." This country's unique sense of optimism—the view that the future is unwritten and full of possibility, that anything can be achieved—is also the sensibility underpinning the Days of Awe.
On a cosmic level, Rosh Hashanah commemorates the birth of the world. On an individual level, it marks the rebirth of the soul as Jews examine their faults and ask forgiveness from those they have wronged. At heart, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are deeply optimistic events. A major theme in the prayers Jews recite on the High Holidays is the striving to be a better person, with the understanding that we are in control of our future.
As moderns, we take for granted how fundamentally revolutionary the Jews were in arriving at this novel concept about time, destiny and personal responsibility. Until their call to monotheism nearly four millennia ago, the worldview in the Levant was very different. Life was an endless cycle devoted to agrarian pursuits and appeasing warring gods in aid of those pursuits.
Thomas Cahill, in his riveting book "The Gifts of the Jews," underscores the point: "For the ancients, nothing new ever did happen, except for the occasional monstrosity. Life on Earth followed the course of the stars. And what had been would, in due course, come around again. . . . The future was always to be a replay of the past, as the past was simply an earthly replay of the drama of the heavens."
Perhaps the most profound gift of the Jews is that they broke down this fatalistic notion of the world, in which people were trapped on a great spinning wheel, with no future or past. In this way, the ancient Jews invented the concept of history in which the future was not an endless cycle but could be steered by our actions in the present. They inserted the individual, and individual responsibility and justice, into the equation.
This ancient Jewish view was a massive shift in how people viewed mankind's relationship to a deity—and it put responsibility squarely on the shoulders of men and women for their own destiny. This was the end of predetermination and the beginning of personal choice, justice and the quest for liberty. These themes, prevalent in the Jewish liturgy, are on display among the candidates competing for the White House, whatever the political party.
Democracy, Mr. Cahill says, "grows directly out of the Israelite vision of individuals—subjects of value because they are images of God, each with a unique and personal destiny."
Similarly, the University of Chicago historian William F. Irwin lectured in the 1940s that it was the ancient Jewish prophets and their advocacy of freedom that would find an early expression in the Magna Carta and later in the American Bill of Rights. Perhaps that is partly because the ancient Jews had such terrible experiences with monarchs.
Before the Jews swapped their political system—one of a collection of judges—for a monarchy, to be like other Near Eastern governments, the prophet Samuel warned of the predilection of kings for tyranny and over-taxation. A people will buckle under a king, Samuel warned to no avail. "He will take your best fields, vineyards, and olive groves, and give them to his servants. He will tithe your crops and grape harvests to give to his officials and his servants. He will take your male and female slaves. . . . As for you, you will become his slaves."
One can hear, without too much strain, the distant echoes of Samuel's admonitions in Thomas Jefferson's catalog against King George in the Declaration of Independence.
Mr. Rosenberg, a former national correspondent for Hearst Newspapers, is a vice president for Ogilvy Washington.
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In 2003, I was named President of Thomas Nelson. It was an extremely busy time. I made some major changes to my executive team and had two vacant positions. As a result, I essentially had three jobs. One morning on my way to work, I grabbed my computer case in my right hand, a fresh cup of coffee in my left, and headed downstairs to the garage to leave to work.Four steps from the bottom, I slipped on the carpet. Without a free hand to grab the stair-rail, I tumbled forward. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my fanny on the landing.My wife Gail heard me fall and came running. “Are you okay?” she asked as she raced down the stairs to help me up.
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “However, I’m afraid I’ve made a mess.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she offered as she helped me up. “I can clean this up while you get changed.”
When I put my weight down on my right foot, I let out a yelp. “Oh my gosh! I think my ankle is sprained.” As it turned out, it was more than sprained. It was broken.
My day was, of course, scuttled. In fact, the next ten days were scuttled. I had to have surgery, including a plate and six screws to repair the damage. In addition, for three months I had to wear a therapeutic boot (in lieu of a cast). This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
---- http://michaelhyatt.com/a-question-that-changes-everything.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+michaelhyatt+%28Michael+Hyatt%29
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By the Grace of G-d
Erev Yom Kippur, 5773 • September 25, 2012
Dear Friend,
Tonight, with the onset of Yom Kippur, we will each beg G-d to give us life -- healthful life, meaningful life, productive life, good life -- life as G-d alone can provide.
Each of us will repeat these requests with increasing urgency throughout this holiest day of the year: Please G-d, give me life! Give my family life! Give the Jewish People life! Give the world life!
Our Sages inform us that G-d's response often mirrors our own initiative: When we perform a good deed G-d performs similar good deeds in return.
In our urgent quest for life, we open the floodgates of G-d's life-blessings by Giving Life.
And if we are to expect G-d to overlook our shortcomings, to ignore the 'rulebook' and apply His boundless compassion to grant us bountiful good, then --
It is crucial that we don't simply give a little, within our comfort zone, or as fits our budget.
Rather, we must give Life to others in a manner far beyond our means, way beyond our perceived limits. We must reach deep inside of ourselves to freely give our hard-earned means -- our life! -- away to others, in order to Give Life.
There may be no greater way to prepare for G-d's endless blessings on Yom Kippur.
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The meaning and haunting melody of Kol Nidre
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hW-cSrxQ1IU
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hW-cSrxQ1IU[/youtube]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvWxoYULWrw
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvWxoYULWrw[/youtube]
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Just the Two of You Tishrei 14, 5773 • September 30, 2012
Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe, Rabbi M. M. Schneerson
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Worry is self-humiliation. Trust is dignity.
To worry is to worship the world. To fall on your knees in dread and grovel before it.
To trust is to lift up your eyes and stand as tall as the heavens. To live with nothing else but the bond between God above and you below.
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Holistic Holiness
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/1294818/jewish/Holistic-Holiness.htm
By Mendel Kalmenson
If you were asked to define Judaism in one line, what would you say? Is it unique among religions, and if yes, how? What has it brought to the table of religious discourse?
Holiday Naming
Those who have named children, companies or products, or have picked titles for books or events, know the amount of thought that goes into the process. Which name best expresses the uniqueness of this item, person, or gathering? How do I capture the essence of the name-bearer?
The same is true regarding Jewish holidays.
The G‑d-given names of the dates we celebrate, spread throughout the Jewish calendar, were chosen to convey the central theme and unique message of that particular holiday.
If anything, the mitzvah of sukkah—and the name Sukkot—seems to point only to the holiday’s setting and venue(So that Passover, for example, which teaches freedom, is called in the Torah Chag HaMatzot [the “Festival of the Matzahs”], after the matzah or unleavened bread we eat. The name recalls the haste with which G‑d redeemed our people from Egyptian bondage, and the simplicity of the bread [called “poor man’s bread”] bespeaks humility—the key to achieving freedom. The names of other Jewish holidays are winners as well.)
What about the holiday of Sukkot, named after the sukkah, the outdoor hut we call home throughout the week-long holiday of Sukkot?
Why is this mitzvah chosen to represent the inner message of the holiday—what of the holiday’s other mitzvot? There’s the biblical command to take the Four Kinds, the mitzvah to be extra joyful, there’s the water-drawing celebrations, etc. These rituals and mitzvot also seemingly define the manner in which we celebrate this momentous festival and the attitude and mood that pervades it, not merely the mitzvah of sukkah.
If anything, the mitzvah of sukkah—and the name Sukkot—seems to point only to the holiday’s setting and venue. Why, then, did the Torah choose to name the holiday after the mitzvah of sukkah, a mitzvah that seemingly demands of us no more than the switching of our location?
But that’s what Judaism is all about.
Do whatever you normally do, all those mundane activities—but move it to the holy shade of the sukkah, and you’ve done a mitzvah. Same is true with everyday life: do whatever you normally do, all those mundane activities—but move it to the realm of holiness.
The sukkah emphasizes that almost every act of living can be holy, and that no act (that isn’t expressly forbidden by the Torah or the sages) is intrinsically “mundane.”
It teaches that holiness need not be imported from heaven, but is to be readily found here on earth. Holiness need not be created, for it’s already extant in creation, waiting only to be accessed and revealed.
“Holiness” is a fancy word that describes perspective and choice of function, and has much to do with motive and intent. Take the act of eating for example. How I view my (kosher) food determines its level of “holiness”; it can be gluttonous and self-serving, or sacred and G‑d-serving. The difference is purely in the mind.
The sukkah thus teaches that physical existence need not be transformed into something it is not; it needs only to be looked at differently, recognized for what in essence it truly is.
In sum: The sukkah is not just about a shift of location for living life, but a shift of perspective on living life.
To connect with G‑d, so long as that is your objective, you don’t need to draw water, you can drink water; and you don’t have to bind and bless fruit, you can eat them. For material life doesn’t need to be renovated or its sanctity generated—only activated.1
And about Judaism in one line:
Here’s how the Lubavitcher Rebbe answered the question, “How would you define Judaism in a nutshell?”
Here’s how the Rebbe answered the question, “How would you define Judaism in a nutshell?” . . .“Judaism is not something abstract,” the Rebbe replied, “detached from ordinary everyday activities. Judaism must concern the Jew twenty-four hours a day, in every environment and in every activity. This is the Jewish way of proclaiming G‑d is one!”
What’s in It for Me?
Many of us tend to dichotomize and compartmentalize our lives, interests, values, and even personalities: there’s the secular and the sacred, the spiritual and the material, the refined and the natural. There’s who I am in the synagogue, and there’s who I am on the street. Often, the two seem hardly related.
To be holy is to be holistic.
Just as G‑d is one, we must be one.
A chassidic lumber merchant in Riga was calculating his accounts. Under a column of figures, he inadvertently wrote, “Total: Ein od milvado—there is none besides Him!” In response to his assistant’s raised eyebrow he said: “It is considered perfectly natural that during prayer one lets his mind wander off to his lumber in Riga. So what is so surprising if in the middle of business dealings, my mind is invaded by thoughts of the unity of G‑d . . . ?”
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FOOTNOTES
1.
Based on the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s teachings, published in Likutei Sichot, vol. 22 (Emor) and vol. 2 (Sukkot).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXx5Wp3GcSE
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXx5Wp3GcSE[/youtube]
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"This Is My Torah Scroll"
By Ruth Benjamin
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/6195/jewish/This-Is-My-Torah-Scroll.htm
Henryk was very young in 1945, when the War ended and solitary survivors tried frantically to trace their relatives. He had spent what seemed to be most of his life with his nanny, who had hidden him away from the Nazis at his father's request. There was great personal risk involved, but the woman had readily taken it, as she loved the boy.
All the Jews were being killed, and Henryk's nanny did not think for a moment that the father, Joseph Foxman, would survive the infamous destruction of the Vilna Ghetto. He would surely have been transferred to Auschwitz -— and everyone knew that nobody ever came back from Auschwitz. She therefore had no scruples about adopting the boy, having him baptized into the Catholic Church and taught catechism by the local priest.
He told his son that he was a Jew and that his name was Avraham
It was Simchat Torah when his father came to take him. The heartbroken nanny had packed all his clothing and his small catechism book, stressing to the father that the boy had become a good Catholic. Joseph Foxman took his son by the hand and led him directly to the Great Synagogue of Vilna. On the way, he told his son that he was a Jew and that his name was Avraham.
Not far from the house, they passed the church and the boy reverently crossed himself, causing his father great anguish. Just then, a priest emerged who knew the boy, and when Henryk rushed over to kiss his hand, the priest spoke to him, reminding him of his Catholic faith.
Everything inside of Joseph wanted to drag his son away from the priest and from the church. But he knew that this was not the way to do things. He nodded to the priest, holding his son more closely. After all, these people had harbored his child and saved the child's life. He had to show his son Judaism, living Judaism, and in this way all these foreign beliefs would be naturally abandoned and forgotten.
They entered the Great Synagogue of Vilna, now a remnant of a past, vibrant Jewish era. There they found some Jewish survivors from Auschwitz who had made their way back to Vilna and were now rebuilding their lives and their Jewish spirits. Amid the stark reality of their suffering and terrible loss, in much diminished numbers, they were singing and dancing with real joy while celebrating Simchat Torah.
Avraham stared wide-eyed around him and picked up a tattered prayer book with a touch of affection. Something deep inside of him responded to the atmosphere, and he was happy to be there with the father he barely knew. He held back, though, from joining the dancing.
A Jewish man wearing a Soviet Army uniform could not take his eyes off the boy, and he came over to Joseph. "Is this child... Jewish?" he asked, a touch of awe in his voice.
"This is the first live Jewish child I have come across in all this time..."
The father answered that the boy was Jewish and introduced his son. As the soldier stared at Henryk-Avraham, he fought to hold back tears. "Over these four terrible years, I have traveled thousands of miles, and this is the first live Jewish child I have come across in all this time. Would you like to dance with me on my shoulders?" he asked the boy, who was staring back at him, fascinated.
The father nodded permission, and the soldier hoisted the boy high onto his shoulders. With tears now coursing down his cheeks and a heart full of real joy, the soldier joined in the dancing.
"This is my Torah scroll," he cried.
Abe Foxman, the national director of the Anti-Defamation League -- the Avraham in our story -- remembers this as his first conscious feeling of a connection with Judaism and of being a Jew.
By Ruth Benjamin More articles... |
Originally published in Kosher Spirit
About the artist: Sarah Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children’s books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London
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Second Nature or Second Thoughts
by Sarah Shapiro
When giving doesn’t come naturally.
Navigating my way one day along a busy sidewalk in downtown Jerusalem, my head was immersed in all sorts of forgettable thoughts when suddenly I stopped short. A young woman had thrust her face into my line of vision.
The young face was old -- ancient, even, and haggard -- then turned young again, then old. She was talking at me.
Now, this city’s full of beggars -- nothing unusual there, especially at this time of year -- but this was your classic beggar, a beggar’s beggar, a beggar extraordinaire. She could have been an extra in an amateur production of Oliver Twist. (Wanted: Underweight female of indeterminate age/ good cheekbones/ for role of desperate, bedraggled, homeless pauper.) Her aggressive dark eyes and pleading mouth, the melodramatic hands imploring, demanding ...these automatically served to warn me: Beware. All this neediness, real or feigned, was too much. Too raw, too unrefined, and she was standing too close; my innards recoiled spontaneously. I could smell her. In anthropological lingo, she was violating my culturally learned spatial boundaries. What claim could she have on me, an inward-looking stranger in the pre-Rosh Hashana crowds, attending to mundane High Holiday errands? Some horrible and tragic calamity, apparently. An emergency! A horrendous injustice had befallen her children! It’s your job to save us!
Not a fundraiser for Hadassah, that’s for sure. The Jewish Federations would not have hired her.
There are Israelis whose Hebrew I take pride in understanding quite well, but this woman’s diatribe I could not construe at all. Her brow squeezed up in lines of torment (those brown eyes flickered, reminding me eerily of something, but instantly the illusion passed) and the chin lifted beseechingly, as did one upturned palm, long fingers reaching for my good fortune. For of course I’d already taken out my coin purse (though it was a little hard seeing what was in there, tipping it towards me to shield the fifty-shekel bill from her invasive gaze.) I’d make my getaway momentarily, but didn’t want to bear sin on account of her, either, just in case...In case, by some chance (Yom Kippur was in the air).she was for real. Theoretically, at least, a cluster of peeping little ones could actually be out there somewhere, in their dark, isolated nest, waiting for this scarecrow of a Jewish mother to fly home with crumbs, a taste for them of milk and honey.
Better to err on the safe side.
I extracted a ten-shekel coin and placed it upon that palm, noticing within me the sunflower of predictable, simple happiness which blooms involuntarily at such moments, in spite of my suspiciousness, in spite of myself. Her head cocked to one side.
“Toda,” she said, and our eyes met.
She smiled, almost, and I saw my father.
***
My father, Saturday Review editor Norman Cousins, was someone for whom giving -- not only of his money but of himself -- seemed to come easily, by second nature. He gave away what he had, period, minus the second thoughts, and was a happy man. If this daughter had any complaints against him at all, it’s that by comparison to his goodness, my self-image (and ultimately, what could have been my inheritance) suffered proportionally.
Rabbi Avigdor Miller zt”l once said that when you do something good (and he was referring here, by the way, only to adults, not children) you should try to keep your mouth shut. The less said about it the better, and the better you’ll emulate God.
My father’s private thoughts regarding the Almighty will remain, for the most part, unknown to me, but he did, in my opinion, manifest many of His attributes. It was only after his death, for example, that I heard about the overcoat.
One snowy night in midtown Manhattan, someone broke into my parents' parked car and stole my father’s briefcase and brand new winter coat. “They’d put the magazine to bed already,” my mother told me, “and the whole dummy of that week’s issue was in there with a lot of other things. And it was such a nice warm coat, Daddy loved it.”
Minutes after reporting the theft in the local police station, my parents got a phone call to come on back. The briefcase had been found intact in a nearby garbage can, and the police had caught the thief red-handed.
“They found him walking off in the coat!” said Mommy.”We were tickled pink. After they handed us the coat and Daddy checked the briefcase and saw that everything was still in there, he asked where the man was. The police said not to worry, the thief was in their holding cell until they could transfer him to Federal Detention downtown. Daddy asked if he go in and meet him. The police were surprised but they said ok and Daddy was in there for more than an hour. When we left he told me that the two of them had had a very good talk, and that he was a decent man, just desperate, fallen on hard times and homeless, out of work and nowhere to go. Daddy found out when the trial was and came to testify. He told the judge that if they’d let the man out on furlough, he’d take legal responsibility for him, and that’s what happened. Daddy got him a job somewhere – I think in a printing press - and oh, he gave the man his coat. Daddy said it fit perfectly.”
Another memory, from a1980s visit of my parents to Israel: We were just getting out of a taxi whose driver had been grouchy and unpleasant, when my father (who was unfamiliar with Israeli currency) asked in an undertone how many shekels the tip should be.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” I said, thinking: especially not this guy. “We don’t tip taxi drivers here.”
My father remained seated and ignored my comment. “How much is this?” he asked me, holding out five shekel coins.
“About a dollar and half.”
He gave it to the driver, emerged from the car, and looked me in the eye. “You know, Sarah,” he said quietly, “taxi drivers have a hard job. Being in traffic all day, and people are rude. I’m so grateful I don’t have to do that for a living.”
***
Our forefather Joseph famously invoked the image of his father Jacob to save himself from sin. I can’t say the same for me. Faced by my brethren’s need, something uncomfortable within me -- I can’t even say what -- often turns away.
But I did get a glimpse of Daddy in that mother’s familiar Jewish eyes. I suppose that God, Who wants just to give, and Whose nature it is to give, is more like my father than like me. Yet for a mortal such as myself to keep trying (even unsuccessfully!) to transcend her nature and emulate Him is also noble, and a joy, and one of the most meaningful triumphs He made available to us humans.
This article originally appeared in the Jewish Week.
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Mayim Bialik: My Car Accident
by Mayim Bialik
The Jewish take.
It’s been three weeks since the car accident I had which damaged my right hand and set me on a course of several months of recovery, lots of lying on the couch, and more negotiating with dosages of acetaminophen and ibuprofen than I care to discuss.
I have written about the accident cursorily and somewhat lightly: how I removed my false eyelashes in the ambulance, made jokes about desires for tummy tucks with my plastic surgeons who repaired my hand, and the breathing and meditative techniques of natural labor I utilized to manage pain and fear. But my religious identity has pursued me–or I it–throughout this ordeal, and I have a desire to write about some of the more complex aspects of the accident and recovery as an observant Jew.
(I have many non-Orthodox, secular, and atheist thoughts, desires and friends. I do not intend to imply superiority to my identity as an observant Jew. I sincerely hope this will be interpreted as demonstrative and reflective rather than being perceived as self-righteous and as advocating for Orthodoxy, which I am not.)
I have outlined the significant events of the accident and hope to demonstrate the consistency of my belief system, the complexity and strength I draw from it, and the desire to have every aspect of my life affirm and not contradict it as a testament to the unbroken chain of tradition I cling to.
By either no significance or all of the cosmic significance in the Universe, the events broke down into seven mini-epochs, which I realized only after I identified them, parallel–you guessed it – the seven days of Creation.
Day One: EMPTINESS, DARKNESS AND LIGHT
First there was darkness. In the beginning of Creating, there is emptiness of an astonishing quality, and darkness upon the surface of some great depth. My experience of darkness was a loud cacophonous shattering, a flash of white exploding (the airbag, I later realized), smoke rising up, and an astonishing emptiness known to us mortals as a horrifying and deafening silence. My instantaneous instinct was simply to survive and to find light, to get out of the car immediately and find my way to my children, wherever they were (10 miles away at a museum). I knew that I had to reach my husband, and I had to reach him immediately.
This accident was very dark. The darkness still consumes me. But it is always darkest before the dawn, isn’t it. Jewish “days” begin at night because our Torah tells us so: “And there was evening, and there was morning, one day.” We cannot detect light and color and shadows and subtlety if not for the contrast of darkness, and we have only one way to pass through darkness, and that is through the darkness and into the light.
Second Day: WATERS ABOVE AND WATERS BELOW
From the moment I stepped out of my smashed up car until I arrived at the hospital over an hour later, I was stuck in the middle of everything, it seemed. I see why Creation includes separating the waters above from the waters below as distinct from just making land and sea. There is a middle existence before land and sea; a floating, a hovering. I was in that: I was floating and hovering, between Heaven and Earth, if you will, for those tempestuous hours.
I couldn’t escape a sense of movement in my soul and body and a desire to maintain movement for survival. I tried to anchor myself to something but failed. I knew from my neuroscience training and my training in self-hypnosis (which I used successfully for pain management during the birth of both of my sons) that I needed to decrease my blood pressure to let my body block pain with the natural endorphins and opiates our bodies contain.
I tried to remember which tehillim (psalms) I used during labor, but my brain would not be still long enough to remember. One line from Psalm 118 broke through the chaos: Min ha meitzar: “From the narrow straits, I called upon God. God answered me with expansiveness.” I couldn’t hold more than a few phrases at a time in my head, but I was grateful for something to hold onto. And through the chaos, I found a separation that comforted me, as if to affirm for me: This is who I am, and everything else is not who I am. I felt scared, and impatient, and lonely. But an abstract and simultaneously very palpable notion of not being alone because God is always with me tore through the nothingness and made me feel my sense of identity, concreteness, and self coalesce. I am never alone. This deduction (or wishful thinking?) is not an argument for Belief, but rather is, for me, a consequence of Belief.
Third Day: LAND AND SEA
Arriving at the hospital was the first notion I had of solid ground. It was a place fear and comfort could both reside in contrasting ambiguous safety. As I was wheeled into my hospital room, I asked the nurse to stop my gurney at the doorpost so that I could kiss the mezuzah on the doorframe. That’s how it is in Jewish hospitals. I acknowledged internally that my right hand, the dominant hand in Judaism, is the one with which we typically perform this act. I recall some sort of internal debate I had about using my left hand to touch the mezuzah and bring my fingers to my lips, and I made a mental note to find out from one of my religious friends what the Jewish laws of mezuzah-kissing are.
Onkelos, the 1st century scholar and one of Judaism’s most famous converts to our faith once taught that in most communities, legions of military, dignitaries and soldiers stand guard outside of a King’s quarters. Judaism, however, places God outside the door (mezuzah anyone?) to watch over and protect the most precious thing held inside: us.
I tethered myself to the solid ground of my faith as pain and fear and shock threatened to send me out to sea: when the cheery hospital volunteer opened my door, she couldn’t even get out the sentence, “Is there anything you need?” before I blurted out something you can blurt out at Jewish hospitals: “I need to see a rabbi.” The volunteer looked at me as if no one had made that request in a very long time. She smiled and I decided she was Jewish, too. She told me that she would leave him a message but that he wasn’t due to arrive until an hour later, at 2 p.m. In a sea of panic and fear, I had caught sight of dry land. It was right under my feet.
Fourth Day: THE LUMINARIES
As the sun guides the day and the moon guides the night and the stars shine always in myriad formation and permutation, I found guidance and direction from our tradition for the next hours in which waiting was my main preoccupation. I waited for my husband. I waited to be examined. I waited to be X-Rayed. I waited for my IV to be put in. I waited for the rabbi. I waited to stop hurting.
I chanted out loud to myself the first supplication ever uttered in the Torah: the prayer Moses offers up for his sister: El na, refa na la: “God, please heal her, please.” My husband arrived at the hospital after dropping our sons with a close friend just as the rabbi arrived. The rabbi was young, looked straight out of a Maccabeats video, and was ordained at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah Rabbinical School. We knew people in common, and I was relieved he was Orthodox and therefore knew about the things that would matter to me even in a dire medical situation: not shaking hands with men, not wanting to be seen in any state of undress by men, maintaining modesty even with my husband, not wanting unkosher food served to me.
But what was most comforting and what guided me faithfully was the common language we spoke and the universality of his presence and his words. I recounted the accident for the rabbi and I wasn’t embarrassed to say “Thank God” as many times as I did. I knew he understood me. As I spoke to him, I cried. It was the first time I cried that entire day. I needed to cry.
I asked the rabbi for a book of Tehillim (psalms) which he happily brought me and he left a card at my bedside printed by the hospital wishing me a refuah shleyma, a complete healing, in Hebrew and English. He blessed me and I cried as I heard my Hebrew name pronounced. Out of the mess I was in, this Rabbi led me through dark and showed me light as he declared, God, please heal Mayim Chaya bas Brayna Basha, please.
Fifth Day: CREATURES OF THE WATER AND BIRDS IN THE SKY
And then there was the first emergence of primal life and primal love. There were murmurings and rustlings of something growing and coming alive. The Yeshiva University Maccabeats, my famous frum friends, sent out a tweet asking people to daven for me. I cried at this show of broad and intimate love.
The book of Tehillim which the rabbi had brought me held my tears, and I told anyone Jewish I could find that the Psalm for that day was Psalm 73 and contained the following passage: “I was always loyal to You, You grasped my right hand.” Indeed, God held my right hand and continues to hold it fast. The skeptics among you will justifiably assert that I–or any religious fanatic–would have found any comfort in any Psalm on any day. I choose instead to see this as a stirring of inspiration and love. Because I want to. And I can. I take great comfort in the slow building of momentum towards vibrancy, intensity, and life itself.
Sixth Day: LIVING CREATURES, MAN AND WOMAN
And then there were people. Doctors, nurses, surgeons, attendants. And a nurse in recovery who instead of sending me home in scrubs found me a long hospital gown to go home in since the dress I was wheeled into the hospital wearing was all bloody and the sleeves were too slim to fit over my cast and bandages. There were faces and hands, and the products of our hands: needles and masks and gloves and scalpels and surgical thread.
And when I came home, there were more people. Visitors, therapists, emails from people and phone calls and flowers from people. And there were the people with whom I connect to on a deep level; the religious level, the intellectual level, the emotional level: the chevrusa (study partner) I met through Partners In Torah, my fellow Kveller writers Carla Naumburg and Matthue Roth, my best friend Adi, and yes, my favorite Maccabeat. These people and others asked for my Hebrew name, so that when they lit candles for Shabbat, they could think of me.
That Friday when I crawled off the couch to light candles for Shabbat, my older son reminded me to pray for myself.
Seventh Day: THE SABBATH
“Thus the Heaven and the Earth were finished and all their array.” The first Shabbat after my accident, I was not yet well enough to walk to shul, but the following Shabbat, my husband, sons, and I stayed walking distance from our preferred shul so that I could bensch Gomel, a prayer which is recited after a life-threatening incident such as I had experienced.
That Friday night as Shabbat began, I attended Kabbalat Shabbat services at a small Carlebach-style minyan I love. My husband took care of the boys so that I could have some time alone to daven, meditate, and also sing and even dance a little with the other women there. I felt a tremendous sense of joy that Shabbat as well as a healthy amount of fear and trepidation.
Bensching Gomel after the Torah service the following morning, although brief, was very emotional and complicated. I thanked God for saving even the unworthy, as the prayer states. I wondered who is unworthy of saving, and decided to simply be grateful I was alive and not alone.
Blessed. Sanctified. Abstention. Shabbat.
Eighth Day: BEYOND CREATION
There is no eighth day of Creation. However, in Judaism, the number eight holds powerful significance. There are eight days until a boy’s bris, many of our holidays span eight days, and there is a mystical notion that whereas seven is this-worldly, eight is other-worldly. As Matisyahu says in Miracle, his song about the eight days of Chanukah, “Eight is the number of infinity, one more than what you know how to be.”
Our tradition suggests that one who recites Gomel make a donation to tzedakah so as to make some good come from a tragedy. In addition, a Seudah Hoda’ah, or Feast of Gratitude, is also suggested when you are feeling up to it, consisting of a simple meal, breaking bread, and making a Dvar Torah speech including an acknowledgment of gratitude to God.
My hair and makeup artist had, in the weeks preceding my accident, been talking to me about helping her brainstorm ideas for how to sponsor a well for a community in need in Haiti. Days after my accident, I told her to stop brainstorming.
I have decided to take on this well building as my healing/tzedakah project and will be hosting a Seudah Hoda’ah next week to try and make what is this-worldly resonate in the realms of the other-worldly.
Thank you, God, for bringing light to darkness, stability to chaos, guidance, love, people, hands, medicine, and the holy Sabbath. Thank you for a pure soul that longs to cling to You, and an open heart that wants to draw near. Every act of mine is an act of devotion and a reaffirmation of my gratitude. Always.
U’sha’avtem mayim b’sasson, mi’ma’anei ha’yeshua.
“You shall with joy draw forth water, from the fountains of salvation.”
This article originally appeared on kveller.com
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True Grit
by Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=174749551§ion=/sp/pg
The secret of success is how we view failure.
What makes some children succeed while others fail? More generally, what drives some people to great achievement while others languish, their dreams unfulfilled? That is the question that intrigued American writer Paul Tough. His answer is contained in his book How Children Succeed, published last month.
Tough discovered that what makes the difference is not intelligence, skill or native ability. It isn’t cognitive at all. The difference, he argues, lies in character, in traits such as discipline, persistence, self-control, zest, gratitude, optimism, curiosity, courage and conscientiousness. One dimension, though, matters more than all the others. He calls it grit: the ability to keep going despite repeated failures and setbacks. People with grit grow. People without it are either defeated by life’s challenges or – more likely – become risk-averse. They play it safe.
I am fascinated by the stories of people who had grit, who overcame repeated failures and rejections. I think of the lonely single mother, close to destitution, who sat in coffee bars writing a children’s novel to earn some money, only to find that the first twelve publishers to whom she sent the manuscript rejected it. She kept going. You’ve heard of her. Her name is J. K. Rowling.
I think of another writer of a book about children who suffered even more rejections, twenty-one in all. The book was eventually published. It was called “Lord of the Flies,” and its author, William Golding, was eventually awarded the Nobel Prize for literature.
Related Video: Everyone Falls
The most famous failure of our time was the late Steve Jobs. In his magnificent commencement address at Stanford University he told the story of the three blows of fate that shaped his life: dropping out of university, being fired from the company he founded, Apple, and being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Rather than being defeated by them, he turned them all to creative use, eventually returning to Apple and developing three of the iconic inventions of the twenty first century, the I-pod, I-phone and I-pad.
The house of the Chief Rabbi happens to be close to a street called Abbey Road. Fifty years after the group that made it famous had their first hit, you can still see crowds of tourists being photographed on the world’s most celebrated zebra crossing. Their first audition has passed into legend. They performed for a record company only to be told that guitar bands were on their way out. The verdict, in January 1962, was: “The Beatles have no future in show business.”
J.K. Rowling, William Golding, Steve Jobs and the Beatles were not, as far as I know, religious people. Some people just have grit. It is part of their nature. But what about the rest of us? Can you learn grit? Can you acquire it if you were not born with it? I am not sure there is a general answer to that question, but here is a personal one.
I have known my share of failures. Early in my career I was turned down for almost every job I applied for. It took me two years after qualifying as a rabbi to find a congregation. From the age of twenty, one of my ambitions was to write a book. I tried and failed for twenty years. I still have a filing cabinet full of books I started and did not complete. Finally, energized by a statement of George Bernard Shaw that if you are going to write a book you had better do it by the time you are forty, I completed my first at that age and have written one a year ever since. I learned to embrace failure instead of fearing it.
Why? Because at some point on my religious journey I discovered that more than we have faith in God, God has faith in us. He lifts us every time we fall. He forgives us every time we fail. He believes in us more than we believe in ourselves. He mends our broken hearts. I never cease to be moved by the words of Isaiah: “Even youths grow tired and weary and the young may stumble and fall, but those who hope in the Lord renew their strength. They soar on wings like eagles, they run and don’t grow weary, they walk and don’t grow faint.”
The greatest source of grit I know, the force that allows us to overcome every failure, every setback, every defeat, and keep going and growing, is faith in God’s faith in us.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/True-Grit.html
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Covenant & Conversation: Vayera – Even Higher Than Angels
5773, Bereishit, Covenant & Conversation
Chief Rabbi Lord Sacks
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2012/10/29/covenant-conversation-vayera-even-higher-than-angels/#.UI78_Gl27Sw
It is one of the most famous scenes in the Bible. Abraham is sitting at the entrance to his tent in the heat of the day when three strangers pass by. He urges them to rest and take some food. The text calls them men. They are in fact angels, coming to tell Sarah that she will have a child.
The chapter seems simple. It is, however, complex and ambiguous. It consists of three sections:
Verse 1: G-d appears to Abraham.
Verses 2-16: Abraham and the men/angels.
Verses 17-33: The dialogue between G-d and Abraham about the fate of Sodom.
How are these sections related to one another? Are they one scene, two or three? The most obvious answer is three. Each of the above sections is a separate event. First, G-d appears to Abraham, as Rashi explains, “to visit the sick” after Abraham’s circumcision. Then the visitors arrive with the news about Sarah’s child. Then takes place the great dialogue about justice.
Maimonides (Guide for the Perplexed II: 42) suggests that there are two scenes (the visit of the angels, and the dialogue with G-d). The first verse does not describe an event at all. It is, rather, a chapter heading.
The third possibility is that we have a single continuous scene. G-d appears to Abraham, but before He can speak, Abraham sees the passers-by and asks G-d to wait while he serves them food. Only when they have departed – in verse 17 – does he turn to G-d, and the conversation begins.
How we interpret the chapter will affect the way we translate the word Adonai in the third verse. It could mean (1) G-d or (2) ‘my lords’ or ‘sirs’. In the first case, Abraham would be addressing heaven. In the second, he would be speaking to the passers-by.
Several English translations take the second option. Here is one example:
The Lord appeared to Abraham . . . He looked up, and saw three men standing over against him. On seeing them, he hurried from his tent door to meet them. Bowing low, he said, “Sirs, if I have deserved your favour, do not go past your servant without a visit.”
The same ambiguity appears in the next chapter (19: 2), when two of Abraham’s visitors (in this chapter they are described as angels) visit Lot in Sodom:
The two angels came to Sodom in the evening while Lot was sitting by the city gates. When he saw them, he rose to meet them and bowing low he said, “I pray you, sirs, turn aside to your servant’s house to spend the night there and bathe your feet.”
Normally, differences of interpretation of biblical narrative have no halakhic implications. They are matters of legitimate disagreement. This case is unusual, because if we translate Adonai as ‘G-d’, it is a holy name, and both the writing of the word by a scribe, and the way we treat a parchment or document containing it, have special stringencies in Jewish law. If we translate it as ‘my lords’ or ‘sirs’, then it has no special sanctity.
The simplest reading of both texts – the one concerning Abraham, the other, Lot – would be to read the word in both cases as ‘sirs’. Jewish law, however, ruled otherwise. In the second case – the scene with Lot – it is read as ‘sirs’, but in the first it is read as ‘G-d’. This is an extraordinary fact, because it suggests that Abraham interrupted G-d as He was about to speak, and asked Him to wait while he attended to his guests. This is how tradition ruled that the passage should be read:
The Lord appeared to Abraham . . . He looked up and saw three men standing over against him. On seeing them, he hurried from his tent door to meet them, and bowed down. [Turning to G-d] he said: “My G-d, if I have found favour in your eyes, do not leave your servant [i.e. Please wait until I have given hospitality to these men].” [He then turned to the men and said:] “Let me send for some water so that you may bathe your feet and rest under this tree…”
This daring interpretation became the basis for a principle in Judaism: “Greater is hospitality than receiving the Divine presence.” Faced with a choice between listening to G-d, and offering hospitality to [what seemed to be] human beings, Abraham chose the latter. G-d acceded to his request, and waited while Abraham brought the visitors food and drink, before engaging him in dialogue about the fate of Sodom.
How can this be so? Is it not disrespectful at best, heretical at worst, to put the needs of human beings before attending on the presence of G-d?
What the passage is telling us, though, is something of immense profundity. The idolaters of Abraham’s time worshipped the sun, the stars, and the forces of nature as gods. They worshipped power and the powerful. Abraham knew, however, that G-d is not in nature but beyond nature. There is only one thing in the universe on which He has set His image: the human person, every person, powerful and powerless alike.
The forces of nature are impersonal, which is why those who worship them eventually lose their humanity. As the Psalm puts it:
Their idols are silver and gold, made by human hands. They have mouths, but cannot speak, eyes, but cannot see; they have ears, but cannot hear, nostrils but cannot smell… Their makers become like them, and so do all who put their trust in them. (Psalm 115)
You cannot worship impersonal forces and remain a person: compassionate, humane, generous, forgiving. Precisely because we believe that G-d is personal, someone to whom we can say ‘You’, we honour human dignity as sacrosanct. Abraham, father of monotheism, knew the paradoxical truth that to live the life of faith is to see the trace of G-d in the face of the stranger. It is easy to receive the Divine presence when G-d appears as G-d. What is difficult is to sense the Divine presence when it comes disguised as three anonymous passers-by. That was Abraham’s greatness. He knew that serving G-d and offering hospitality to strangers were not two things but one.
One of the most beautiful comments on this episode was given by R. Shalom of Belz who noted that in verse 2, the visitors are spoken of as standing above Abraham [nitzavim alav]. In verse 8, Abraham is described as standing above them [omed alehem]. He said: at first, the visitors were higher than Abraham because they were angels and he a mere human being. But when he gave them food and drink and shelter, he stood even higher than the angels. We honour G-d by honouring His image, humankind.
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Rachel:
I really liked that one.
You may be interested to know that I posted it on my FB page prefaced by the following:
TAC,
Marc
==================
All:
Due to my life in martial arts I have nearly 4,000 FB friends. The experience of reading posts (well the ones that happen to be near the top at any rate) from such an array of people has been very interesting.
One of the themes that has caught my attention has been the number of people making posts quite hostile to religion.
Many of these posts express the syllogism that since many wars have been fought over religious matters that if there were no religion then there would be more peace. Many of these posts express the notion that religious belief is inherently scientifically ignorant.
To the first of these points I would say that it misses the deeper point-- the danger in question is not of religion but what scientist Konrad Lorenz calls "collective militant enthusiasm"-- a subset of the instinctual aggressive drives of the human animal. This seems to me to be more accurate in that it captures not only religious fanaticism (Aztec human sacrifice, Islamic Fascism, the Inquisition, etc.) but also communism (Stalin killed over twenty million!!! Mao over sixty million!!! The Khymer Rouge killed millions too, etc etc etc) and fascism (Hitler)
IMHO this analytical framework also allows us to keep that which is worthy of the worthy religions. Thus our Founding Fathers defined our rights as coming from our Creator (a term chosen precisely because of its non-preferential nature of any one religion over any other).
Personally I believe in a Creator and I find no contradiction between that and scientific inquiry. I am Jewish, but like many Jews I go about it in my own way. I cheerfully throw out that with which I disagree :-) Personally I find my hands full with The Ten Commandments!
That said, I have an internet friend named Rachel who posts on the thread "The Power of Word" on our forum at dogbrothers.com about spiritual matters, usually from a Jewish perspective and often I find myself impressed and moved by the levels revealed; levels of which I had previously been oblivious.
In that spirit I share her most recent posting here. In my humble opinion it is not necessary that one believe in religion in general or Judiasm in particular to find this worthy of one's time.
The Adventure continues,
Marc
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Agreed.
Rachel:
I really liked that one.
You may be interested to know that I posted it on my FB page prefaced by the following:
TAC,
Marc
==================
All:
Due to my life in martial arts I have nearly 4,000 FB friends. The experience of reading posts (well the ones that happen to be near the top at any rate) from such an array of people has been very interesting.
One of the themes that has caught my attention has been the number of people making posts quite hostile to religion.
Many of these posts express the syllogism that since many wars have been fought over religious matters that if there were no religion then there would be more peace. Many of these posts express the notion that religious belief is inherently scientifically ignorant.
To the first of these points I would say that it misses the deeper point-- the danger in question is not of religion but what scientist Konrad Lorenz calls "collective militant enthusiasm"-- a subset of the instinctual aggressive drives of the human animal. This seems to me to be more accurate in that it captures not only religious fanaticism (Aztec human sacrifice, Islamic Fascism, the Inquisition, etc.) but also communism (Stalin killed over twenty million!!! Mao over sixty million!!! The Khymer Rouge killed millions too, etc etc etc).
IMHO this analytical framework also allows us to keep that which is worthy of the worthy religions. Thus our Founding Fathers defined our rights as coming from our Creator (a term chosen precisely because of its non-preferential nature of any one religion over any other).
Personally believe in a Creator. I am Jewish, but like many Jews I go about it in my own way. I cheerfully throw out that with which I disagree :-) Personally I find my hands full with The Ten Commandments!
That said, I have an internet friend named Rachel who posts on the thread "The Power of Word" on our forum at dogbrothers.com about spiritual matters, usually from a Jewish perspective and often I find myself impressed and moved by the levels revealed; levels of which I had previously been oblivious.
In that spirit I share her most recent posting here. In my humble opinion it is not necessary that one believe in religion in general or Judiasm in particular to find this worthy of one's time.
The Adventure continues,
Marc
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Marc,
Thanks for sharing the article.
Marc and GM-- Thanks for your kind words. I'm glad you liked it.
It makes sense that it would have universal appeal. Abraham's goal and Judaism's goal is not to convert people to Judaism. The goal is to spread ethical monotheism to everyone. You do not need to be Jewish to be a good person, to serve G-d or to have a share in the world to come(Heaven).
The 7 Noachide Laws
http://www.aish.com/w/nj/For_Non-Jews.html
The Jewish idea is that the Torah of Moses is a truth for all humanity, whether Jewish or not. The Torah (as explained in the Talmud - Sanhedrin 58b) presents seven mitzvot for non-Jews to observe. These seven laws are the pillars of human civilization, and are named the "Seven Laws of Noah," since all humans are descended from Noah. They are:
Do not murder.
Do not steal.
Do not worship false gods.
Do not be sexually immoral.
Do not eat a limb removed from a live animal.
Do not curse God.
Set up courts and bring offenders to justice.
Maimonides explains that any human being who faithfully observes these laws earns a proper place in heaven. So you see, the Torah is for all humanity, no conversion necessary.
As well, when King Solomon built the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, he specifically asked God to heed the prayer of non-Jews who come to the Temple (1-Kings 8:41-43). The Temple was the universal center of spirituality, which the prophet Isaiah referred to as a "house for all nations." The service in the Holy Temple during the week of Sukkot featured a total of 70 bull offerings, corresponding to each of the 70 nations of the world. In fact, the Talmud says if the Romans would have realized how much they were benefiting from the Temple, they never would have destroyed it!
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Rachel:
I'm surprised at the presence of "Do not eat a limb removed from a live animal" on this list. While this is a fine idea no doubt, somehow I'm not getting it as one of the seven pillars of civilization.
Marc
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Rachel:
I'm surprised at the presence of "Do not eat a limb removed from a live animal" on this list. While this is a fine idea no doubt, somehow I'm not getting it as one of the seven pillars of civilization.
Marc
Because a society that tolerates such deliberate cruelty ends up doing such things to humans?
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How Do You Treat Animals?
By Aron Moss
http://beta.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1522956/jewish/How-Do-You-Treat-Animals.htm
I have been researching the Seven Noahide Laws. I understand these are the biblical commands to all humanity—the children of Noah—and they provide the basis for ethical living. But looking at the list, there seems to be one that does not fit with the others:
Do not worship idols—agreed, we have to believe in G‑d.
Do not curse G‑d—have respect for Him. I can dig that.
Do not murder—obvious.
Do not steal—okay.
Do not commit adultery—fine.
Set up courts of justice—needed to ensure the other laws are kept.
But:
Do not eat the limb of a living animal.
I am bewildered as to why you would include the seventh law, “Do not eat the limb of a living animal.” While I have no intention of tearing off any animal limbs, I can’t see how that would be in the top seven most important things for all of humanity to observe.
Thank you for any help in enlightening this Noahide!
Answer:
What is the true test of a moral person? How do you know that someone is truly a good person, and not just preaching?
One test is to observe the way they treat subordinates. Someone who can show concern for those who are lower and more helpless than themselves is a person who is truly good.
And so, in formulating laws for all mankind, the Torah gives seven commandments that are considered seven categories of ethical behavior. The prohibition to steal includes all dishonest and unethical business practices. The outlawing of adultery encompasses all inappropriate relationships. And the ban on eating the limb of a live animal is a general law which commands us to be kind to animals. In fact, Jewish law prohibits inflicting unnecessary pain on animals.
These are not arbitrary categories of law. They cover the full gamut of moral obligation toward our fellow beings: respect for G‑d who is above us, respect for human beings who are equal to us, and respect for the animal kingdom beneath us.
There is a clear hierarchy here. We are not equal with G‑d, and animals are not equal to humans. The myth of equality is necessary only to protect the weak in a world devoid of morality. But moral beings with a clear code of ethics can recognize the innate inequality of nature without exploiting it. Being higher means being more responsible. Nature is here to serve us, but we are here to serve G‑d, and that means treating all His creatures, equal or not, with respect.
Please see more on the Seven Noahide Laws on The Judaism Website.
BY ARON MOSS
More articles by Aron Moss | RSS
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EXCERPT FROM
Animal Suffering: The Jewish View
Animals and people are kindred spirits, but far from equals.
by Rabbi Dr. Asher Meir, Business Ethics Center of Jerusalem
http://www.aish.com/jl/i/mn/Animal_Suffering_The_Jewish_View.html
An additional reason mentioned by the Sages for human treatment of animals is that it cultivates humane conduct toward other people, while inhumane treatment of animals carries the danger of inculcating insensitivity toward others. (Research confirms a connection between people who torture animals as youngsters and those who are violent as adults, though there is no way to tell if there is a causal relationship.)
The Sefer Hachinuch (596) writes: "Among the motivations for this commandment is to accustom ourselves to delicate souls, choosing the straight path and adhering to it, and seeking mercy and kindness. Once we obtain this habit, then even toward animals, which were created to serve us, we will show concern."
And Nachmanides writes: "The reason for refraining [from taking the eggs in the presence of the mother] is to teach us the quality of mercy, and not to act cruelty. For cruelty [toward animals then] spreads into the soul of man [and expresses itself toward people as well]."
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Value of a Friend's Advice
by Rabbi Zev Leff
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=48942661§ion=/tp/i/oai
Should one seek the advice of a friend who is beneath him?
"And God appeared to him in the plains of Mamre." (Genesis 18:1)
The Midrash relates that when God commanded Avraham to circumcise himself and his entire household, Avraham sought the advice of his three confederates - Aner, Eshkol and Mamre. Aner told him that the bris would weaken him and render him vulnerable to attack from relatives of the four kings he had just vanquished. Eshkol stressed that the operation itself, with the attendant loss of blood, was life threatening. Mamre, however, told Avraham that having experienced God's deliverance from Nimrod's furnace and the miraculous victory over four mighty kings, he should trust in God and follow His command. For this advice, Mamre was rewarded by God appearing to Avraham on his estate - "in the plains of Mamre."
There are several difficulties with this Midrash. Most importantly, why did Avraham feel the necessity to seek advice whether or not to fulfill God's command? And if he needed advice, why did he not go to the Yeshiva of Shem or Ever, rather than ask Aner, Eshkol and Mamre? And if two out of the three emphasized the danger involved, why did Avraham listen to Mamre, who stressed the need for trust in God? Finally, why was Mamre rewarded for giving Avraham obvious advice, rather than Aner and Eshkol punished for attempting to dissuade him?
To answer these questions, we must first understand the essence of friendship and the value of a friend. The Sages teach that before God created man, He first consulted with the angels. From this we learn that one should seek advice even from those on a lower spiritual level. Similarly, the commentators to Pirkei Avos (1:6) comment on the teaching "...acquire a friend for yourself" - even one at a lower spiritual level.
But why should one seek the advice of a friend who is beneath him?
Everyone's perspective is highly subjective and biased with respect to all matters concerning himself. His desires blind his eyes from anything other than the object of his desires, and prevent him from weighing the pros and cons objectively. For this reason, writes Meiri in his commentary to Proverbs (20:18), one needs the perspective of someone who is removed from all the subjective biases that cloud one's vision, someone who can weigh the situation without having to contend with a welter of strong desires. A friend need not be at a higher spiritual level, or even as high, to offer valuable advice; he need only be free of the particular desires which render one incapable of objectivity.
So important is objective advice that Rabbeinu Yona (Sha'arei Teshuva 3:53) learns that the prohibition, "Do not put a stumbling block before the blind," applies not just to giving bad advice, but requires us to provide good advice as well. Depriving someone of objective counsel is itself putting a stumbling block before him. Without such counsel he will certainly err.
Rashba in his responsa (1:48) goes a step further. Even if one has already reached a definite decision, Rashba says, he should still seek the advice of others, since it is not only the action which is important, but also the feelings and intentions that go with it.
The purpose of a friend's advice is to provide an objective view of the issue at hand. Therefore the friend must not introduce his own biases, emotions and subjectivity. His task is not to imagine himself with the same dilemma, but rather to ask himself, "If I were he, without his subjective bias, what would I do?"
Avraham never doubted that he would fulfill God's command concerning the bris. Nevertheless he still sought the advice of his three confederates to gain a more objective view of his situation, just as Rashba says one should. And Avraham went precisely to those who could perhaps put themselves in his place, because they themselves had experience with a bris. Because Aner, Eshkol, and Mamre had forged a bond with Avraham, they had the potential to relate to the concept of bris.
Aner and Eshkol did not give him bad advice. In fact, the Midrash never says explicitly that they advised him not to perform the mitzvah. Rather, they considered what they would do if faced with a similar command and advised Avraham accordingly. By focusing on the dangers involved, they in effect advised Avraham to perform the mitzvah with such fears uppermost in his mind. This was not bad advice, but no advice at all because they failed to put themselves into Avraham's position, minus his bias and subjectivity.
Mamre, by contrast, projected himself into Avraham's place and advised him on the basis of Avraham's frame of reference and experience of Divine protection. Hence Avraham's thoughts while undergoing the bris centered on faith and trust that God would assist him in fulfilling this command, as He had assisted him throughout his life.
For freeing himself from his own subjective perspective, Mamre was rewarded by God's appearing in his portion. Objectivity is the precondition for recognition of the truth, i.e. the recognition of God Himself.
Through God's revelation to Avraham in the plains of Mamre, we learn that receiving guests is greater than receiving God's presence, for Avraham interrupted his communion with God to run to greet the three angels disguised as men. Entertaining guests requires consideration of another's needs and shedding one's own narrow subjectivity. The ability to attain objectivity allows perception of the truth of the Divine on a constant basis. Thus the ability to properly treat guests is superior to a one-time revelation of God's presence.
We pray three times a day, "Restore our judges as in earliest times and our counselors as at first..." May we all merit to both receive and provide objective advice so that we can live our lives according to the principles of righteousness set down by our judges of old. And in this way, "...God will remove from us sorrow and groaning."
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/tp/i/oai/The-value-of-a-friends-advice.html
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Hurricane Sandy
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
http://www.aish.com/ci/s/Hurricane-Sandy.html
Why the key to rain remains in God’s hands.
Today was a great reminder.
Here in New York as well as in most of the Northeast of the United States hurricane Sandy, in all of its fury, canceled our schools, closed our bridges, tunnels and transportation systems, shut down the stock market and disrupted our lives in countless ways we never would’ve thought possible.
Ask millions of us yesterday what we were going to do today and staying home would’ve been the most unthinkable answer. After all we had so many plans that simply couldn’t be changed. And yet we suddenly learned the truth of the adage that man proposes and God disposes.
There’s a remarkable passage in the Talmud that gives us a unique insight into the laws of nature. Science has convinced us that the laws of nature are immutable, constant and highly predictable. We can know with certainty exactly when the sun will rise and when it will set in every portion of the globe, not only for today and tomorrow but for years to come. God wanted us to be able to regulate our lives and endowed us with the intellect to make the necessary computations for most of the laws that govern our reality.
But there are three things that God chose to keep hidden from us. These were meant to remain the great mysteries of mankind.
"Rabbi Yochanan taught, there are three keys in the hands of God that are not entrusted to an agent. They are: the key to rain, the key to conception, and the key to revival of the dead.”
Why is it that we can split the atom and land on the moon but still have the weather forecaster get it wrong with almost the same frequency as the result of a toss of the coin? Because God intended for the world to retain some reminders of the limits to our own power.
Three times a day in our prayers we praise God by acknowledging that it is He who “is responsible for life,” “resuscitates the dead” and “makes the wind to blow and the rain to descend.” Much as we try to control these events, our efforts are overshadowed by the Divine will that invariably makes the final decision.
It is a truth we need to remember when we hope for a child and turn to fertility doctors. Their knowledge is vital – but it is far from determinative. It is God who decided to keep everlasting control over the key to conception.
It is a fact that physicians are entrusted with the mission to heal. But whether their efforts will succeed and the patient will live or die is a second key retained by the Almighty.
And remarkably enough, rain – the gift from the heavens that is necessary for human survival but can turn deadly when granted in excessive measure – is the third key that God chose to maintain for constant personal supervision rather than to turn into a predictable law of nature.
As we unexpectedly sit at home during hurricane Sandy, perhaps we ought to reflect upon the Divine message of a storm that has the power to make us change plans that we thought were unalterable.
Related Article: The Fury of Frankenstorm
Where Are You Going?
There is a classic Jewish tale about an old rabbi in Russia, who would visit a synagogue near the town square every morning. Not a day passed that he skipped this routine. An anti-Semitic policeman who hated the sight of the rabbi desperately sought to find a reason to justify imprisoning him.
One morning, as the rabbi approached the town square, the policeman walked up to him and asked, “Sir, may I know where you are going?”
The rabbi replied, “I don’t know.”
The policeman seized on this and said, “Old man, you are lying to me. I know you are going to that synagogue over there. I have seen you every day. I’m going to arrest you for lying to a member of the police force.”
The policeman took the rabbi to the nearest police station and put him in one of the cells. As he was locking the door, the policeman proudly remarked, “Now you foolish man you will realize never again to lie to me.”
The rabbi replied, “My son, I have no idea why you claim I lied to you. I told you I didn’t know where I was going. Indeed I did not – I thought I was going to synagogue but, as you can see, it turned out I was going to jail.”
It is more than a story; it is a parable of our lives. We think we know where we are headed but in truth we can never be certain. And every so often we need to be reminded: God runs the world. God decides whether our appointment calendar will be kept. God has the power to suddenly transform our lives.
And perhaps, in the aftermath of perceiving how disruptive unexpected storms can be, we will also be moved to appreciate in much greater measure how grateful we must be to God when nature returns to its regular laws that normally guarantee us so much blessing.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/ci/s/Hurricane-Sandy.html
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That story of the Russian Rabbi is awesome.
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Hurricane Sandy: The Aftermath
by Charlie Harary
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=176774901§ion=/sp/so
Sandy brought her game. Now it’s time to bring ours.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012. 12:00 am EST
“Hello, 911?”
“Yes. How can we help?”
“There is water outside my house and it is rising fast. It’s already on my first step and I see water bubbling in the middle of the street. I’m not sure what’s happening but I’m scared that my house may fill up with water in the next few hours.”
“Sir, we are looking at your location and our emergency personnel can’t make it down your block.”
“But I have five little children here? What am I supposed to do?”
“We’re sorry sir. We can’t help you. Good luck.”
Click.
There I was, staring out my bedroom window with the phone at my ear as water was rushing up my front steps. In the other room, my wife and five children were sound asleep. I stood there overwhelmed. I turned to God and asked for help. Then I ran down the stairs.
Welcome to Hurricane Sandy, one of the worst hurricanes to hit the Northeast, ever. Hundreds injured, over 50 dead. Thousands without homes. Millions without power.
As I sit here in Sandy’s aftermath, sirens screaming in the background and debris in front my house, I keep thinking of one maxim: “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Judging by Sandy’s onslaught, there is some serious strength waiting for us. Sandy brought her game, now it’s time to bring ours.
So I decided to make few resolutions.
Related Article: Heroes Everywhere
#1: Be Happy with Normal
I remember when I was 16 years old. I was home on Saturday night with nothing to do, moping around, feeling sorry for myself when my grandparents came over.
“What’s the matter?” my grandmother asked.
“I’m having a bad night, my plans unraveled and I have nothing to do,” I kvetched.
My grandmother, who at my age was in Auschwitz, commented, “Boy, what I would have given to have nothing to do when I was your age.”
Enough said. Checkmate. Perspective gained.
It’s amazing how when our lives are functionally normally, we focus on what we are missing. We run through our days barely paying attention to all the things we have like health, shelter, family, electricity and heat. We are too busy coming and going, buzzing and beeping, thinking and worrying about what more we can get, to slow down and see what we already have.
Then something threatens our “normal.” A loved one gets sick. We encounter tragedy. We are in danger. Almost instantly, we shift perspective. We stop focusing on more. We stop worrying about what’s next. We just want it to go back to “normal.”
My Hurricane Sandy experience began Monday evening. We had been inside the house all day. The winds were howling and the trees were shaking. The lights began to flicker, and then … black.
We lost power. They told us power outages were likely but you can never fully prepare to lose power. It was dark. Real dark. For the next few hours, we slowly felt the effects. No internet, cell phones, heat, hot water, refrigeration. We huddled together. I couldn’t help but think, pray and silently beg for power. That’s all I wanted. I didn’t even care what it was powering; just power.
Power? Who appreciates power? I have never once turned on a light and said, “Wow, power. Amazing!”
But at that moment, that’s all I wanted.
Our Sages define happiness as the ability to take pleasure in what we have, and not pain in what we don’t. Positive Psychology gurus like Tal Ben Shachar speak about the scientific relationship between happiness and gratitude. We all know this, but we never seem to integrate it into our lives.
We live in a time where most of the civilized world enjoys more luxuries than the wealthy elite just decades earlier. We have so much, and yet we just want more. We are waiting for something to make us happy. But there is nothing that can make us happy. Happiness is a choice.
Of course we should strive. Growth is part of our life. But we need to make sure we live with perspective. We have to start to take pleasure in “normal.” We have to start to enjoy life the way we have it. We shouldn’t need a Category 1 hurricane to have us cheer and hug when the lights go back on.
Resolution #1: Every day, notice one thing in my “normal” life and be grateful for it.
Related Article: Huricane Sandy
#2: Trust the Greatness Within
As I stood there, staring out the window, it hit me. No one was coming. No one.
I always thought there would be someone to turn to in times of need. A police officer, firefighter, emergency personnel, family or friend are just a phone call away if the going got rough.
I was wrong.
I was alone, and responsible, and in need of help.
Standing in my room, a thought popped into my mind. A person is never alone. God is not in the sky watching down at the earth. He is Infinite and All-encompassing, in every bit of reality. He is not just “up there,” He is “right here,” the glue holding us together. We all have a depth of strength, wisdom and perseverance that we can draw on. He is with us, always. I prayed that I can find Him, and now.
An idea came to me. Grab the family and run out the back. But before I woke them, I needed to make sure we had a place to go.
I ran down the stairs, out the back door to the backyard. I jumped a tall fence, through a patch of trees and then to the back of a home that faced another street. I climbed the back stairs and saw a window. I banged and banged until someone answered.
Thankfully, they were home and welcoming. Within minutes, I went back to my house, woke my family and then, one by one, retraced our steps until everyone was in the house, safe.
My actions were but a pittance of the courage, heroism and strength brought on during Sandy.
Throughout the storm, thousands of “regular” people tapped into an internal source they may have never previously accessed. Doctors and nurses moved hospitals wards and saved lives. Police and firefighters swam, ran and drove boats to save people from underwater homes. Neighbors, friends and total strangers literally saved people’s lives.
Why? It’s not because crisis breeds heroes. Crisis enables people to bring out the heroism they always had within them.
We are created with a soul that is Divine. Like a well, the more we draw, the more we recognize its depth. Sometimes it takes tragedy to realize how kind, caring and generous we are. Sometimes a crisis reveals the courage, bravery and strength that we never saw before.
Resolution #2: Dare to be great. Every day, set one goal beyond my perceived limitations and go for it. Push to see how much potential I really have.
Related Article: Slovie’s Hurricane Sandy Diary
3. Restructure Your Life to Align with your Priorities
Famed author and speaker, Dr. Stephen Covey, ran a seminar where he invited people to place different size rocks into a bucket. After multiple failed attempts to get all the rocks in, Covey demonstrated how to do it. He started with the big rocks and after careful placement, all the rocks fit. He turned to the audience and surmised: “If you don’t put the big rocks in first, you’ll never get them in."
How many times do we feel overwhelmed but unfulfilled? Busy but out of control? Sensing that life should feel different than it currently does. The reason is that, many times, our lives don’t align with our priorities. We are out of balance and we feel it.
There is nothing like a crisis to realign our actions to our priorities.
After I secured the safety of my family, I headed back home to get some basic items. On the way back in, I surveyed the damage. My car was under water, my home was filling up. I realized that this storm may wipe out my possessions.
I tried to be upset but I couldn’t. I didn’t care. Not even a bit. I knew I would care tomorrow, but for tonight, there were more important things. I rushed to collect diapers, water, socks and pajamas and headed back to my family. Stuff is what it is, stuff. For tonight, it didn’t make the top of my list.
How many times do our loved ones get rescheduled for our work? How many conversations did we miss even though we were physically there? How many family members get less attention than our hobbies?
And we wonder why we feel unfulfilled.
There is a family in my neighborhood that awoke to water gushing into their home. They climbed to their attic until they were rescued hours later. The next day, I saw the father walking with his kids. He had a gym bag of his possessions. His house was under water. I asked him how he was. He responded “Thank God, everything is great!” Seeing my facial response, he continued, “I’m not sure if I have a house, but I have my wife and kids. That’s all I need.”
Lesson #3: Each day, hug each kid, tight. Pick a family member to call to say I love you.
#4: Giving is what makes the world go ‘round
“The world was built on kindness” (Psalms 89:3)
As we sat in my neighbor’s house, I couldn’t help but smile. We were practically strangers. Yet their outpouring of support was amazing. They made us feel as welcome as can be. They brought food, water and blankets. We made quite a mess and a ruckus, and they were not bothered in the slightest.
Giving feels better than taking because giving is a Divine quality, and the more Godly we act, the better it feels.
There is something about crisis that brings out the best in many of us. Deep down, we know we are one people. During “normal” times, it’s easy to focus on the differences. It’s easy to entrench and protect ourselves. But when our normal is threatened, we realize that we need each other. Our differences are eclipsed by are similarities. We are free to be our true selves. We are free to give.
The day after the storm, I walked up the street. People were outside their homes offering help to each other. We were sharing sub pumps and wet-vacs. One woman, whose house was spared, drove by and brought us groceries. Someone else dropped off a pie of pizza. At night, a friend stopped by with heaters. Families moved in with others. Our phones are buzzing with well-wishers.
Resolution #4: The next time I have an opportunity to give, I will just give.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012. 9:00 am EST
I walked outside my home to survey the damage. The streets were still filled with water. Coast guard boats were evacuating people from their homes. Sirens were blaring down the streets.
“What happens now, Daddy?” my son asked.
“There is only one place to go from here,” I answered.
“Where?”
“Forward.”
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/so/Huricane-Sandy-The-Aftermath.html
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A Moment of Life Cheshvan 21, 5773 • November 6, 2012
Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe, Rabbi M. M. Schneerson
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People talk about “wasting time,” or even about “killing time.” Neither term is accurate. Time awaits you to give it life.
A moment flashes into existence, anticipating your breath of life. After all, for this purpose you came here, to be at this time, in this moment, so that you will make it a living moment, a moment that has meaning, and a meaning connected to the One who created time itself.
Grant it that life, and this moment will endure forever. Fail to do so, and it has already left, as a moment that never was.
Abraham, we are told, was “come of days,” meaning that he entered into every day with his entire being. You too, must strive to to make every moment a moment of life.
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Why Does a Good G‑d Make Bad Hurricanes?
By Tzvi Freeman
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2029782/jewish/Why-Does-a-Good-G-d-Make-Bad-Hurricanes.htm
When I took this job at Chabad.org Ask-The-Rabbi, I didn’t realize I was supposed to be G‑d’s defense attorney. But for whatever reason, people intuitively see religion as a comfort pillow, a set of answers to questions that will set everything alright so that they can go on living within a stable, explicable world knowing that some rabbi at the other end of their mobile device will have an answer to whatever’s gone wrong.
Enough griping, Freeman. People are cold, wet, hungry and exhausted. They’ve lost their homes, their possessions—their whole future has been abruptly and violently pulled out from under them. And they want you to explain to them how, despite all external appearances, Hurricane Sandy was an act of G‑d, and not just a freak incident of some indifferent entity called nature.
C’mon, Freeman. Torah’s gotta have an answer to that.
Whose Garden Is This?
One of the first narratives we heard as kids in Hebrew School is how Adam and Eve got kicked out of the Garden. Nice, simple story, right? No, please, no. The story is deep, so very, very deep.
Creator makes earth. He likes the earth He made. It’s good. He makes Adam. He likes the Adam critter, too. He’s very good. So He puts the Adam in a beautiful garden with dates, almonds and figs for the picking, lovely rivers in which to bathe, a controlled climate system, caressed gently by a warm, distant ball of fire by day, and a not-so-distant semi-reflective device by night. He split the Adam in two, because loneliness was deemed “not good,” and blessed them to be fruitful and multiply, as stewards of this beautiful garden custom-designed just for them.
But the Adam critters are not satisfied with tending to someone else’s garden in which they have no say and just have to follow the rules. The Adam critters have this need to feel their own sense of being, to have their own lives; in a certain way to be like the Creator Himself. And they let their Creator know that, with just one mischievous deed—and a lot of blaming.
But the Adam critters are not satisfied with taking care of someone else's garden. They want their own lives, with their own world.
So the Creator says, “Okay, you want your own lives. Not a bad idea. But then you’ll need to have your own world as well. So I’ll give you a wild, bucking-bronco world, and you’ll have the responsibility of taking care of it, and taking care of yourself inside it. And then you too will have some of the sense of being a Creator.”
And with that the Adam critter, which is us, is sent out of the garden, “to work the earth from which he was taken.”
It is still very much a controlled earth, by far the mildest of planets we’ve observed with any telescope. A thin, translucent cloak shields life from harsh cosmic rays, while carrying just the right trace of carbon to retain its warmth. It juggles that carbon, along with nitrogen and water in perpetual life-giving cycles, turning air into living organisms that breathe back life into the air. Winds moderate temperatures, while carry moisture from the seas, casting gentle flakes upon the mountains, and descend in the warmer seasons to water the plains and valleys. That semi-reflective device also works nicely to provide a cycle of tides that marry together the seas and the dry land. Magnificent, beautiful, beyond ingenious.
But the system is not always so friendly. And there come those times when it downright turns blindly against us, as though we don’t exist. We find ourselves rendered helpless before a force much greater than us. Suddenly, we are small. Suddenly it hits us that, hey, we didn’t make this place. And we don’t control it, either.
Yet, it is at these times that we must ourselves become G‑dly. Because we are being forced to take responsibility for our own world. The environmental scientists will argue over whether this has to do with us tipping that delicate balance of carbon in the atmosphere. One thing I know for sure: We have to clean up the mess our fellow Adam critters are in, and we have to build a world that disasters like this cannot so easily tumble.
Being G-dly
What I’m not going to say is that it’s just nature, things like this just happen. Like Maimonides writes, people who say “things just happen” are cruel people. Why cruel? Because they’re robbing from others the opportunity to lift themselves up, from entire communities the opportunity to transform. To realize that “things happen” because there’s a Creator, and we are His creations with an assignment. We’re here to make this world, and all those in it, know how G‑dly it is.
Look at what’s happening today in the seaside neighborhoods of New York and New Jersey. Communities are being forced to build themselves back up. Let me tell you this: No outside agency is going to be able to do all that for them. If anyone can do it, it’s the community itself.
I’m hearing from Chabad rabbis whose homes and centers were wiped out, and they’re running around getting meals to seniors, generators to cold homes and bringing in busloads of volunteers to clean out the sand and muck and deliver meals. Sure, there’s a truck down the street where people are lining up to get food packages, but how are people stuck in their apartments without a phone supposed to know? There’s an American Army, there’s FEMA, there’s the Red Cross—but sometimes it takes someone like this little, bearded guy who knows the streets, knows the people, is trusted by them, and who feels his destiny is tied to theirs, to pick up their spirits and get them to rebuild their homes and their lives.
Hey, when you’re without phone, electricity, heat or transportation, the grocery stores are in ruins and there’s nowhere to grab a meal, and you look down the stairs at a muck-saturated clump of everything you ever saved, your clothes, your books, your family heirlooms, and it’s all gone, all gone—it’s no small deal when the local rabbi drops by with a kosher meal, some news from the outside world, and you can pour your heart out to him. Life becomes once again a viable option.
Are You Comfy Yet?
Does that answer the question? Does that make you feel all comfy, because everything is explained, including hurricanes, tsunamis and the Creator of the universe?
I hope not. Because it’s not supposed to. Torah is not G‑d’s defense portfolio. It’s His instructions to us, telling us what we’re here for and what we’re supposed to do right now. Every mitzvah you do, from wrapping tefillin to lighting candles before Shabbat, is included in instructions to fix the world, right now.
Right now, the best thing you can do is get a truckload of generators, power cables, heaters and sandwiches, drive into one of those seaside neighborhoods with a few friends, and yell out, “Anyone need help? Anyone need a generator or heater at cost price? Anyone need a few hands to shovel out the sand?” Then go into apartment buildings and knock on doors.
If you can’t, and even if you can, you can help out our men and women on the scene, integral members of those communities, some of whom have lost everything, and yet are dedicated to get their entire community back on its feet. One way to do that is through our Hurricane Sandy Emergency Relief Fund.
But please don't stop there. Like I said, it's a deeply intertwined ecosystem in which every mitzvah of the Torah has its vital place in healing the world—and here are ten great starting points.
And here’s a photo essay I made back when Katrina hit, saying pretty much the same thing: We’re not here to explain G‑d. We’re here to act G‑dly. And to make this a G‑dly world.
BY TZVI FREEMAN
Rabbi Tzvi Freeman, a senior editor at Chabad.org, also heads our Ask The Rabbi team. He is the author of Bringing Heaven Down to Earth. To subscribe to regular updates of Rabbi Freeman's writing, visit Freeman Files subscription.
More articles by Tzvi Freeman | RSS
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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COVENANT & CONVERSATION: Chayei Sarah – Hopes and Fears
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2012/11/06/covenant-conversation-chayei-sarah-hopes-and-fears/#.UKBKJ-Oe9JQ
Chief Rabbi Lord Sacks
Sedra means torah portion and this is actual last weeks
The sedra of Chayei Sarah focuses on two episodes, both narrated at length and in intricate detail. Abraham buys a field with a cave as a burial place for Sarah, and he instructs his servant to find a wife for his son Isaac. Why these two events? The simple answer is because they happened. That, however, cannot be all. We misunderstand Torah if we think of it as a book that tells us what happened. That is a necessary but not sufficient explanation of biblical narrative. The Torah, by identifying itself as Torah, defines its own genre. It is not a history book. It is Torah, meaning “teaching.” It tells us what happened only when events that occurred then have a bearing on what we need to know now. What is the “teaching” in these two episodes? It is an unexpected one.
Abraham, the first bearer of the covenant, receives two promises – both stated five times. The first is of a land. Time and again he is told, by G-d, that the land to which he has travelled – Canaan – will one day be his.
(1) Then the Lord appeared to Abram and said, “To your offspring I will give this land.” So he built an altar there to the Lord who had appeared to him. (12:7)
(2) The Lord said to Abram after Lot had parted from him, “Lift up your eyes from where you are and look north, south, east and west. All the land that you see, I will give you and your offspring forever . . . Go, walk through the length and breadth of the land, for I am giving it to you.” (13: 14-17)
(3) Then He said to him, “I am the Lord, who brought you out of Ur of the Chaldees to give you this land to take possession of it.” (15: 7)
(4) On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram and said, “To your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the Euphrates – the land of the Kenites, Kenizzites, Kadmonites, Hittites, Perizzites, Rephaites, Amorites, Canaanites, Girgashites and Jebusites.” (15: 18-21)
(5) “I will establish My covenant as an everlasting covenant between Me and you and your descendants after you for the generations to come, to be your G-d and the god of your descendants after you. The whole land of Canaan, where you are now an alien, I will give you as an everlasting possession to you and to your descendants after you; and I will be their G-d.” (17: 7-8)
The second was the promise of children, also stated five times:
(1) “I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great and you will be a blessing.” (12: 2)
(2) “I will make your offspring like the dust of the earth, so that if anyone could count the dust, then your offspring could be counted.” (13: 16)
(3) He took him outside and said, “Look up at the heavens and count the stars – if indeed you can count them” Then He said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” (15: 5)
(4) “As for Me, this is My covenant with you: You will be the father of many nations. No longer will you be called Abram; your name will be Abraham, for I have made you a father of many nations.” (17: 4-5)
(5) “I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars of the sky and as the sand on the seashore.” (22: 17)
These are remarkable promises. The land in its length and breadth will be Abraham’s and his children’s as “an everlasting possession.” Abraham will have as many children as the dust of the earth, the stars of the sky, and the sand on the sea-shore. He will be the father, not of one nation, but of many. What, though, is the reality by the time Sarah dies? Abraham owns no land and has only one son (he had another, Ishmael, but was told that he would not be the bearer of the covenant).
The significance of the two episodes is now clear. First, Abraham undergoes a lengthy bargaining process with the Hittites to buy a field with a cave in which to bury Sarah. It is a tense, even humiliating, encounter. The Hittites say one thing and mean another. As a group they say, “Sir, listen to us. You are a prince of G-d in our midst. Bury your dead in the choicest of our tombs.” Ephron, the owner of the field Abraham wishes to buy, says: “Listen to me, I give you the field, and I give you the cave that is in it. I give it to you in the presence of my people. Bury your dead.” As the narrative makes clear, this elaborate generosity is a façade for some extremely hard bargaining. Abraham knows he is “an alien and a stranger among you,” meaning, among other things, that he has no right to own land. That is the force of their reply which, stripped of its overlay of courtesy, means: “Use one of our burial sites. You may not acquire your own.” Abraham is not deterred. He insists that he wants to buy his own. Ephron’s reply – “It is yours. I give it to you” – is in fact the prelude to a demand for an inflated price: four hundred silver shekels. At last, however, Abraham owns the land. The final transfer of ownership is recorded in precise legal prose (23: 17-20) to signal that, at last, Abraham owns part of the land. It is a small part: one field and a cave. A burial place, bought at great expense. That is all of the Divine promise of the land that Abraham will see in his lifetime.
The next chapter, one of the longest in the Mosaic books, tells of Abraham’s concern that Isaac should have a wife. He is – we must assume – at least 37 years old (his age at Sarah’s death) and still unmarried. Abraham has a child but no grandchild —no posterity. As with the purchase of the cave, so here: acquiring a daughter-in-law will take much money and hard negotiation. The servant, on arriving in the vicinity of Abraham’s family, immediately finds the girl, Rebecca, before he has even finished praying for G-d’s help to find her. Securing her release from her family is another matter. He brings out gold, silver, and clothing for the girl. He gives her brother and mother costly gifts. The family have a celebratory meal. But when the servant wants to leave, brother and mother say, “Let the girl stay with us for another year or ten [months].” Laban, Rebecca’s brother, plays a role not unlike that of Ephron: the show of generosity conceals a tough, even exploitative, determination to make a profitable deal. Eventually patience pays off. Rebecca leaves. Isaac marries her. The covenant will continue.
These are, then, no minor episodes. They tell a difficult story. Yes, Abraham will have a land. He will have countless children. But these things will not happen soon, or suddenly, or easily. Nor will they occur without human effort. To the contrary, only the most focused willpower will bring them about. The divine promise is not what it first seemed: a statement that G-d will act. It is in fact a request, an invitation, from G-d to Abraham and his children that they should act. G-d will help them. The outcome will be what G-d said it would. But not without total commitment from Abraham’s family against what will sometimes seem to be insuperable obstacles.
A land: Israel. And children: Jewish continuity. The astonishing fact is that today, four thousand years later, they remain the dominant concerns of Jews throughout the world – the safety and security of Israel as the Jewish home, and the future of the Jewish people. Abraham’s hopes and fears are ours. (Is there any other people, I wonder, whose concerns today are what they were four millennia ago? The identity through time is awe inspiring.) Now as then, the divine promise does not mean that we can leave the future to G-d. That idea has no place in the imaginative world of the first book of the Torah. To the contrary: the covenant is G-d’s challenge to us, not ours to G-d. The meaning of the events of Chayei Sarah is that Abraham realised that G-d was depending on him. Faith does not mean passivity. It means the courage to act and never to be deterred. The future will happen, but it is we – inspired, empowered, given strength by the promise—who must bring it about.
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On this Veteran's day, those of us who benefit from the great blessings of this land remember, salute and pray for those who fought and those who died so that this ever aspiring symbol of freedom might endure.
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Rachel:
I really like the levels of understanding that are revealed in your posts.
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Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe, Rabbi M. M. Schneerson
In each journey of your life you must be where you are. You may only be passing through on your way to somewhere else seemingly more important—nevertheless, there is purpose in where you are right now.
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Marc,
I'm really glad you enjoyed the piece.
The month of Kislev starts at sundown tonight and the first night of Hanukah is 25th of Kislev-- December 8th
Aish.com http://www.aish.com/h/c/s/h/48962046.html
Hope in Hell
by S. B. Unsdorfer
We had been helped by God, even in this forsaken little camp at Nieder-Orschel.
Excerpted from The Yellow Star by S. B. Unsdorfer
After having survived the horrors of Auschwitz, Simche Unsdorfer was transported to Nieder-Orschel and put to work making aeroplane wings for the German Luftwaffe. It is in this camp that the following story took place.
When writing the little diary in which I entered the Hebrew dates and Festivals, I discovered with great delight that Chanukah, the Festival of Lights, the festival on which we commemorate the recapture of the Temple from the mighty Greeks by a handful of faithful Jews, was only a few days ahead. I decided that we should light a little Chanukah lamp even in Nieder-Orschel, and that this would go a long way towards restoring our morale.
Benzi was immediately consulted because he had become the most reliable and trusted person in the block. Even those at the other two tables came to Benzi to settle their quarrels, which were mostly about the distribution of their rations. Benzi would stand no arguments at his own table. He cut every loaf into eight portions and shared it out indiscriminately. He who complained, received the smallest portion. “If you are dissatisfied,” Benzi would shout angrily, “go and join another table, where they have scales and judges.” Nobody ever left our table.
Benzi was enthusiastic about my idea. “Yes, we should get a Chanukah light burning,” he said. “It will boost our morale and lighten the atmosphere. Work on a plan, but be careful.”
Two problems had to be overcome: oil had to be “organised” and a place had to be found where the lighted wick would not be seen. The was no lack of oil in the factory, but how could we smuggle even a few drops into our barrack in time for Monday evening, December 11, the first night of Chanukah?
We knew, of course, that Jewish law did not compel us to risk our lives for the sake of fulfilling a commandment. But there was an urge in many of us to reveal the spirit of sacrifice implanted in our ancestors throughout the ages. We who were in such great spiritual as well as physical distress felt that a little Chanukah light would warm our starving souls and inspire us with hope, faith and courage to keep us going through this long, grim and icy winter.
Benzi, Grunwald, Stern, Fischof and I were in the plot. We decided to draw lots. The first name drawn would have to steal the oil; the third would be responsible for it and hide it until Monday evening; the fifth would have to light it under his bunk. I was drawn fifth.
Grunwald, who was to “organise” the oil, did his part magnificently. He persuaded the hated Meister Meyer that his machine would work better if oiled regularly every morning, and that his could best be arranged if a small can of fine machine oil was allotted to us to be kept in our toolbox. Meister Meyer agreed, so there was no longer the problem of having to hide it.
On Monday evening after Appell, everyone else sat down to his much awaited portion of tasteless but hot soup, while I busied myself under the bunk to prepare my Menorah. I put the oil in the empty half of a shoe-polish tin, took a few threads from my thin blanket and made them into a wick. When everything was ready I hastily joined the table to eat my dinner before I invited all our friends to the Chanukah Light Kindling ceremony. Suddenly, as I was eating my soup, I remembered we had forgotten about matches. I whispered to Benzi. “Everyone must leave a little soup,“ Benzi ordered his hungry table guests, and told them why. Within five minutes, five portions of soup were exchanged in the next room for a cigarette. The cigarette was “presented” to the chef, Joseph, for lending us a box of matches without questions.
And so, as soon as dinner was over I made the three traditional blessings, and a little Chanukah light flickered away slowly under my bunk. Not only my friends were there with us, but also many others from the room joined us in humming the traditional Chanukah songs. These songs carried us into the past. As if on a panoramic screen, we saw our homes, with our parents, brothers, sisters, wives, and children gathered round the beautiful silver candelabras, singing happily the Maoz Tzur. That tiny little light under my bunk set our hearts ablaze. Tears poured down our haggard cheeks. By now, every single inmate in the room sat silently on his bunk, or near mine, deeply meditating. For a moment, nothing else mattered. We were celebrating the first night of Chanukah as we had done in all the years previous to our imprisonment and torture. We were a group of Jewish people fulfilling our religious duties, and dreaming of home and of bygone years.
But alas! Our dream ended much too soon. A roar of “Achtung” brought our minds back to reality, and our legs to stiff attention. “The Dog” - that skinny little Unterschaarfuehrer - stood silently at the door, as he so often did on his surprise visits, looking anxiously for some excuse, even the slightest, to wield his dog-whip. Suddenly he sniffed as loudly as his Alsatian and yelled “Hier stinkts ja von Oehl!” (“It stinks of oil in here!”).
My heart missed a few beats as I stared down at the little Chanukah light flickering away, while “The Dog” and his Alsatian began to parade along the bunks in search of the burning oil.
The Unterschaarfuehrer silently began his search. I did not dare bend down or stamp out the light with my shoes for fear the Alsatian would notice my movements and leap at me. I gave a quick glance at the death-pale faces round me, and so indeed did “The Dog”. Within a minute or two he would reach our row of bunks. Nothing could save us…but suddenly…
Suddenly a roar of sirens, sounding an air raid, brought “The Dog” to a stop and within seconds all lights in the entire camp were switched off from outside. “Fliegeralarm! Fliegeralarm!” echoed throughout the camp! Like lightning I snuffed out the light with my shoes and following a strict camp rule, we all ran to the open ground, brushing “The Dog” contemptuously aside. “There will be an investigation…There will be an investigation,” he screamed above the clatter of rushing prisoners who fled out into the Appell ground. But I did not worry. In delight I grabbed my little Menorah and ran out with it. This was the sign, the miracle of Chanukah, the recognition of our struggle against the temptations of our affliction. We had been helped by God, even in this forsaken little camp at Nieder-Orschel.
Outside, in the ice-cold, star-studded night, with the heavy drone of Allied bombers over our heads, I kept on muttering the traditional blessing to the God who wrought miracles for His people in past days and in our own time. The bombers seemed to be spreading these words over the host of heaven.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/c/s/h/48962046.html
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COVENANT & CONVERSATION: Toldot – Between Prophecy and Oracle
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2012/11/12/covenant-conversation-toldot-between-prophecy-and-oracle/#.UKZpM-Oe9JR
Rebecca, hitherto infertile, became pregnant. Suffering acute pain, “she went to inquire of the Lord” [vatelekh lidrosh et Hashem] (Bereishit 25:22). The explanation she received was that she was carrying twins who were contending in her womb. They were destined to do so long into the future:
Two nations are in your womb,
And two peoples from within you will be separated;
One people will be stronger than the other,
And the older will serve the younger [ve-rav ya’avod tsa’ir]. (Bereishit 25: 23)
Eventually the twins are born – first Esau, then (his hand grasping his brother’s heel) Jacob. Mindful of the prophecy she has received, Rebecca favours the younger son, Jacob. Years later, she persuades him to dress in Esau’s clothes and take the blessing Isaac intended to give his elder son. One verse of that blessing was “May nations serve you and peoples bow down to you. Be lord over your brothers, and may the sons of your mother bow down to you.” (Bereishit 26:29) The prediction has been fulfilled. Isaac’s blessing can surely mean nothing less than what was disclosed to Rebecca before either child was born, namely that “the older will serve the younger.” The story has apparently reached closure, or so, at this stage, it seems.
But biblical narrative is not what it seems. Two events follow which subvert all that we had been led to expect. The first happens when Esau arrives and discovers that Jacob has cheated him out of his blessing. Moved by his anguish, Isaac gives him a benediction, one of whose clauses is:
You will live by your sword
And you will serve your brother.
But when you grow restless,
You will throw his yoke from off your neck. (Bereishit 27: 40)
This is not what we had anticipated. The older will not serve the younger in perpetuity.
The second scene, many years later, occurs when the brothers meet after a long estrangement. Jacob is terrified of the encounter. He had fled from home years earlier because Esau had vowed to kill him. Only after a long series of preparations and a lonely wrestling match at night is he able to face Esau with some composure. He bows down to him seven times. Seven times he calls him “my lord.” Five times he refers to himself as “your servant.” The roles have been reversed. Esau does not become the servant of Jacob. Instead, Jacob speaks of himself as the servant of Esau. But this cannot be. The words heard by Rebecca when “she went to inquire of the Lord” suggested precisely the opposite, that “the older will serve the younger.” We are faced with cognitive dissonance.
More precisely, we have here an example of one of the most remarkable of all the Torah’s narrative devices – the power of the future to transform our understanding of the past. This is the essence of Midrash. New situations retrospectively disclose new meanings in the text (see the essay ‘The Midrashic Imagination’ by Michael Fishbane). The present is never fully determined by the present. Sometimes it is only later that we understand now.
This is the significance of the great revelation of G-d to Moses in Shemot 33:33, where G-d says that only His back may be seen – meaning, His presence can be seen only when we look back at the past; it can never be known or predicted in advance. The indeterminacy of meaning at any given moment is what gives the biblical text its openness to ongoing interpretation.
We now see that this was not an idea invented by the sages. It already exists in the Torah itself. The words Rebecca heard – as will now become clear – seemed to mean one thing at the time. It later transpires that they meant something else.
The words ve-rav yaavod tsair seem simple: “the older will serve the younger.” Returning to them in the light of subsequent events, though, we discover that they are anything but clear. They contain multiple ambiguities.
The first (noted by Radak and R. Yosef ibn Kaspi) is that the word et, signalling the object of the verb, is missing. Normally in biblical Hebrew the subject precedes, and the object follows, the verb, but not always. In Job 14:19 for example, the words avanim shachaku mayim mean “water wears away stones,” not “stones wear away water.” Thus the phrase might mean “the older shall serve the younger” but it might also mean “the younger shall serve the older”. To be sure, the latter would be poetic Hebrew rather than conventional prose style, but that is what this utterance is: a poem.
The second is that rav and tsa’ir are not opposites, a fact disguised by the English translation of rav as “older.” The opposite of tsa’ir (“younger”) is bechir (“older” or “firstborn”). Rav does not mean “older.” It means “great” or possibly “chief.” This linking together of two terms as if they were polar opposites, which they are not – the opposites would have been bechir/tsa’ir or rav/me’at – further destabilises the meaning. Who was the rav? The elder? The leader? The chief? The more numerous? The word might mean any of these things.
The third – not part of the text but of later tradition – is the musical notation. The normal way of notating these three words would be mercha-tipcha-sof pasuk. This would support the reading, “the older shall serve the younger.” In fact, however, they are notated tipcha-mercha-sof pasuk – suggesting, “the older, shall the younger serve”; in other words, “the younger shall serve the older.”
A later episode adds a yet another retrospective element of doubt. There is a second instance in Bereishit of the birth of twins, to Tamar (Bereishit 38:27-30). The passage is clearly reminiscent of the story of Esau and Jacob:
When her time was come, there were twins in her womb, and while she was in labour one of them put out a hand. The midwife took a scarlet thread and fastened it round the wrist, saying, “This one appeared first.” No sooner had he drawn back his hand, than his brother came out, and the midwife said, “What! You have broken out first!” So he was named Perez. Soon afterwards his brother was born with the scarlet thread on his wrist, and he was named Zerah.
Who then was the elder? And what does this imply in the case of Esau and Jacob? (See Rashi to 25: 26 who suggests that Jacob was in fact the elder.) These multiple ambiguities are not accidental but integral to the text. The subtlety is such, that we do not notice them at first. Only later, when the narrative does not turn out as expected, are we forced to go back and notice what at first we missed: that the words Rebecca heard may mean “the older will serve the younger” or “the younger will serve the older.”
A number of things now become clear. The first is that this is a rare example in the Torah of an oracle as opposed to a prophecy (this is the probable meaning of the word chidot in Bamidbar 12: 8, speaking about Moses: “With him I speak mouth to mouth, openly and not in chidot” — usually translated as “dark speeches” or “riddles”). Oracles – a familiar form of supernatural communication in the ancient world – were normally obscure and cryptic, unlike the normal form of Israelite prophecy. This may well be the technical meaning of the phrase “she went to inquire of the Lord” which puzzled the medieval commentators.
The second – and this is fundamental to an understanding of Bereishit – is that the future is never as straightforward as we are led to believe. Abraham is promised many children but has to wait years before Isaac is born. The patriarchs are promised a land but do not acquire it in their lifetimes. The Jewish journey, though it has a destination, is long and has many digressions and setbacks. Will Jacob serve or be served? We do not know. Only after a long, enigmatic struggle alone at night does Jacob receive the name Israel meaning, “he who struggles with G-d and with men and prevails.”
The most important message of this text is both literary and theological. The future affects our understanding of the past. We are part of a story whose last chapter has not yet been written. That rests with us, as it rested with Jacob.
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COVENANT & CONVERSATION: Vayetze – Encountering G-d
Chief Rabbi Lord Sacks
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2012/11/19/covenant-conversation-vayetze-encountering-g-d/
It is one of the great visions of the Torah. Jacob, alone at night, fleeing from the wrath of Esau, lies down to rest, and sees not a nightmare of fear but an epiphany:
He came to a certain place [vayifga bamakom] and stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. He had a dream. He saw a ladder resting on the earth, with its top reaching heaven. G-d’s angels were going up and down on it. There above it stood G-d . . .
Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, “G-d is truly in this place, but I did not know it.” He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of G-d; this is the gate of heaven.” (28:11-17)
On the basis of this passage the sages said that “Jacob instituted the evening prayer.” The inference is based on the word vayifga which can mean not only, “he came to, encountered, happened upon” but also “he prayed, entreated, pleaded” as in Jeremiah 7: 16, “Neither lift up cry nor prayer for them nor make intercession to Me [ve-al tifga bi].”
The sages also understood the word bamakom, “the place” to mean “G-d” (the “place” of the universe). Thus Jacob completed the cycle of daily prayers. Abraham instituted shacharit, the morning prayer, Isaac minchah, the afternoon prayer, and Jacob arvit, the prayer of nighttimes.
This is a striking idea. Though each of the weekday prayers is identical in wording, each bears the character of one of the patriarchs. Abraham represents morning. He is the initiator, the one who introduced a new religious consciousness to the world. With him a day begins. Isaac represents afternoon. There is nothing new about Isaac – no major transition from darkness to light or light to darkness. Many of the incidents in Isaac’s life recapitulate those of his father. Famine forces him, as it did Abraham, to go to the land of the Philistines. He re-digs his father’s wells. Isaac’s is the quiet heroism of continuity. He is a link in the chain of the covenant. He joins one generation to the next. He introduces nothing new into the life of faith, but his life has its own nobility. Isaac is steadfastness, loyalty, the determination to continue. Jacob represents night. He is the man of fear and flight, the man who wrestles with G-d, with others and with himself. Jacob is one who knows the darkness of this world.
There is, however, a difficulty with the idea that Jacob introduced the evening prayer. In a famous episode in the Talmud, Rabbi Joshua takes the view that, unlike shacharit or minchah, the evening prayer is not obligatory (though, as the commentators note, it has become obligatory through the acceptance of generations of Jews). Why, if it was instituted by Jacob, was it not held to carry the same obligation as the prayers of Abraham and Isaac? Tradition offers three answers.
The first is that the view that arvit is non-obligatory according to those who hold that our daily prayers are based, not on the patriarchs but on the sacrifices that were offered in the Temple. There was a morning and afternoon offering but no evening sacrifice. The two views differ precisely on this, that for those who trace prayer to sacrifice, the evening prayer is voluntary, whereas for those who base it on the patriarchs, it is obligatory.
The second is that there is a law that those on a journey (and for three days thereafter) are exempt from prayer. In the days when journeys were hazardous – when travellers were in constant fear of attack by raiders – it was impossible to concentrate. Prayer requires concentration (kavanah). Therefore Jacob was exempt from prayer, and offered up his entreaty not as an obligation but as a voluntary act – and so it remained.
The third is that there is a tradition that, as Jacob was travelling, “the sun set suddenly” – not at its normal time. Jacob had intended to say the afternoon prayer, but found, to his surprise, that night had fallen. Arvit did not become an obligation, since Jacob had not meant to say an evening prayer at all.
There is, however, a more profound explanation. A different linguistic construction is used for each of the three occasions that the sages saw as the basis of prayer. Abraham “rose early in the morning to the place where he had stood before G-d” (19:27). Isaac “went out to meditate [lasuach] in the field towards evening” (24:63). Jacob “met, encountered, came across” G-d [vayifga bamakom]. These are different kinds of religious experience.
Abraham initiated the quest for G-d. He was a creative religious personality – the father of all those who set out on a journey of the spirit to an unknown destination, armed only with the trust that those who seek, find. Abraham sought G-d before G-d sought him.
Isaac’s prayer is described as a sichah, literally, a conversation or dialogue. There are two parties to a dialogue – one who speaks and one who listens, and having listened, responds. Isaac represents the religious experience as conversation between the word of G-d and the word of mankind.
Jacob’s prayer is very different. He does not initiate it. His thoughts are elsewhere – on Esau from whom he is escaping, and on Laban to whom he is travelling. Into this troubled mind comes a vision of G-d and the angels and a stairway connecting earth and heaven. He has done nothing to prepare for it. It is unexpected. Jacob literally “encounters” G-d as we can sometimes encounter a familiar face among a crowd of strangers. This is a meeting brought about by G-d, not man. That is why Jacob’s prayer could not be made the basis of a regular obligation. None of us knows when the presence of G-d will suddenly intrude into our lives.
There is an element of the religious life that is beyond conscious control. It comes out of nowhere, when we are least expecting it. If Abraham represents our journey towards G-d, and Isaac our dialogue with G-d, Jacob signifies G-d’s encounter with us – unplanned, unscheduled, unexpected; the vision, the voice, the call we can never know in advance but which leaves us transformed. As for Jacob so for us, it feels as if we are waking from a sleep and realising as if for the first time that “G-d was in this place and I did not know it.” The place has not changed, but we have. Such an experience can never be made the subject of an obligation. It is not something we do. It is something that happens to us. Vayfiga bamakom means that, thinking of other things, we find that we have walked into the presence of G-d.
Such experiences take place, literally or metaphorically, at night. They happen when we are alone, afraid, vulnerable, close to despair. It is then that, when we least expect it, we can find our lives flooded by the radiance of the divine. Suddenly, with a certainty that is unmistakable, we know that we are not alone, that G-d is there and has been all along but that we were too preoccupied by our own concerns to notice Him. That is how Jacob found G-d – not by his own efforts, like Abraham; not through continuous dialogue, like Isaac; but in the midst of fear and isolation. Jacob, in flight, trips and falls – and finds he has fallen into the waiting arms of G-d. No one who has had this experience, ever forgets it. “Now I know that You were with me all the time but I was looking elsewhere.”
That was Jacob’s prayer. There are times when we speak and times when we are spoken to. Prayer is not always predictable, a matter of fixed times and daily obligation. It is also an openness, a vulnerability. G-d can take us by surprise, waking us from our sleep, catching us as we fall.
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A Ladder to Heaven
By Yossy Goldman
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/221035/jewish/A-Ladder-to-Heaven.htm
So what's the best way to get to heaven? Walk across a busy highway? Perform some amazing act of faith? Save a thousand lives? Well, a pretty good answer may be found in this week's Parshah.
We read the story of Jacob's dream and the famous ladder with its feet on the ground and head in the heavens. "And behold the angels of G-d were ascending and descending on it."
Let me ask you what they might call in Yiddish, a klotz kashe (simplistic question). Do angels need a ladder? Everyone knows angels have wings, not feet. So, if you have wings, why would you need a ladder?
There is a beautiful message here.
In climbing heavenward one does not necessarily need wings. Dispense with the dramatic. Forget about fancy leaps and bounds. There is a ladder, a spiritual route clearly mapped out for us; a route that needs to be traversed step-by-step, one rung at a time. The pathway to Heaven is gradual, methodical and eminently manageable.
Many people are discouraged from even beginning a spiritual journey because they think it needs that huge leap of faith. They cannot see themselves reaching a degree of religious commitment which to them seems otherworldly. And yet, with the gradual step-by-step approach, one finds that the journey can be embarked upon and that the destination aspired to is actually not in outer space.
When I was growing up in Brooklyn, I would pass a very big building on my way to school every morning. It was the King's County Savings Bank. All these years later I still remember the Chinese proverb that was engraved over the large portals at the entrance to the bank. "A journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step." Now that's not only Chinese wisdom; we Jews agree. And it's not limited to starting a savings plan. It is a simple yet powerful idea that it need not be "all or nothing."
What do you think is a rabbi's fantasy? A guy walking into my office and saying, "Rabbi, I want to become 'frum' (fully observant), now tell me what I must do"? Is that what I lie awake dreaming of? And if it did happen, do you think I would throw the book at him and insist he did every single mitzvah from that moment on? Never! Why not? Because a commitment like that is usually here today and gone tomorrow. Like the popular saying goes, "Easy come, easy go." I'm afraid I haven't had such wonderful experiences with the "instant Jew" types. The correct and most successful method of achieving our Jewish objectives is the slow and steady approach. Gradual, yet consistent. As soon as one has become comfortable with one mitzvah, it is time to start on the next, and so on and so forth. Then, through constant growth, slowly but surely we become more knowledgeable, committed, fulfilled and happy in our faith.
When my father was in yeshiva, his teacher once asked the following question: "If two people are on a ladder, one at the top and one on the bottom, who is higher?" The class thought it was a pretty dumb question -- until the wise teacher explained that they were not really capable of judging who was higher or lower until they first ascertained in which direction each was headed.
If the fellow on top was going down, but the guy on the bottom was going up, then conceptually, the one on the bottom was actually higher.
And so my friends, it doesn't really matter what your starting point is or where you are at on the ladder of religious life. As long as you are moving in the right direction, as long as you are going up, you will, please G-d, succeed in climbing the heavenly heights.
Wishing you a safe and successful journey.
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8-)
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Understanding the origins and purpose of the Five Books of Moses.
http://www.aish.com/jl/b/chumash/Introduction-Chumash-themes.html?s=mbaw
The Five Books of Moses
In Hebrew, the Five Books of Moses is called the Chumash – shorthand for Chamisha Chumshei Torah, which literally means the "five-fifths of the Torah."
And while the term "Torah" can refer to the entire body of Jewish thought, it often refers to just the Chumash.
The Chumash is also known as Pentateuch, a Greek word ("pent" means five; "teuch" means book). Bible is also a Greek word, meaning "book." The first translation of the Bible was into Greek, in the third century BCE, when Ptolemy II coerced 72 rabbis to do the translation.1 It is thus called the "Septuagint," which means "seventy."
The Chumash is called the Five Books of Moses because God dictated the entire text to Moses, who wrote it down. The five books are divided into 54 sections, and one section (called a parsha) is read every Shabbat in the synagogue. (Occasionally, two portions are read together.)
Because the Chumash is the basic book of Judaism, it is essential to have a good overall grasp of its content. This course features an illuminating essay on each of the 22 key Chumash themes, written by Rabbi Zave Rudman, an educator in Jerusalem with 25 years of experience teaching Chumash. (Rabbi Noson Weisz of Jerusalem is guest author for two of the essays, "Purpose of Creation" and "Binding of Isaac.")
In addition, each of the 22 Chumash themes features a 3-minute video presentation by Rabbi Eytan Feiner, a popular international speaker and a senior lecturer at Aish HaTorah in Jerusalem.
Here are the Five Books of Moses, with a brief description, and a distributive breakdown of the syllabus for this course:
(1) The Book of Genesis (Bereishit) deals with the origin of the world, the history of the world prior to and including the forefathers of the Jewish people, and the spiritual development of the Jewish people up until the era of Egyptian slavery. Essays in this section of the course include:
Class #2 – Purpose of Creation
Class #3 – Garden of Eden
Class #4 – Noah's Flood
Class #5 – God's Covenant with Abraham
Class #6 – Binding of Isaac
Class #7 – Jacob-Esav Rivalry
Class #8 – Story of Joseph
(2) The Book of Exodus (Shmot) includes the account of Jewish slavery, Moses' rise to the role of leader, the awesome events of the Exodus, and the seminal first months in the Sinai desert. Essays in this section of the course include:
Class #9 – Moses: Prophet and Leader
Class #10 – Ten Plagues
Class #11 – Splitting of the Red Sea
Class #12 – Ten Commandments
Class #13 – Golden Calf
Class #14 – The Tabernacle
(3) The Book of Leviticus (Vayikra) is named for the Levites, the tribe from whom the Jewish priesthood (kohanim) emerged. The Levites were responsible for assisting with the service and maintaining the Tabernacle (and later the Holy Temple in Jerusalem). The major topic of this book is the kohanim, descendants of Moses's brother, Aaron, who performed the actual Temple service. Jewish tradition often refers to this book as Torat Kohanim, "the laws of the priests." Essays in this section of the course include:
Class #15 – Understanding Korbanot
Class #16 – Holiness & Love Your Neighbor
Class #17 – The Jewish Festivals
(4) The Book of Numbers (Bamidbar) is so called because it begins with a census of the Jewish population in the desert. In Hebrew, this book is called Bamidbar – "in the desert" – as it chronicles the bulk of the 40 years of Jewish wandering in the desert en route to the Land of Israel. Essays in this section of the course include:
Class #18 – Sin of the Spies
Class #19 – Korach's Rebellion
Class #20 – The Balak-Bilam Duo
(5) The Book of Deuteronomy (Devarim) is a repetition of many concepts taught in earlier books. This book covers the final 36 days2 of Moses's life, and ends with an account of Moses's own death, as the next generation of Jews are poised to enter the Land of Israel, under the new leadership of Joshua. Essays in this section of the course include:
Class #21 – Wars of the Jews
Class #22 – Tochacha and Teshuva
Class #23 – Transfer of Leadership: From Moses to Joshua
And to review:
Purpose of the Bible
Much has been written about the very purpose of the Chumash: Is it a history book, a book of ethics, or a book of laws? In fact, as the #1 best-selling book every year for the past 3,300 years, it is all this and more. Let's explain:
(1) Law Book
Perhaps most obviously, the Chumash is a book of law. The word "Torah" itself means "instructions" – i.e. it contains every important law and concept necessary for proper Jewish personal and communal life. It is said that Torah is the "constitution" of the Jewish nation. The ideals of Shabbat, tzedakah, the centrality of Israel – in fact all of the 613 mitzvot are contained within.3 Without this book, Judaism would not exist.
(2) History Book
Yet the Chumash is more than just a dry listing of the 613 mitzvot; there are dozens of stories interspersed throughout. So in one regard, the Chumash also serves as a history book, a chronology of events of the first 2,500 years of human existence.4 In many instances, the Torah takes great pains to record accurately names, places and events; entire chapters are listings of names and generations. As the verse says: "This is the book of the chronicles of mankind" (Genesis 5:1).5
(3) Book of National DNA
Yet the Chumash still omits a great many details. For example, when Abraham first appears in the Book of Genesis, he is already 75 years old.6 He is one of the most significant figures in Jewish history and yet the Torah skips over his childhood and adult years.7
So obviously, those stories that are included must have a special purpose beyond their historical value.
There is a concept called Ma'aseh Avot Siman l'Banim8 – "the deeds of the ancestors are a sign for the children." On a macro-cosmic level, events that occurred to the patriarchs and matriarchs are a model for all of Jewish history. This is why we have to pay extra special attention to what's going on at this early phase of the Bible, because here is where the patterns are set. The events in the Torah create spiritual realities – the DNA, as it were – which persist throughout Jewish history. For example, the Jacob-Esav rivalry persists until today as one of the primary sources of anti-Semitism.9 In other words, "History repeats itself." Or in theological terms, Jewish history is Jewish destiny.
(4) Book of Wisdom
Beyond this, each incident in the Torah offers invaluable insights into human behavior. The Bible is often called Torah Chaim10 – literally "Instructions for Living." We derive lessons in behavior from the stories, which help guide and direct our lives. Torah is an inexhaustible source of wisdom that teaches us how to view the world – how to have better relationships, how to achieve peace of mind, how to relate to the world at large.
And while Torah values may occasionally seem irrelevant in light of the modern world, the opposite is actually true. Although many external aspects of society have changed over time, basic human nature has not. Unlike any other self-help book, Torah is a time-tested, proven formula, benefiting from thousands of years of meticulous analysis and practice. Its lessons are timeless. For while contemporary values are of human origin and transient, those of the Torah are divine and eternal.11
(5) Kabbalah Book
There is a deeper layer to the Chumash as well. The Midrash says that "God looked into the Torah and created the world."12 Just as an architect first draws up plans, and the builder produces the physical structure, God first wrote the Torah and then created the world using the Torah as its plan.13 In other words, Torah is the cause and the world is the result. As such, if Torah would cease to exist, the world would cease as well.14
Each detail of the world exists because the Torah says so. As the Vilna Gaon15 wrote:
The rule is that all that was, is, and will be until the end of time is included in the Torah from "Bereishit" (the first verse of Genesis) to "L'eynei kol Yisrael" (the last verse of Deuteronomy). And not merely in a general sense, but including the details of every species and of each person individually, and the most minute details of everything that happened to him from the day of his birth until his death.16
The most seemingly trivial passages and variations in the Torah text contain many secret meanings and lessons. Even as small a mark as a serif on the Hebrew letter yud, or decorative markings, were put there by God to teach scores of lessons.17
The Torah contains many coded messages as well. As the great kabbalist, Rabbi Moshe Cordevaro,18 wrote:
The secrets of our holy Torah are revealed through knowledge of combinations, numerology (gematria), switching letters, first-and-last letters, shapes of letters, first- and-last verses, skip-letters sequences, and letter combinations. These matters are powerful, hidden and enormous secrets.19
It is said that "Torah is the mind of God."20 If we want to connect with our Creator, we must understand His book.
How and When
The Torah was given at Mount Sinai in the Jewish year 2448 (numbered from creation),21 or 1313 BCE. The Torah was dictated by God to Moses – letter by letter, word by word. Moses wrote the Torah very much the same way that a scribe writes today – with pen and ink, on parchment in the form of a scroll.
Many people ask: How do we know the Torah is true. Especially given the central importance of Torah to Jewish life, it is crucial to be able to establish the veracity of the Torah as an accurate and truthful document. There are many excellent writings on this topic. For an in-depth treatment, we recommend Permission to Receive by Lawrence Keleman (Feldheim.com), which presents four rational approaches to the Torah's divine origin. A more concise presentation is, Did God Speak at Sinai?, online at Aish.com.
Throughout all generations, great care was taken to preserve the Torah exactly as it was given to Moses. Since every Torah must be letter-perfect, it is forbidden to write a single letter without copying it from another Torah. Moreover, the scribe must repeat every word out loud before writing it down, so as to insure accuracy in copying.22 This procedure of writing a Torah scroll was repeated countless times throughout the ages by qualified scribes, ensuring the integrity of the Torah for over 3,300 years.
When was the Torah actually written down? Just before the revelation at Sinai, Moses wrote everything that had transpired up until that point.23 After this, God would dictate each passage, Moses would repeat it aloud, and would then write it down.24 At the end of the 40 years of wandering in the desert, after God had finished dictating the entire Torah, Moses bound them together into one scroll.25
The Torah was never written with punctuation, although its sentence structure was revealed to Moses and transmitted, along with the notes used in chanting the Torah.26
Before his death, Moses wrote out 13 Torah scrolls. Twelve of these were distributed to each of the Twelve Tribes. The thirteenth was placed in the Ark of the Covenant with the stone tablets. If anyone would come and attempt to rewrite or falsify the Torah, the one in the Ark would "testify" against him. Likewise, if he had access to the scroll in the Ark and tried to falsify it, the distributed copies would "testify" against him.27
Today we see the fruits of this system. Torah scrolls from across the planet – from Yemen to Russia, from Egypt to Australia – have proven amazingly accurate with virtually no variances.28 This gives us confidence that the Torah we have today, is the same text received at Sinai.
Oral Law
It is a foundation of Jewish belief that the entire Torah, both written and oral, was revealed to Moses by God. The Written Torah lists the commandments, and the Oral Torah explains how to carry them out. Many Jewish laws are not directly mentioned in the Torah, but are derived from textual hints, which were expanded orally. For example:
Totafot (better known as Tefillin) are mentioned in the Bible: "And you shall place totafot between your eyes."29 But how do we know what they are? What color are they? What size? Shape? What about the straps? How many compartments? What parchments go inside? How should they be worn? Who should wear them? When?
None of this is written in the Bible. For these important details, we need the Oral Torah. And there are many such cases.
Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch30 explains:
The Written Torah is to the Oral Torah, just as short notes are on a full and extensive lecture on any scientific subject. For the student who has heard the whole lecture, short notes are quite sufficient to bring back afresh to his mind at any time the whole subject of the lecture. For him, a word, an added mark of interrogation or exclamation, a dot, the underlining of a word, etc. is often quite sufficient to recall to his mind a whole series of thoughts. For those who had not heard the lecture from the Master, such notes would be completely useless. If they were to try to reconstruct the scientific contents of the lecture literally from such notes they would of necessity make many errors.
Yet why do we need an Oral Torah? Why wasn't everything just written down?
Torah is not a reference work made to sit on a shelf. It is meant to be lived and internalized. The oral give-and-take, from teacher to student, encourages us to discuss and clarify, to know it backward and forward. And thousands of people learning the same information guarantees that mistakes do not enter the transmission.
Almost 2,000 years ago, the Romans captured Jerusalem and sent the Jews into exile. The president of the Jewish people, Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi, saw that the teacher-student framework was in danger of being disrupted, so he wrote down the Oral Torah – the Mishnah – to avoid it being forgotten.31
As the generations passed, more information – the Talmud – was written down to explain the Mishnah. Today, the basic laws are published in the Code of Jewish Law (Shulchan Aruch) and its accompanying commentaries. But much of Torah is still preserved in oral form, passed from teacher to student.
God, in His infinite wisdom, devised the consummate system for transmitting Torah throughout the generations. It is not a written law, and it is not an oral law. It is both.
English Translations
Hebrew is a very special language. It is the language that God spoke when creating the world.32 As the national language of the Jewish people, it best captures the meanings of Jewish life, concepts and prayers. And of course, Hebrew is the original language of the Torah.
When the Torah is translated into other languages, it loses much of its essence. For instance, the familiar King James translation often diverges from Jewish teachings. Furthermore, our Sages teach that "every day the Torah should be as new."33 This can also means that archaic language should not be used in translations, because this would give the impression that the Torah is old, not new.
Although many "modern" translations are more readable, they are often even more divorced from traditional Judaic sources. They may ignore the Talmud and Midrash, which contain the tradition for how to translate the idiomatic language of the Torah.
Two modern translations are "Jewishly accurate" and highly recommended:
ArtScroll Stone Chumash (ArtScroll.com)
The Living Torah, by Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (aryehkaplan.com)
Of course, there is no substitute for learning the original Hebrew text. Hebrew, as God's holy language, has an enormous amount of subtlety that no translation can ever convey. For example, the Hebrew word for "human" is adam. The name itself is derived from the word adama, meaning "ground," from which the first person was created.34 It is also a composite of the word dam, which means blood, and the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, aleph, which always alludes to God.35 This teaches us that a human being is a composite of physical matter and a spiritual soul.
So while it is important to have a good translation on hand, it is equally important to make an effort to study Torah in its original language.
And now... on with the 22 key Chumash themes!
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HJS5uiIxRY[/youtube]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HJS5uiIxRY
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My education continues, though tis like drinking from a fire hose.
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Happy Thanksgiving!
Marc,
If a student feels like theay are drinking water from a fire house it is generally a sign of a poor teacher. Are you interested in more of that series? I have usually been skipping the more in depth commentary but you and others had been very interested in the Rabbi Sacks commentary which tends to be more in depth.
Among other things I am grateful that I or anyone else wasn't injured in a impressive Pryex explosion/shattering . I heated it on a burner instead of the tea kettle. I'm also grateful that when I screw up my husbands only comment is generally I'm glad you weren't hurt and then he helps me clean up the mess.
The Blind Woman at the Gym
by Sara Debbie Gutfreund
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=177629121§ion=/sp/pg
Learning how to see.
I already had my earphones on, and I was about to step on the treadmill in the gym when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned around to see an older woman with sunglasses and a walking stick standing before me.
"Can you help me onto the machine?" she asked. I helped her set up her walking stick beside the elliptical machine, and she smiled warmly. "Such sweet women in this gym,” she remarked. “It's so nice to be around all these lovely people every morning."
The woman felt around for the handles of the machine and steadied her feet on the foot pedals. Then she thanked me and faced towards the picture window, moving slowly but steadily. I stared at the stunning orange, red and yellow leaves swirling from the trees and then I looked around me, at the dozens of women exercising. I realized that I hadn't really noticed any of them before. I was always rushing in and out of the gym, constantly late for something. But this blind woman beside me noticed them. She senses people’s movements in a way I am not attuned to. She hears kindness in voices that I don't even hear, as I block out any sound with my own music.
It reminded me of something a professor said when describing the loneliness most addicts feel when the object of their addiction replaces their social relationships. "For most addicts, everyone else is traffic." When an addict begins to spiral downwards, each person in his life becomes merely an obstacle to his goal of using. Connecting with others begins to feel like a waste of time. Relationships start to "get in the way" of what he wants. The addict travels down his futile road with great impatience, searching for instant gratification and wishing he could make anyone or anything in his path just disappear.
I drove home from class that day thinking about the professor’s statement as my car crawled along the highway. I thought about it as I stood on line at the grocery store waiting interminably. And it struck me – it's not just addicts, but so many of us view everyone else as traffic too.
The blind woman in the gym didn't have this problem. To her, everyone was a blessing and a hand to hold. And when I stood later that day on line at the supermarket, I kept reminding myself to try to see things the way the blind woman did.
Ironically, a customer at the front of the line was having trouble opening her pocketbook, and when she finally got it open, all her coupons spilled onto the floor. There was a collective sigh from the people on line. One guy talking on his phone said loud enough for all of us to hear, "Great, this is just what I need right now."
An older man who was standing in front of him spun around and asked, "Where are you rushing to? What is so important that you can't wait two extra minutes for someone to find her coupons? Why don't you help her instead?"
The man with the phone looked stunned for a minute, and then he went over to help the woman pick up her coupons while the rest of us stood frozen in place. "I just don't understand people today,” the elderly man shook his head and mumbled. “It's like no one can look up from their phone for even a second, everyone else is in the way."
Unpacking the groceries in the kitchen that day, I thought about another elderly man who had taught my husband and me a similar lesson when we first moved to Israel. We were going to buy a couch, and we were in a rush. Someone had recommended a tiny store that had good quality furniture. My husband met me there after shul one morning. We entered the store and the salesman greeted us, staring at my husband's tefillin bag.
"Is that tefillin?"
My husband nodded.
"My grandfather wore tefillin. But I haven't worn tefillin since my bar mitzvah," he sighed. We stood there, not really knowing what to say. Somehow, "Can you show us which couches you carry in white leather?" didn't seem like the right question at the time.
"Do you want to put them on?" my husband asked.
The older, Sephardi man's eyes lit up. "But I don't know what to say, and I don't have a kippah."
Then he suddenly had an idea; he grabbed a piece of cloth from the desk and put it on his head.
"Show me what to say!"
My husband taught him how to put on the tefillin and showed him where the Shema was in his siddur. I needed to go because I was almost late for class. I gave up on the couch and left my husband there, teaching a man with a couch cloth on his head how to pray. I stood at the window for a moment watching my husband find another page in the siddur and thinking that we almost missed out. If I would have asked to see the couches...If my husband hadn't offered his tefillin...If we hadn't sensed the salesman’s special, yearning soul...If we would have instead seen him as being in our way, taking up our time, just traffic, we would have lost a precious opportunity to give.
I look forward to seeing the blind woman in the mornings at the gym. She teaches me to see and hear. She teaches me to look around and reach out my hand to help, before I turn on the day's treadmill.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/The-Blind-Woman-at-the-Gym.html
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Civilian Casualties
by Rabbi Lazer Gurkow
http://www.aish.com/print/?contentID=180493181§ion=/jw/s
Jews and the ethics of war.
Attacked by a barrage of rockets from Gaza that killed several, injured many and terrorized millions, Israel responded with airstrikes against military targets in Gaza. Radar guided missiles attacked terror cells, rockets launchers, bomb factories and Hamas government installations.1
The difference between the terrorist attacks and the Israeli retaliation is that the terrorists deliberately aimed for civilian centers seeking to kill innocent people whereas Israeli planes dropped leaflets encouraging residents to vacate the area of their intended targets. The terrorists seek out innocents, Israel works to save them, but every so often a target is missed and an innocent civilian is killed.
The death of an innocent is tragic. The heart trembles at the sight of little children, bodies broken and lives snuffed out. The Israeli military doesn’t target women and children, but their death is an inescapable consequence of military action. There is no way to ensure the safety of civilians when the theater of war is a crowded city. Surely responsibility lies with the enemy who fights from behind cradle and skirt, but the question remains, is it ethical for an army to pursue a war in the presence of an innocent population?
Our hearts demand that we stop such wars, but our heads tell us that withdrawal would enable the terrorists to terrorize with impunity. We are torn between duty and empathy, compassion for our children and compassion for the enemies’ children. What to do?
Fear and Concern
We are not the first to worry about casualties in war. When Jacob was informed that Esau had raised an army and was marching against him, he feared and he worried. Our sages explained that he feared for his own life, but he worried about being forced into a war that would require him to take another’s life.2
Rabbinical commentary on this explanation abounds, but most agree that Jacob was not concerned with taking Esau’s life. Esau had forfeited his right to life by marching against his brother. Talmudic law is clear on this point, if someone rises against you, rise up and kill him first. If you threaten the life of another you forfeit your own right to life. Jacob was concerned about collateral damage. He worried that others might be killed in the heat of battle.3
That he worried tells us that our heritage bleeds for the loss of innocent life. That this concern did not deter him from preparing for war tells us that notwithstanding the horror of civilian casualties we must take up arms when war is foisted upon us. Otherwise, our own children are at risk.
This is not to say that enemy civilians are fair game in war. Those who don’t offer the enemy aid and succor are not our enemies and we must make every effort to spare them, but there is no religious or legal statute in the world that prohibits military activity likely to result in unintended, unavoidable and unforeseeable civilian casualties. That would render every war effort including defensive ones obsolete.4
In peacetime, the causation of collateral damage is a murderous and prosecutable offense. For example, we have peacetime license to kill those who pursue us with deadly intent, but we have no license to cause collateral damage by killing the innocent human shields behind whom the pursuer ducks.5 But wartime conditions are different; they don’t allow for peacetime luxury. If war could only be prosecuted with guarantees against civilian casualties, no country would be able to defend itself in time of war and all aggression would de facto be rewarded. The laws of war are not derived from the peacetime law of the pursuer, which is why Jacob went to war despite his vehement distaste.6
Grieving for Enemy Combatants
Abraham, whose heart melted with love at the sight of a stranger, went to war against a coalition of four countries to save his nephew Lot. When he returned from the war God appeared to him and said, “Fear not Abraham, I shall protect you, your reward is exceedingly great.” Our sages taught that Abraham feared that he had forfeited his virtue by prosecuting the war. He knew he was right to save Lot, but was he right to save him at the expense of human life?7
Abraham took this even further than Jacob. Jacob was only worried about killing innocent bystanders, Abraham worried about killing the enemy’s soldiers and God had to comfort and reassure him. Those whom you killed, God said, deserved to be killed. They forfeited their lives when they took up arms against Lot.8 As our sages put it, they are thorns in the king’s garden, the king would have hired laborers to weed out the thorns, now that you did it for him, you need not worry. On the contrary, your reward is exceedingly great for you saved the victim from their abusers.
Abraham was the first Jew to take up arms in a just cause. It broke his heart to do so and when he returned from war he mourned the loss of his innocence. He was devastated by what his enemies had made of him.
Today, the Vatican seeks to teach us moral values by admonishing Israel for killing babies.9 Cardinal Ravasi ought to remember who he is talking to. Jews are the people of the book, who taught the world about sanctity of life. To the Jew, every life is precious, even the lives of our enemies.
Jews don’t perpetuate war because life holds no value. Jews perpetuate war precisely because life has value and must be protected. When war is foisted on us, we cry every time our enemies make killers of us. Abraham was devastated by the death of his enemy. Jacob worried about killing innocents. Yet, when war was foisted upon them, they sprang into action without hesitation. God endorsed their actions even as He understood their concerns. “Fear not Abraham, I shall be your shield.”
We too tremble when life is lost on either side of war. Sadly, Jews know grief better than any other nation; we know what it means to lose a loved one. It is not for lack of love that we undertake war, but in spite of love. War is not pursued with intent to kill, but with intent to save. We don’t undertake war to kill innocents or even combatants. We undertake war to reduce bloodshed on all sides.
On November 21, 2012, Egypt and the US brokered a cease fire agreement between Israel and Hamas after eight days of hostilities.
Genesis 32:8 as elucidated in Bereshit Rabbah 76:7 and quoted by Rashi in his commentary on the verse.
See Sifsei Chachamim, Maskil Ledavid and Gur Aryeh ad loc.
Contemporary Halachic Problems III, Rabbi J. David Bleich, p.277.
This, with the caveat, that the human shield is not a willng accomplice. See Amud Hayemini, Rabbi Shaul Israeli, 16:3-4.
Another difference is that though bystanders are required to kill the pursuer in peacetime they cannot be compelled to risk their lives in the act. In war however, countries have the right to draft young men and women and force them to risk their lives against their will.
Genesis 15:1 elucidated in Yalkut Shimoni Lech Lecha 16 and quoted by Rashi in his commentary on the verse.
See commentary of R. Ovadya Seforno and R. Meyer Malbim ad loc. See Gur Aryeh for a slightly different angle.
On November 21, 2012, Cardinal Ravasi, president of the Vatican Council for Culture, condemned Israel for Killing Babies.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/jw/s/Civilian-Casualties.html
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Mother, Look at us Now!
Learning to live with a critical parentLearning to live with a critical parent
By Gayle Kirschenbaum
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/2030329/jewish/Mother-Look-at-us-Now.htm
Editor’s Note: This article was written with permission from the author’s mother, for the purpose of helping others . . .
I felt like I was born into enemy territory. I was convinced that you have a daughter to have a slave.
All I wanted was out, out of her way, out of my house, away from the constant barrage of criticism and orders and demands. Since I was too young and too afraid to run away, the only place I could be away from her was in my room. I sat and drew and wrote in my journal, and often cried. My room was the only room in the house where I felt safe. But it wasn’t long before even my room was no longer a safe haven.
I couldn’t understand what I had done wrong. All I had done was be born, born a female with thick curly hair who apparently did not make a splash for cuteness. “You were supposed to be Gary,” I heard several times while growing up. But I wasn’t Gary. I came out a girl, not a boy.
From the first moment I can remember, there was little that was right about me. My hair was too wild, and my nose was too big. Everything about me needed fixing, including my personality.
Something was wrong. I knew something was deeply wrong.
By the end of my sixteenth year, I managed to get out of my house. I graduated early from high school and went away to university. Being 200 miles away and not living subject to constant criticism, I was finally finding joy in life and building my self-confidence. Still, my mother’s attitude did not change, and I was burdened with anger and resentment towards her. I was deeply wounded, and had an incessant fear of intimacy and abandonment. All I wanted was to be loved, but I found myself subconsciously sabotaging relationships, feeling undeserving of long-lasting love. I knew that I needed to resolve my relationship with my mother in order to move on.
In time, and with years of work, I was able to transform our relationship from Mommie Dearest (the Joan Crawford story) to Dear Mom, from hatred to love. After making a short humorous film called My Nose about my mother’s campaign to get me to have a nose job, I learned I was not alone. People would come over to me after the screening and tell me three things: 1. I love your nose; don’t touch it. 2. I don’t like your mother. How can you? 3. Let me tell you my story. I would listen to them carefully and, interestingly, would find myself in a position to help others.
All I wanted was to be loved, but I found myself subconsciously sabotaging relationshipsHow did I do it? How did I learn to accept, and even love, my critical parent?
I identified seven steps, what I call the “Seven Healing Tools,” which enabled me to deal with a difficult person. I apply these tools to my mother, and to any and all difficult people I come in contact with.
Understanding
Where is her negativity coming from? What happened to her in her childhood?
I was able to uncover family secrets, including attempted suicides and financial hardships that my mother suffered as a child. By doing so, I had a better appreciation of why she did some of the things she did.
Create Distance
Lessen the pain of being around someone who is abusive to you by physically removing yourself from his or her location.
I went off to college, creating a distance between myself and the barrage of criticism.
Create a Support System
A support system consisting of friends, family and/or coworkers is invaluable. You can’t choose your family, but you can certainly choose your friends.
I surrounded myself with positive and supportive people. In college, I gravitated towards many like-minded people. I was an art student, and was praised by my teachers and colleagues for my talent and my appearance. They loved my long, thick curly hair. I followed my passions, developed hobbies, joined various groups, went on a spiritual quest, and found a rabbi with whom I connected and joined his congregation. I also found a close friend who became my life coach. I rescued a little dog, who went on to become my canine best friend, therapy dog and healer. We even made a movie together.
Forgive
Forgiving does not mean forgetting. It means unburdening yourself of dead emotional weightForgiving does not mean forgetting. It means unburdening yourself of dead emotional weight. “When you forgive, you love. And when you love, G-d’s light shines upon you.” (Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild)
After learning about my mother’s childhood tragedies and the burdens she had to bear, I realized that she was doing the best she could. Expecting her to love and nurture me unconditionally at that time was like asking Stevie Wonder to drive a racecar. She was incapable. She was a wounded child. As soon as I changed my expectations of her, I was able to forgive her.
Do not wait for the individual to acknowledge or apologize for what they did to you before you forgive them. In many cases like my own, they won’t do either, and they will deny ever doing anything wrong. Remember, they are a wounded child and are unaware of their own actions.
Change Your Behavior
Armed with understanding, physically removed from the source of conflict and having forgiven the individual for his or her offenses, you are now well positioned to begin to change your behavior—to begin reacting to the world in newer, healthier ways.
In my case, now that I had forgiven my mother and viewed her as a wounded child, I was able to change my responses to her disparaging remarks and actions. If your child said to you, “Mommy, I don’t love you,” you wouldn’t cringe and feel hurt; you would laugh it off. That is what I started doing with my mother. Every time she would say something insulting, instead of getting hurt, angry and defensive, I let it bounce off of me, always remembering the source. Many times, I made light of it. By doing this, I reduced her ability to press my buttons, and in essence rendered her powerless. And I was able to give her the love you would give a child who has hurt him- or herself.
Let It Out
I viewed her as a wounded childThere is no value in keeping it in, tamping down your feelings. You are not alone. Many people have suffered greatly.
In my case, I found confidants, the right people to share with. I was selective about the people with whom I chose to share. I found people who are positive, sympathetic and empathetic, and who in some cases could even offer insight. I shared my pain; I shared secrets, because keeping them in and holding onto them can often make us feel ashamed and like a victim. I learned to live life with openness and honesty.
Spin a Negative into a Positive; Be Creative
This is your life. This is your story. We all have incredible material. No one can steal your story. Use it. My life has been the inspiration for my creative work, whether it’s writing, visual art or film. They always say, “Write what you know best.” You will not only entertain others, but also often help them. And there is no greater satisfaction than giving to others.
As my life progressed along with my career, I, like all of us, have been and continue to be faced with difficult people. I have always managed to apply the tools I developed to deal with my mother to situations with others.
Judaism teaches us the concept that every descent is for the sake of an ascent. Difficult people present us with an opportunity to grow. I live life with gratitude. If it weren’t for my emotionally challenging childhood, I probably would not have learned what I know today, or be in a position to help guide others. I wake up every day and thank the Creator for giving me all that I have. I thank Him for showing me that when I am faced with an obstacle, it is no accident, and there is a lesson for me to learn from it.
by Gayle Kirschenbaum
Gayle Kirschenbaum is an Emmy-winning filmmaker, personality and speaker. Called “the Nora Ephron of documentaries,” Gayle has turned the camera on herself. In her humorous film, My Nose, we follow her mother’s relentless campaign to get her to have a nose job. She created and executive produced several “little people” shows for TLC and Discovery Health. Gayle is currently in post-production on a feature documentary called Look at Us Now, Mother! where she explores the highly charged mother/daughter relationship through her own story.
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The Refusal to be Comforted Kislev 20, 5773 • December 4, 2012
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
The deception has taken place. Joseph has been sold into slavery. His brothers have dipped his coat in blood. They bring it back to their father, saying: “Look what we have found. Do you recognize it? Is this your son’s robe or not?” Jacob recognized it and replied, “It is my son’s robe. A wild beast has devoured him. Joseph has been torn to pieces.”
We then read:
Jacob rent his clothes, put on sackcloth, and mourned his son for a long time. His sons and daughters tried to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted. He said, “I will go down to the grave mourning for my son.”1
Why did Jacob refuse to be comforted? There are laws in Judaism about the limits of grief—shivah, sheloshim, a year. There is no such thing as a bereave¬ment for which grief is endless. The Gemara says that G d says to one who weeps beyond the appointed time, “You are not more compassionate than I.”2
A midrash gives a remarkable answer. “One can be comforted for one who is dead, but not for one who is still living.” Jacob refused to be comforted because he had not yet given up hope that Joseph was still alive. That, tragically, is the fate of those who have lost members of their family (the parents of soldiers missing in action, for example), but have as yet no proof that they are dead. They cannot go through the normal stages of mourning, because they cannot abandon the possibility that the missing person is still capable of being rescued. Their continuing anguish is a form of loyalty; to give up, to mourn, to be reconciled to loss is a kind of betrayal. In such cases, grief lacks closure. To refuse to be comforted is to refuse to give up hope.
On what basis did Jacob continue to hope? Surely he had recognized Joseph’s bloodstained coat and said explicitly, “A wild beast has devoured him. Joseph has been torn to pieces”? Do these words not mean that he had accepted that Joseph was dead?
The late David Daube made a suggestion that I find convincing. The words the sons say to Jacob—haker na, “do you recognize this?”—have a quasi-legal connotation. Daube relates this passage to another, with which it has close linguistic parallels:
If a man gives a donkey, an ox, a sheep or any other animal to his neighbor for safekeeping, and it dies or is injured or is taken away while no one is looking, the issue between them will be settled by the taking of an oath before the L rd that the neighbor did not lay hands on the other person’s property . . . If it [the animal] was torn to pieces by a wild animal, he shall bring the remains as evidence, and he will not be required to pay for the torn animal.3
The issue at stake is the extent of responsibility borne by a guardian (shomer). If the animal is lost through negligence, the guardian is at fault and must make good the loss. If there is no negligence, merely force majeure—an unavoidable, unforeseeable accident—the guardian is exempt from blame. One such case is where the loss has been caused by a wild animal. The wording in the law—tarof yitaref, “torn to pieces”—exactly parallels Jacob’s judgment in the case of Joseph: tarof toraf Yosef, “Joseph has been torn to pieces.”
We know that some such law existed prior to the giving of the Torah. Jacob himself says to Laban, whose flocks and herds have been placed in his charge, “I did not bring you animals torn by wild beasts; I bore the loss myself.”4 This implies that guardians even then were exempt from responsibility for the damage caused by wild animals. We also know that an elder brother carried a similar responsibility for the fate of a younger brother placed in his charge (i.e., when the two were alone together). That is the significance of Cain’s denial when confronted by G d as to the fate of Abel: “Am I my brother’s guardian [shomer]?”
We now understand a series of nuances in the encounter between Jacob and his sons, when they return without Joseph. Normally they would be held responsible for their younger brother’s disappearance. To avoid this, as in the case of later biblical law, they “bring the remains as evidence.” If those remains show signs of an attack by a wild animal, they must—by virtue of the law then operative—be held innocent. Their request to Jacob, haker na, must be construed as a legal request, meaning, “Examine the evidence.” Jacob has no alternative but to do so, and in virtue of what he has seen, to acquit them. A judge, however, may be forced to acquit someone accused of the crime because the evidence is insufficient to justify a conviction, yet he may hold lingering private doubts. So Jacob was forced to find his sons innocent, without necessarily believing what they said. Jacob did not believe it, and his refusal to be comforted shows that he was unconvinced. He continued to hope that Joseph was still alive. That hope was eventually justified. Joseph was still alive, and eventually father and son were reunited.
The refusal to be comforted sounded more than once in Jewish history. The prophet Jeremiah heard it in a later age:
This is what the L rd says:
“A voice is heard in Ramah,
Mourning and great weeping,
Rachel weeping for her children
And refusing to be comforted,
Because her children are no more.”
This is what the L rd says:
“Restrain your voice from weeping,
And your eyes from tears,
For your work will be rewarded,” says the L rd.
“They will return from the land of the enemy.
So there is hope for your future,” declares the L rd,
“Your children will return to their own land.”5
Why was Jeremiah sure that Jews would return? Because they refused to be comforted—meaning, they refused to give up hope.
So it was during the Babylonian exile, in one of the great expressions of all time of the refusal to be comforted:
By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept,
As we remembered Zion . . .
How can we sing the songs of the L rd in a strange land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
May my right hand forget [its skill],
May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth
If I do not remember you,
If I do not consider Jerusalem my highest joy.6
It is said that Napoleon, passing a synagogue on Tisha B’Av, heard the sounds of lamentation. “What are the Jews crying for?” he asked one of his officers. “For Jerusalem,” he replied. “How long ago did they lose it?” “More than 1,700 years ago.” “A people who can mourn for Jerusalem so long, will one day have it restored to them,” he is reputed to have replied.
Jews are the people who refused to be comforted, because they never gave up hope. Jacob did eventually see Joseph again. Rachel’s children did return to the land. Jerusalem is once again the Jewish home. All the evidence may suggest otherwise: it may seem to signify irretrievable loss, a decree of history that cannot be overturned, a fate that must be accepted. Jews never believed the evidence, because they had something else to set against it—a faith, a trust, an unbreakable hope that proved stronger than historical inevitability. It is not too much to say that Jewish survival was sustained in that hope. Where did it come from? From a simple—or perhaps not so simple—phrase in the life of Jacob. He refused to be comforted. And so—while we live in a world still scarred by violence, poverty and injustice—must we.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Genesis 37:34–35.
2.
Talmud, Moed Katan 27b.
3.
Exodus 22:10–13.
4.
Genesis 31:39.
5.
Jeremiah 31:15–17.
6.
Psalm 137:1–6.
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Finding G-d at West Point
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/2063561/jewish/Finding-G-d-at-West-Point.htm
In 1974, Rabbi Asher Wade, a U.S. Army chaplain in West Point, befriended a Jewish officer named Stuart. Stuart did not strike him as being a religious man, and so Rabbi Wade was surprised one day to see him wearing a yarmulke (skullcap). When Rabbi Wade asked him about his unconventional attire, Stuart related the following story:
As part of his first-year studies, Stuart enrolled in a course called “History of Military Tactics and Field Strategies,” taught by a three-star lieutenant general with a Ph.D. in military strategy. The course surveyed major battles throughout history, down to the most recent wars of our modern era.
During the final two weeks of the course, Cadet Stuart raised his hand with a question: “Why did we not survey any of the battles fought by the Jews, either of ancient times (e.g., the Roman-Jewish wars) or of modern times (the Arab-Israeli wars)?”
“The normally friendly general snapped back with an order for me to see him in his office after class,” remembered Stuart.
When Stuart arrived, the general began his explanation. “Do not think that the staff here at West Point has left the Jewish wars unnoticed,” he said. “We have examined and analyzed them in great detail. We do not teach them at West Point because, according to military strategy and textbook tactics, the Jews should have lost them. You Jews should have been swept into the dustbin of history long ago. But you were not. You won those wars against all odds and against all military logic.
“This past year, we hired a new junior instructor,” the general continued. “During a private staff meeting, the Arab-Israeli wars came under discussion. As we puzzled over how the Israelis could possibly have won those wars, suddenly this junior instructor chirps up and jokingly says, ‘Honorable gentlemen, it seems to be quite obvious how they are winning their wars: G‑d is winning their wars!’
“Nobody laughed,” said the general. “The reason is, soldier, that it seems to be an unspoken rule around here at West Point that G‑d is winning your wars, but G‑d does not fit into military textbooks! You are dismissed.”
“I left the general’s office in a daze,” continued Stuart. “Wouldn’t you know it, I said to myself, I had to come to West Point to find out how great my G‑d is from a non-practicing Presbyterian three-star general . . .
“I went back to my dorm room, and dug down in my sock drawer to find that ‘flap of cloth’ that I threw on my head once a year on Yom Kippur. I said to myself: This thing is going on my head, because I found, in essence, who I am and where I come from.”
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May love and light fill your home and heart at Hanukkah. Happy Hanukkah!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=WAbTDHblxFM
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=WAbTDHblxFM[/youtube]
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Love that West Point story.
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"Does the emotion in our voice have a lasting effect? According to Annett Schirmer and colleagues from the National University of Singapore, emotion helps us recognize words quicker and more accurately straight away. In the longer term however, we do not remember emotionally intoned speech as accurately as neutral speech."
http://www.psypost.org/2012/12/words-have-feelings-15507
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHwyTxxQHmQ
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHwyTxxQHmQ[/youtube]
Shutters and Blinds
By Jay Litvin
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/102972/jewish/Shutters-and-Blinds.htm
In these days of Chanukah, light is on everyone’s mind. We’re hearing a lot about the tiny little flames that can cast away immense darkness. And as we light the Chanukah candles, we are filled with hope that our efforts will indeed cast away darkness and bring light into our lives.
But what is this darkness? Is it truly evil? This light? Is it really good? We are told that darkness has no existence, but if so, how can one dispel something that does not exist?
Recently I had an experience that—pardon the pun—cast some light on this dilemma.
I took a medication that had psychotropic side effects. The result felt as if someone pulled the curtains on my awareness. All light was blocked, and only darkness remained. My vision was filtered by a gray film obscuring all detail of color and texture.
During this intolerable period of time, everything I encountered was irritating, depressing, dissatisfying and miserable . . . including me. I was no fun to be around. If I thought about my life, it seemed hopeless. When I remembered my childhood, I saw only unhappiness. If I looked at my present situation, it seemed lacking and insufficient. My children turned from lovely and loving to noisy and irritating. My car was falling apart. My house, dingy and drab.
There was literally no aspect of my life that escaped this oppressive fog, as the medicine eclipsed and obscured all light. Fortunately, I was able to keep some grasp on reality. The pharmaceutical worked so fast that I was able to connect the darkness and depression to its psychotropic effects. But my grasp was weak, and ultimately I surrendered.
Even though I knew that the medicine was causing my shift in perspective, still, everything I was seeing through its black filter was true. The house was dingy and drab. The children were irritating. The car was falling apart. And certainly, my present situation did not match my life’s hopes and expectations. The medication had not created anything bad in my life. It had not put bad thoughts in my head. It had not harmed my character, turning me into the grump I now seemed during this unpleasant state of awareness.
Everything I was seeing existed. Only, it was only partly true. It was what remained when the light was blocked. It was what I could see in the monotone shadow that survived.
Life without light is like looking at a beautiful park at night. The flowers and colors and texture are all hidden. All that remains are the large, scary outlines of bushes and trees, boulders and rocks, hills and stairways. In the dark, these daytime objects of beauty and delight become imposing forms and weird shapes that play on our imagination and conjure frightening scenarios.
Has the darkness created these forms and shapes? Has it caused our flights into fear and anxiety? Has it created our spontaneously arising scenes of theft and mugging?
No. It’s done none of those things. The sun has simply gone to the other side of earth, its light blocked from our awareness. And in doing so, it has caused our world to plunge into darkness. Ignorance. Illusion. Confusion. And fear.
I could no longer hear the laughter in my children’s voices, nor see the sparkle in their eyes. I could no longer see the clutter in my house as charming and familiar. I could no longer remember the happy moments of my childhood, nor see the countless blessings that filled my life. Even my accomplishments paled in the face of what I could have done, or what others have done better.
The darkness and depression became so overwhelming that I finally surrendered and stopped taking the medication. Thankfully, within one day the light returned, and with it my equilibrium, my happiness, even a twinge of optimism.
What had changed for the better? The details. The color. The texture. The fullness. And the goodness. There was enough light to illuminate a greater totality of my life, to reveal more of the goodness embedded therein. Enough light to balance the shadows and fill in the outlines. Enough light to allow any remaining darkness to add contrast, complexity and subtleness, to add beauty and interest to my world, to enhance its wholeness. In short, there was enough light to suggest the fullness of G‑d’s creation, to allow for the interplay and reconciliation of opposites and contrasts.
Light reveals G‑dliness. Darkness is inconsequential. Adding light—opening the shutters and blinds of awareness—remains our only concern. Kindling the lights on Chanukah, the only mitzvah. Revealing G‑dliness, the only goal.
And so, we light the Chanukah candles. The flame tenuously flickers for a few seconds, and we hold our breath till it catches and shines. The children begin to sing. Suddenly we feel a bit brighter within. The glow begins to spread. And we have a sense of optimism, hope and impending victory.
And if we’re lucky, in the few moments we take to contemplate the flames in silence, our shutters open, flooding our awareness with light. The shadows become illuminated. The beauty of life and the blessings of G‑d shine brightly. We are transported to a place where light reveals formerly hidden aspects of G‑d’s existence and our souls shine in joy.
We will add more light each day, illuminating more of the fullness of our life and of creation. And then, not on the eighth, but on the ninth day after the first day of Chanukah, when we no longer kindle the flame at night, we will carry this awareness with us into the days ahead. And, should you or I ever be cast into darkness again throughout the year—by a medication, or by the folly that sometimes overtakes us—we will carry this memory and awareness and seek the light, dispelling our fear and confusion, recognizing them as the illusions that they are.
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http://www.copyblogger.com/persuasive-copywriting-words/
"When it comes to assembling persuasive copy, like any other construction job, you need to rely on your skills, experience, and toolbox.
The toolbox of the writer is filled with words."
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"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." To this day, especially in times of "disaster," I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world." Fred Rogers
http://www.fci.org/new-site/par-tragic-events.html
"Each time evil strikes it is a fresh wound to our spirit and an astonishment that people could so betray the image of God in each of us. We hope and pray that the wounded in Ct. heal, that the hearts of those who have lost be comforted, and that the souls of those innocents who were killed be gathered in love."
"Today is Rosh Chodesh, the new month, as well as Hanukkah and Shabbat is approaching. But no day is so sacred that human cruelty cannot mar its holiness. Yet no moment is so terrible that human kindness cannot contribute to its redemption. Yes, we can destroy; but we can also sanctify. We can also heal. And we must ever hope. Chodesh Tov, Hanukkah Sameach and Shabbat Shalom."
Rabbi Wolpe
Related Articles
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2029782/jewish/Why-Does-a-Good-Gd-Make-Bad-Hurricanes.htm
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1154/jewish/Why-Do-Bad-Things-Happen-to-Good-People.htm
CREDO: The festival of light that signifies an inextinguishable faith
Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sachs
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2012/12/08/credo-something-in-the-human-spirit-survives-even-the-worst-of-tragedies/#.UM3hu3Pjmwg
What I find fascinating about Chanukah, the Jewish festival of lights we celebrate at this time of the year, is the way its story was transformed by time.
It began as the simple story of a military victory, the success of Judah the Maccabee and his followers as they fought for religious freedom against the repressive rule of the Syrian-Greek emperor Antiochus IV. Antiochus, who modestly called himself Epiphanes, “God made manifest”, had resolved forcibly to hellenise the Jews.
He had a statue of Zeus erected in the precincts of the temple in Jerusalem, ordered sacrifices to be made to pagan gods, and banned Jewish rites on pain of death. The Maccabees fought back and within three years had reconquered Jerusalem and rededicated the Temple. That is how the story is told in the first and second books of Maccabees.
However, things did not go smoothly thereafter. The new Jewish monarchy known as the Hasmonean kings themselves became hellenised. They also incurred the wrath of the people by breaking one of the principles of Judaism: the separation between religion and political power. They became not just kings but also high priests, something earlier monarchs had never done.
Even militarily, the victory over the Greeks proved to be only a temporary respite. Within a century Pompey invaded Jerusalem and Israel came under Roman rule. Then came the disastrous rebellion against Rome (66-73), as a result of which Israel was defeated and the Temple destroyed. The work of the Maccabees now lay in ruins.
Some rabbis at the time believed that the festival of Chanukah should be abolished. Why celebrate a freedom that had been lost? Others disagreed, and their view prevailed. Freedom may have been lost but not hope.
That was when another story came to the fore, about how the Maccabees, in purifying the Temple, found a single cruse of oil, its seal still intact, from which they relit the Menorah, the great candelabrum in the Temple. Miraculously the light lasted eight days and that became the central narrative of Chanukah. It became a festival of light within the Jewish home symbolising a faith that could not be extinguished. Its message was captured in a phrase from the prophet Zekhariah: “Not by might nor by power but by My spirit, says the Lord Almighty.”
I have often wondered whether that is not the human story, not just the Jewish one. We celebrate military victories. We tell stories about the heroes of the past. We commemorate those who gave their lives in defence of freedom. That is as it should be. Yet the real victories that determine the fate of nations are not so much military as cultural, moral and spiritual.
In Rome the Arch of Titus was erected by Titus’s brother Domitian to commemorate the victorious Roman siege of Jerusalem in the year 70. It shows Roman soldiers carrying away the spoils of war, most famously the seven-branched Menorah. Rome won that military conflict. Yet its civilisation declined and fell, while Jews and Judaism survived.
They did so not least because of Chanukah itself. That simple act of families coming together to light the lights, tell the story and sing the songs, proved more powerful than armies and longer-lived than empires. What endured was not the historical narrative as told in the books of Maccabees but the simpler, stronger story that spoke of a single cruse of oil that survived the wreckage and desecration, and the light it shed that kept on burning.
Something in the human spirit survives even the worst of tragedies, allowing us to rebuild shattered lives, broken institutions and injured nations. That to me is the Jewish story. Jews survived all the defeats, expulsions, persecutions and pogroms, even the Holocaust itself, because they never gave up the faith that one day they would be free to live as Jews without fear. Whenever I visit a Jewish school today I see on the smiling faces of the children the ever-renewed power of that faith whose symbol is Chanukah and its light of inextinguishable hope.
The Maccabeats - Shine - Hanukkah
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QfieP6H47lc
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QfieP6H47lc[/youtube]
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Talking to Our Children About the Tragedies
by Rabbi Dr. Jerry Lob
http://www.aish.com/f/p/48901167.html
Our children look to us for their perceptions of the world. They look to us for guidance and understanding, to answer their questions, and to help them at times verbalize their questions. But mostly they look to us for reassurance -- reassurance that their world is okay, that they are safe, that while the stories they are hearing and the images they are seeing are terrible and incredibly sad, they are still safe.
When traumatic events occur, what we say to them is important. It is perhaps even more important how we say it. They watch our reactions; they look to see if we're frightened. Fear and panic is contagious even among adults; it is essential that we send out an aura of calm. Calm parents communicate reassurance.
As always, it is important to know your children and the different needs of each child. For younger children, under 8, focus less on details and more on general points. Older children need more information. For them, information is important in helping to process the trauma, and they may need to talk about it a lot. Be patient. We need to listen to them, and listen more. Children that are less verbal will still be listening though to the other conversations taking place in the family about the event. Include these children by talking near them. Give lots of love and gentleness, even with children who are difficult. Remember they are anxious and feeling stress.
It is our parental responsibility to ensure and protect the sensitive psyche of our child.
Parents though must filter the amount and the nature of the information. It is our parental responsibility to ensure and protect the sensitive psyche of our child. The less visual the images, the better. Young children should not see any images at all. No TV and no Internet images. They are detrimental and can be traumatic. It is not at all the same as watching a movie, even a horror movie. In movies there is always the underlying comfort that this isn't real, that it will end and have no effect on their lives. Watching actual tragedies may be moving, even compelling, but increase anxiety and are harmful for children. They are probably not particularly healthy for adults either.
Our children look to us and need to see that we are okay. They look for other reactions as well. They should see sadness and compassion on our faces for the victims and their families and friends. We can use this opportunity to talk to our children about the many heroes, the less dramatic stories and the more dramatic ones, the rescue workers, the small acts of kindness, the gentleness, and self-sacrifice of simple people. They need to hear about goodness as the way to counteract evil, and about reaching out to others and feeling their pain.
And they need to hear about God from you as well. Ideas that can include the following:
we don't know why G-d allowed this to happen
it's okay if you feel upset
that God wasn't absent even during the catastrophe, His hand could be seen in the countless miracle stories trickling out, as told by survivors and their families.
they need to hear about trusting in God's love even in the face of terrible tragedy.
about the power of prayer, to pray for more survivors, for the comfort and healing of the victims' families, of the injured, their families, and the American people.
To pray for wisdom for President Bush, for American and world leaders
and to pray for the safety and security of Israel as well
Our children are looking to us for calm, compassion, love, faith, and hope. Let's be sure we give it.
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The Connecticut School Shooting
by Sara Debbie Gutfreund
http://www.aish.com/ci/s/The-Connecticut-School-Shooting.html
When I first heard the ambulances, I didn't even pause to think about what happened.
I was cooking for Shabbos as my boys ran in and out of the kitchen. When we lived in Israel, I was used to checking the news anytime I heard more than one or two ambulances, but here in quiet, suburban Connecticut, I had stopped doing that.
After the sixth echo of ambulance sirens, I began to wonder what was going on. I picked up my phone to check the news and just kept shaking my head in horror and disbelief as I read about the shooting in a nearby elementary school that left 20 small children and six teachers dead. I was so shocked that I didn't notice my six-year-old standing next to me and peering over my shoulder.
"What happened?" he asked me.
I closed the news story and tried to think how and if to explain the shooting. "Nothing, it's okay," I said, heading back to the kitchen as the helicopters and ambulances echoed in the distance. A couple of minutes later, I noticed that it was eerily quiet in the living room. I peeked through the doorway and saw both my sons with their noses pressed to the window, listening to the sirens rolling through the mid-morning winter light.
Then I heard my son say to his little brother, "Something bad happened, but I don't know what. Shhh, Ima (Mother) doesn't want to say." And as they stood there, stiller than I had seen them stand for a long time, the questions began to run through my mind.
Why did he do it? Minutes after the tragedy, everyone wanted to know what the killer's motive was. What could possibly be a reason for killing 20 children? Police still haven't figured it out, but people are trying to guess. He was angry. Depressed. Was he on drugs? Insane? People want to pinpoint a motive so that they can somehow understand what happened. But evil needs no motive. It randomly destroys. It fills the world with hatred. It is the opposite of light.
But I have seen senseless, random goodness too. Like the elderly woman who I used to see on my morning runs in the Judean hills, picking up each piece of garbage on the street at dawn and putting it into a huge, plastic bag that she dragged along with her. Each morning I wondered what she was doing. One day I finally asked her and she said, "I'm cleaning the world. One piece at a time." At first I thought she was a little crazy but gradually I began to admire her random goodness. She was making the world better even if no one else saw it. Even if no one thanked her. Even if no one understood why she was doing it.
Why did God let this happen? We ask this question after most tragedies. Why didn't God cause the gunman's car to break down? Or have the kids somehow not be in the classroom? Or have his guns get stuck? God could have saved those children so why didn't He?
I don't know any strong answers to this question, but something that Avivit Shaer said after she lost her husband and five children in a freak fire last year still stays with me whenever I hear myself ask this question. She said that she has many questions for God, but she has begun to understand that God does not give us answers in this world. "It's not that there are no answers. But we humans are not equipped to handle the complexity or wholeness of God's answers. He has eternal considerations."
When I hear someone who has lost her entire family in one night say these words, I can stop my own whys. I can accept that there are answers even though I don't know what they are.
Why is this story in my life? Sometimes we hear about an event and forget about it soon afterwards. Or we dismiss it as too far away to be relevant. But every news story that we read and every event that crosses our paths is meant to teach us something. So what is the message in the wake of this tragedy? Maybe it's that we should appreciate each day with our own children. Maybe it's that we should realize that human suffering is never far away, happening to someone else. It should and does impact everyone that hears about it. Or maybe the message is that we should be sending our kids off to school not only with a sandwich but with a prayer for their safety.
But for me, the most crucial message hit me when I explained to my son what happened.
The ambulances were still blaring when I walked back into the living room and found the boys racing matchbox cars on the floor. I sat down next to them and watched them play before telling my six year old vaguely what had happened in words that hopefully wouldn't terrify him. I asked him if he wanted to say a prayer for the children who were 'hurt' and their parents.
He nodded without looking up from his cars, and then he started singing a song he had recently learned in school. "Esau was coming with 400 men but Yaakov was davening to Hashem." I sat there confused for a moment until my son said, "This is my song for the mommies and daddies. I'm sending them Yaakov's prayer so they shouldn't be scared. So that they should know how to pray for their children. Should I sing it again?"
I nodded as I thought about the words my child was saying. Evil is loud and senseless and comes in an army of 400 men. It comes in the deafening gun shots in a kindergarten classroom. Goodness is quiet. It comes in a prayer that no one else can hear. It’s in the almost invisible steps of an elderly woman cleaning the streets at dawn. And goodness sits behind the scenes in a life like Avivit Shaer's who could have given up and crawled into a hole of grief after losing her family in the fire but instead continued teaching and inspiring her high school students with her rock solid faith and perseverance.
Even though goodness is quieter and humbler than evil, it is far more powerful. Perhaps this is the message we need to hear in the face of such a senseless tragedy: the power of goodness is far stronger than evil. We don't have complete answers to the whys that run through our minds in the aftermath of the second-deadliest school shooting in U.S. history. But we have hope. If every single kind deed that we do is far more powerful than any evil act, then we can at least wake up each morning with determination like the elderly woman who cleans up the world, street by street.
My son's song soon drowned out the sirens in the distance, and I hoped somehow that it reached the parents a half hour away outside the school. I stood by the living room window as he sang and pressed my own face against the glass, remembering the words of Avivit Shaer: "It's about bringing light into the world even when it looks dark." Piece by piece. Song by song. Word by word. Let's rebuild.
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It's nice to see some people still grasp there are things like good and evil.
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That was wonderful Rachel. Thank you.
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Marc, You are welcome. I'm glad it was meaningful to you and GM.
Am I Rude?
How an Insult Led to Growth
By Miriam Hendeles
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/2065959/jewish/Am-I-Rude.htm
“You are the most despicable, disgraceful and rude person! I think you need to change your attitude, and I wish you luck!” And then she hung up the phone.
Ouch! Upon hearing this voicemail message from a woman whom I had never met, I felt misunderstood and unfairly blamed. I wanted desperately to explain myself and my position to her. I looked for her e‑mail address in order to respond.
Blinking away the tears, I thought of the teaching of the sages: Those who are embarrassed and do not embarrass, who hear their faults and don’t return the rebuke . . . are like the sun going forth in its glory (Talmud, Shabbat 88b). I took a deep breath.
IThe phone call was apparently triggered by a short conversation I’d had with this woman regarding a gemach (free loan service) that I organize for our community. Upon hearing about my service, the woman had contacted me, wishing to donate some items—strollers, cribs and car seats. I had told her during our 56-second conversation that at this time I could not accept any more stuff, as the bedroom where I store the items is completely full.
As part of that 56-second conversation, the woman assured me that her cribs and car seats were in impeccable condition, and said that she could not understand why I was not taking them. I began to explain to her again about the lack of space in the room, but the woman yelled, “Why are you screaming at me?” and then hung up the phone.
I didn’t think my tone had been raised, but I’d had the conversation on a cell phone, and you can never be sure of the volume when it comes to a cell phone. And yes, I do tend to have a loud voice. Still, her message seemed somewhat extreme—what with the name-calling and angry voice.
Well, there is a motto that “it’s better to be loved than to be right . . . apologize.” So I sat down at my computer (I’d found her e‑mail address) and, in a carefully composed e‑mail, I expressed my regrets at not being able to accept her donations at this time, and my appreciation to her for wanting to contribute. I also referred her to an acquaintance of mine who also has a gemach, and suggested that perhaps that person would take her items. I apologized for our miscommunication and my loud voice.
The reply: “Miriam, I am not impressed. You are trying to rationalize away your rudeness to me this morning. People are donating out of the kindness of their hearts, and you treated me disgracefully! I have a sour taste in my mouth for the Orthodox community in general right now! I will not deal with any of your friends or give any of you any business, but rather with others who have decent manners!”
I wrote another quick e‑mail to her, explaining that this gemach is a not-for-profit organization that I run out of my own home. But another fast and furious reply bounced into my inbox: “Please do not e‑mail me again. I really do not care about your business and how you run it. You were rude and disgraceful to me this morning . . .”
Those who are embarrassed and do not embarrass, who hear their faults and don’t return the rebuke . . .
Maybe I really could let her insults go in one ear and out the other.
But the woman’s words rang in my ears that entire day, and into the night.
Maybe she is right. That must be why I’m so bothered by this. Yes, I’m too abrupt. I need to tone down my voice. Maybe I should find out her home address and send her an apology note in the mail. Maybe I’m not running the gemach properly? Maybe I should give it up altogether? Maybe this is a message for me . . .
And so began my process of righting the wrong. No, I did not contact the woman again; however, I made a spiritual accounting within myself. I began the process by thinking back to why I’d started the gemach in the first place, several years ago.
A friend of mine, a wonderful, kind woman from the other side of town, had been running the gemach up until then. Now she was giving it up, and she’d asked me to take over her items. I was inspired by this woman and others like her; they always seemed to have enough time for everyone, and were always bringing joy to others. I, too, wanted to do that. And so, I told my friend yes.
I began storing, loaning out, and taking returns and donations of various categories of baby gear. People borrowed for long-term periods, as well as for the short term. My phone was constantly ringing with those in need of my gemach, and I felt gratified to be providing the service.
But maybe—just maybe—I was experiencing burnout now? Maybe I was overdoing the do-gooder behavior, and was therefore becoming tired and frustrated . . . and sounding like it, too, especially over the phone?
Since I believe nothing happens for naught, and events are orchestrated from Above, after this incident I set out to modify my “business” of helping others. I made some amendments to my gemach’s policies and parameters. The following steps helped to prevent further burnout and misunderstandings between myself and my “clients.”
Setting limits and boundaries: I made up to set (and stick to!) specific hours during the week (listed on my answering machine) when I’d be available to answer questions regarding the gemach. No more 24/6 availability.
Control the mode of communication: I set up my answering machine to refer people to a gemach e‑mail address and website, so that people could contact me easily for quick questions. I also made sure to put information about the gemach, such as its rules and policies, what the gemach carries and what it accepts for donations, etc., on the website, thus eliminating the necessity for phone calls.
After this incident I set out to modify my “business” of helping othersRemember—this is a side activity: To remind myself of this, I decided that messages left on my machine would be returned in the evening or by the next day, but not necessarily immediately. This would allow my gemach work to fit within the time schedule I could allot for it.
A Meaningful Name: I chose to add to the existing name, to bring even more meaning and purpose to what I was doing. The gemach, “LA Baby Gear,” was given an additional name of Yad Aliza (The Hand of Joy), in memory of my daughter, Aliza Leah, of blessed memory, bat Chaim Shlomo, who died in infancy more than 25 years ago, a few days before Yom Kippur. It seemed apt to give the gemach a meaningful name.
Mindfulness: I made up that when speaking to or emailing people who use the gemach, I would pay extra attention to being friendly and pleasant at all times, to the best of my ability.
When we spread ourselves too thin, we don’t help anyone. By taking care of our own needs, and giving ourselves adequate personal time, we will be full enough to not only provide for others, but to do so with joy as well. And that, for sure, is the best act of kindness.
BY MIRIAM HENDELES
Miriam Hendeles is a Los Angeles music therapist for hospice patients, and a writer whose topics include her experiences and growth as a grandmother. Reprinted from Mazel Tov! It’s a Bubby!, with permission from the publisher, Israel Bookshop Publications.
More articles by Hendeles, Miriam | RSS
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Nice article Rachel. :-D
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I'm glad you liked it Cindy.
Judaism and Dreams
by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld
http://www.aish.com/sp/ph/Judaism-and-Dreams.html
The significance of dreams in Jewish thought.
In my dream I was in some sort of huge, endless mall. I was wandering aimlessly, searching in vain for someone I knew to be missing. It was supposedly one of my younger children – though it was never specified which. In my dream I knew it was hopeless, that the lost child would never be found. The dream repeated itself a second time. After each time, I woke up depressed, with a heavy sense of foreboding.
Shortly after, my 18-year-old nephew passed away.
At the time of my dreams I had no idea my nephew was at the time experiencing headaches on account of a not-yet-diagnosed brain tumor. Ever since, I have learned to take very seriously my dreams which I awake from depressed.
The concept of dreams has both fascinated and haunted mankind. We dream about our hopes, we dream about our fears and anxieties, and we dream about our fantasies. Most of the time we dream about the people and events which occupy our minds during the day, but at times our dreams catch us completely by surprise. Psychologists see dreams as one of the keys to understanding the human subconscious. What is the hidden significance behind our dreams?
Even the Jewish sources on the matter are not entirely clear. On the one hand, the Talmud states that dreams are one-sixtieth of prophecy (Brachot 57b). Yet at the same time the Talmud writes that no dreams are without nonsense (ibid., 55a), and that the interpretation of a dream depends on the explanation given by the interpreter (55b). As the Talmud makes clear, any dream can have either a good or a bad interpretation, and it is at the mercy of the one who interprets it. How could a prophecy, even a very minor one, be up for grabs, so to speak, and depend upon how people explain it?
The Biblical Joseph is described in the Torah as a dreamer. He both experienced prophetic dreams himself and interpreted them for others. Why did the young Joseph, who knew he had already aroused his brothers’ jealousy, further antagonize them by telling them his dreams? Wasn’t he just fanning the flames of animosity? Was he just showing off, immaturely attempting to show his brothers that God had greater things in mind for him than them?
My teacher Rabbi Yochanan Zweig noted a fundamental difference between prophecy and dreams. When a prophet is granted a vision or a message about the future, he knows that it is the future he is being shown. He knows that he is now in the present, viewing events which will occur on a future date.
A dream, by contrast, is an entirely different experience. The dreamer is not merely viewing the future. He is experiencing it right then. He feels that the events of his dream are occurring to him at that very moment. We often wake up from dreams with the thought “Thank goodness – it was only a dream!” Thus, unlike a prophecy in which a prophet today is being shown a vision of the future, the dreamer is actually transported to the future, to experience it right here and now.
Why is this distinction significant? Because of the critical role that time and free will play in Jewish philosophy. As Maimonides (Laws of Repentance, Ch. 5) explains, free will is one of the most fundamental principles of Judaism. Our actions are in our own hands. We can determine our future. There is no predestination in the eyes of the Torah. Our future is indeterminate. Every day of our lives we can wake up and decide if we want to be good or wicked. And as a result, God will reward or punish us for our every action and decision.
Prophecy can be viewed as an override of this principle. When a prophet comes and informs mankind what is in store for the future, it is no longer indeterminate. If a prophet would come along today and proclaim that the Chaldeans will attack tomorrow, presumably the Chaldeans have no choice but to attack. It has to happen; God already told us it would. Thus, free will would seem to be compromised. The future is no longer in the hands of man.
(At the same time, it should be mentioned that prophecies – especially ones which discuss distant events such as the End of Days, are often purposely vague. There are many ways in which they may come true. Such prophecies are vague specifically because they discuss events which are not yet entirely determined and may come true in many ways – generally depending upon how worthy we will be at the time. Likewise, Maimonides (Laws of Fundamentals of Torah 10:4) writes that negative prophecies may not actually occur. Such prophecies come as warnings to mankind; if we repent, we can avert them.)
Based on this, the distinction we made between prophecy and dreams becomes very significant. Prophecy means that a prophet is standing here today being told what will occur tomorrow. “Tomorrow” is thus no longer indeterminate. It has been established already today; free will has been compromised. Dreams, by contrast, are an experience in which the dreamer actually experiences the future. Dreams are a beyond-time experience. The future has not been announced and brought down to the present. It is still the inchoate future, and so by definition – since free will exists – it can happen in more than one way.
This is the intent of the Talmud when it states that dreams follow their interpretation. A dream by definition can come true in more than one way. It is still a “future” experience, not yet compromised by entering the world of time. Thus, until an interpretation is offered – whether good or bad – a dream by its very nature must have two possible outcomes.
Joseph recognized that he was a dreamer. He had the ability to relate to the universe beyond time, to future events not yet conceived. When he received his prophetic dreams, he realized he could not just sit back and wait for them to occur. These were not prophecies of the future brought down to the world of time – which would transpire whether we cooperate with them or not. They were dreams. Joseph was being informed of his potential future – what might be if he would only exercise his free will to make it happen. Thus, Joseph realized he had to act on his dreams, to concretize his potential future and make it his reality.
The Talmud writes that a dream which is not interpreted is akin to an unread letter (Brachot 55a). A dream which is relegated to the world of dreams has never left the future and so has no impact on the present. Joseph thus realized that he had to publicize his dreams, to begin actualizing his future potential. Far from immaturely boasting his dreams of grandeur to his brothers, Joseph recognized that his future would only be his if he himself would make the effort.
Our dreams today may be more or less prophetic, depending on how much nonsense we fill our heads with during our waking hours. To some degree, it is in our hands to latch on to our nobler dreams – both our sleeping and our waking ones – and to put in our own effort into making them come true.
Based primarily on thoughts heard from my teacher Rabbi Yochanan Zweig of the Talmudic University of Florida.
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I Am a Wall
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
The magic formula to giving others the support they need.
I sat in the car, parked at the end of the trail, nervously waiting for my children. We usually did family hikes, but the Yehudiya, Israel’s most popular hike, is “for experienced hikers only,” with several steep ascents. That disqualified me. Our 19-year-old daughter Pliyah and 13-year-old son Yisrael were anxious to do the hike, so my husband and I decided to let them go by themselves. My husband had dropped the kids off at the trailhead at 10 that morning. Now, at 4 PM, allowing extra time for a hike that was supposed to take five hours, I started to worry.
I couldn’t phone them because they had purposely not taken their cell phones. The trail cuts off at the top of an 8-meter waterfall. The hiker has to jump into the large, deep pool below, swim across, and resume the trail on the other side. Only water-friendly devices survive.
I recited Psalms, trying to remain calm, but after 40 minutes of waiting, I left the car by the locked roadblock and started to walk along the trail from the end. I had been walking less than five minutes when I spotted a figure coming toward me. It was my son Yisrael. He was alone.
My heart clutched in fear. What had happened to Pliyah? I ran toward Yisrael, frantically shouting, “Where’s Pliyah? What happened to Pliyah!?”
Yisrael assured me that Pliyah was okay, then quickly amended his statement. “She’s not injured. She’s stuck on the trail. We were climbing the last, steep part of the trail, and we got to this place where you have to go straight up, even more than straight up, like the rock comes out toward you, and Pliyah was too scared to keep going. I tried to help her, I showed her exactly where to put her foot, I begged her to try, but she refused. We spent a long time on that narrow ledge. She finally told me to go ahead without her and get help.”
I raced back to the car and found the National Park brochure. At the bottom, in large print, was the EMERGENCY TELEPHONE NUMBER. I dialed and tried to explain to the park ranger, who was obviously used to panicked calls from desperate mothers, that my daughter was marooned on the side of a cliff. He noted our location and told us he would send help right away.
I sat there nervously trying to figure out how they were going to get a 5’10” girl weighing 135 pounds up the side of a rather sheer cliff. Five minutes later two uniformed men in a pickup truck pulled up. In the back of the pickup were a stretcher, a huge coil of thick rope, and some metal hooks. Apparently they were going to put my daughter into the stretcher and somehow pull it up the cliff, an operation fraught with its own dangers.
As one of the rangers unlocked the roadblock, he asked me if my daughter was injured.
“No, just scared.” I asked if I could go with them.
“No, you and your son stay here,” the ranger replied. “We’ll take care of your daughter. Don’t worry.” Then, looking at the Book of Psalms I was clutching, he added, “You just pray.”
Having the rescue personnel tell me to pray was less than reassuring, but pray I did. An eternity later, the pickup returned, with my daughter smiling in the back.
Amidst hugs, tears, and thanks to the rangers, I got my children into our car. On the way back to our Golan cabin, I asked Pliyah how they had managed to get her in the stretcher up the cliff.
“They didn’t use the stretcher,” she replied. “I climbed up myself.”
“Y-y-you climbed up yourself?” I was stunned. “But I thought you were too scared?”
“I was,” Pliyah explained. “But the two guys came to where I was, and the taller guy stood right behind me and said, ‘Ani homa. Ta'ali. I am a wall. Go up.’ And I realized that if I fell back, I would fall on him. So I wasn’t scared any more, and I just climbed up. No problem.”
“I am a wall. Go up.” What was this magic formula that had turned my daughter’s fear into confidence and propelled her upward?
Times of Paralysis
Life is a trail. When a person has undergone a devastating divorce, or given birth to a special-needs child, or received a dreaded diagnosis, or gone bankrupt, or suffered a death in the family, that person may be too paralyzed to move forward.
We, the friends or relatives, want to be helpful. But the person’s predicament is so complicated or the loss so severe, that pulling the person up the cliff would require far more rope and much more strength than we possess. So, despairing of our own ability to rescue him or her, we slither away.
I have a friend whose 21-year-old daughter was killed in a terror attack. In the wake of the murder, our community responded with an outpouring of love and support. Three months later, however, my friend mentioned to me that one of her oldest, dearest friends was avoiding her. This friend, who lives far away, visited every year on the holiday of Sukkot, but the past Sukkot she had neither come nor called. I was sure this bereaved mother was misreading the situation. Then she told me that as she walked through the narrow lanes of our Old City neighborhood, she often saw neighbors in the distance coming toward her, and then she’d see them abruptly duck into an intersecting lane in order to avoid meeting her.
This phenomenon is, in fact, widespread, and is discussed in the psychological literature. People are at a loss for what to say, or are so afraid of saying the wrong thing and making matters worse, that they avoid the victim of tragedy exactly when their support is most needed. They labor under the fallacy that their job is to pull the person up the cliff, and since this is humanly impossible, their sense of helplessness drives them to cruel avoidance.
From the Israeli Park Ranger I learned a different way: To stand firmly behind the person and say, in words or even with silence, "I am a wall. I’m here for you. You are capable of going up." That may give them the courage to take the next step whenever they are ready.
This means relinquishing the role of the Great Rescuer. It means not philosophizing, not offering unsolicited advice, and not questioning the choices they have made. (“Why did you choose chemo without even trying alternative therapy? “ “I wish you had seen Dr. Miracle the Marriage Counselor before going for a divorce.”) It means not patronizing with pity. (“I’m so sorry your baby is impaired.” “I’m so sorry your financial reverses mean you can’t send your son to the same school this year.”)
For those afraid of saying the wrong thing, here’s a four-word formula that never goes wrong: “I’m here for you.” And mean it.
My friend Shoshana Leibman is an exemplar of the I Am a Wall approach. When everyone in our community was reeling because a mother of many children had been diagnosed with a serious illness, Shoshana walked into their house and announced. “I’m here. Give me laundry to fold.”
Of course, to be a wall for another person, you yourself have to be strong, not in muscles but in faith. You must absolutely believe the foundations of Judaism:
That everything (including what is painful and challenging) comes from God.
That everything (including what is painful and challenging) is for our ultimate benefit.
That everything (especially what is painful or challenging) is an opportunity for spiritual growth.
In addition to faith in God, you must also have faith in the other person’s ability to go up. Tamar was 51 years old when her husband walked out on her and their four children. Suddenly, she had to support the family, but she had not worked in her field for the last 20 years that she was raising children. Recently she called her friend Cookie and told her, “You were the only one who had faith in me that I could go back to school and catch up with the changes in my profession. Now I’m almost ready to rejoin the workforce. I couldn’t have done it without your faith in me.”
Barbara and her husband Josh are baseball enthusiasts. After six years of fertility treatments, they gave birth to a baby with Down’s syndrome. Barbara was shattered with disappointment and, yes, embarrassment. The next day, her sister Hannah arrived at the hospital bearing a large bouquet with a note reading: “I thought you two were good Little League players, but apparently God thinks you’re ready for the Major Leagues.” Then Hannah sat next to Barbara’s bed for four hours. The first two hours, Barbara cried, while Hannah held the newborn and said nothing at all. Slowly, gradually, Barbara and Josh started to move forward, searching for websites of organizations that deal with babies with Down’s and talking about the bris.
When Hannah left, Josh said, “Thanks for coming. You helped us a lot.”
Hannah protested, “I barely said anything.”
Walls specialize in silent support.
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Vayigash – Choice and Change
Chief Rabbi Lord Sachs
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2012/12/17/covenant-conversation-vayigash-choice-and-change/#.UNS644njmwg
The sequence from Bereishit 37 to 50 is the longest unbroken narrative in the Torah, and there can be no doubt who its hero is: Joseph. The story begins and ends with him. We see him as a child, beloved – even spoiled – by his father; as an adolescent dreamer, resented by his brothers; as a slave, then a prisoner, in Egypt; then as the second most powerful figure in the greatest empire of the ancient world. At every stage, the narrative revolves around him and his impact on others. He dominates the last third of Bereishit, casting his shadow on everything else. From almost the beginning, he seems destined for greatness.
Yet history did not turn out that way. To the contrary, it is another brother who, in the fullness of time, leaves his mark on the Jewish people. Indeed, we bear his name. The covenantal family has been known by several names. One is Ivri, “Hebrew” (possibly related to the ancient apiru), meaning “outsider, stranger, nomad, one who wanders from place to place.” That is how Abraham and his children were known to others. The second is Yisrael, derived from Jacob’s new name after he “wrestled with G-d and with man and prevailed.” After the division of the kingdom and the conquest of the North by the Assyrians, however, they became known as Yehudim or Jews, for it was the tribe of Judah who dominated the kingdom of the South, and they who survived the Babylonian exile. So it was not Joseph but Judah who conferred his identity on the people, Judah who became the ancestor of Israel’s greatest king, David, Judah from whom the messiah will be born. Why Judah, not Joseph? The answer undoubtedly lies in the beginning of Vayigash, as the two brothers confront one another, and Judah pleads for Benjamin’s release.
The clue lies many chapters back, at the beginning of the Joseph story. It is there we find that it was Judah who proposed selling Joseph into slavery:
Judah said to his brothers, “What will we gain if we kill our brother and cover his blood? Let’s sell him to the Arabs and not harm him with our own hands. After all – he is our brother, our own flesh and blood.” His brothers agreed. (37: 26-27)
This is a speech of monstrous callousness. There is no word about the evil of murder, merely pragmatic calculation (“What will we gain”). At the very moment he calls Joseph “our own flesh and blood” he is proposing selling him as a slave. Judah has none of the tragic nobility of Reuben who, alone of the brothers, sees that what they are doing is wrong, and makes an attempt to save him (it fails). At this point, Judah is the last person from whom we expect great things.
However, Judah – more than anyone else in the Torah – changes. The man we see all these years later it not what he was then. Then he was prepared to see his brother sold into slavery. Now he is prepared to suffer that fate himself rather than see Benjamin held as a slave. As he says to Joseph:
“Now, my lord, let me remain in place of the boy as your lordship’s slave, and let him go with his brothers. How can I return to my father without the boy? I could not bear to see the misery which my father would suffer.” (44: 33-34)
It is a precise reversal of character. Callousness has been replaced with concern. Indifference to his brother’s fate has been transformed into courage on his behalf. He is willing to suffer what he once inflicted on Joseph so that the same fate should not befall Benjamin. At this point Joseph reveals his identity. We know why. Judah has passed the test that Joseph has carefully constructed for him. Joseph wants to know if Judah has changed. He has.
This is a highly significant moment in the history of the human spirit. Judah is the first penitent – the first baal teshuvah – in the Torah. Where did it come from, this change in his character? For that, we have to backtrack to chapter 38 – the story of Tamar. Tamar, we recall, had married Judah’s two elder sons, both of whom had died, leaving her a childless widow. Judah, fearing that his third son would share their fate, withheld him from her – thus leaving her unable to remarry and have children. Once she understands her situation, Tamar disguises herself as a prostitute. Judah sleeps with her. She becomes pregnant. Judah, unaware of the disguise, concludes that she must have had a forbidden relationship and orders her to be put to death. At this point, Tamar – who, while disguised, had taken Judah’s seal, cord and staff as a pledge – send them to Judah with a message: “The father of my child is the man to whom these belong.” Judah now understands the whole story. Not only has he placed Tamar in an impossible situation of living widowhood, and not only is he the father of her child, but he also realises that she has behaved with extraordinary discretion in revealing the truth without shaming him (it is from this act of Tamar’s that we derive the rule that “one should rather throw oneself into a fiery furnace than shame someone else in public”). Tamar is the heroine of the story, but it has one significant consequence. Judah admits he was wrong. “She was more righteous than I,” he says. This is the first time in the Torah someone acknowledges their own guilt. It is also the turning point in Judah’s life. Here is born that ability to recognise one’s own wrongdoing, to feel remorse, and to change – the complex phenomenon known as teshuvah – that later leads to the great scene in Vayigash, where Judah is capable of turning his earlier behaviour on its head and doing the opposite of what he had once done before. Judah is ish teshuvah, penitential man.
We now understand the significance of his name. The verb lehodot means two things. It means “to thank,” which is what Leah has in mind when she gives Judah, her fourth son, his name: “this time I will thank the Lord.” However, it also means, “to admit, acknowledge.” The biblical term vidui, “confession,” – then and now part of the process of teshuvah, and according to Maimonides its key element – comes from the same root. Judah means “he who acknowledged his sin.”
We now also understand one of the fundamental axioms of teshuvah: “Rabbi Abbahu said: In the place where penitents stand, even the perfectly righteous cannot stand” (Berachot 34b). His prooftext is the verse from Isaiah (57: 19), “Peace, peace to him that was far and to him that is near.” The verse puts one who “was far” ahead of one who “is near.” As the Talmud makes clear, however, Rabbi Abbahu’s reading is by no means uncontroversial. Rabbi Jochanan interprets “far” as “far from sin” rather than “far from G-d.” The real proof is Judah. Judah is a penitent, the first in the Torah. Joseph is consistently known to tradition as ha-tzaddik, “the righteous.” Joseph became mishneh le-melekh, “second to the king.” Judah, however, became the father of Israel’s kings. Where the penitent Judah stands, even the perfectly righteous Joseph cannot stand. However great an individual may be in virtue of his or her natural character, greater still is one who is capable of growth and change. That is the power of penitence, and it began with Judah.
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A brief one minute clip that Charles Schultz slipped past the CBS censors in 1965:
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pn10FF-FQfs[/youtube]
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The Human Story in Twelve Words Tevet 12, 5773 • December 25, 2012
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
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The book of Genesis, the first of the five books of the Torah, chronicles the lives of the founding fathers and mothers of humanity in general, and of the Jewish nation in particular: Adam, Eve and Noah; Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah; Joseph and his brothers. More than history, their lives are templates of our own, in which we find the precedents for our every challenge and experience.
The book of Genesis consists of twelve sections (“Parshahs”), the last of which, Vayechi, is this week’s Torah reading. The twelve sections of Genesis are: Bereishit, Noach, Lech Lecha, Vayeira, Chayei Sarah, Toldot, Vayeitzei, Vayishlach, Vayeishev, Mikeitz, Vayigash and Vayechi.
Our sages tell us that the name of a thing is the articulation of its essence. Each of these twelve names embodies an entire Torah section, encapsulating the common theme and quintessential import of the section’s many narratives. So if we take these twelve names and read them in succession as a sort of shorthand or code, we get a synoptic account of the human story: the purpose of our creation, the soul’s transformation from a wholly spiritual entity to a physical human being, the manner in which we develop our self and environment, and the ultimate realization of our mission in life.
The twelve-word version of the human story reads like this:
Bereishit—Purpose
Noach—Tranquility
Lech Lecha—Journey
Vayeira—Vision
Chayei Sarah—Invigoration
Toldot—Production
Vayeitzei—Excursion
Vayishlach—Delegation
Vayeishev—Integration
Mikeitz—End
Vayigash—Union
Vayechi—Life
Purpose
If there is one basic question that all isms and value systems must address, it is this: does the world exist for its own sake, or for the sake of some other, greater aim? Is there an axiomatic purpose upon which our existence turns, or is our existence its own axiom?
Bereishit is the Torah’s opening word and the name of its first section. The word means “in the beginning,” and it commences the Torah’s narrative of the world’s creation: “In the beginning G d created the heavens and the earth . . .” But in addition to its literal meaning,1 bereishit expresses the axiom that G d created the world to serve a purpose. Our sages note that the word bereishit begins with the letter beit, the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet. The story of creation, the Torah is saying, does not begin with G d’s creation of the world; there is something that precedes it and upon which it is predicated.
Bereishit is also a compound of the words beit reishit (“two firsts”)—a reference to the two primary components of the purpose of creation, both of which are called reishit: the Torah (called reishit in Proverbs 8:22) and the people of Israel (Jeremiah 2:3). The Torah is the guidebook that outlines how this purpose is to be fulfilled, and the people of Israel are the principal actors in its realization.
Tranquility
Having established that creation has a purpose, we now proceed to the name of the second Torah section, Noach, which conveys what this purpose is: to transform a chaotic existence into a harmonious world.
“G d desired a dwelling in the lowly realms.” In these words our sages (Midrash Tanchuma, Naso 16; Tanya, ch. 36) describe G d’s motive for the creation of the world. The “lowly realm” is our physical world—a world whose coarseness and diversity belie the sublimity and singularity of its divine source. G d desired that this lowly realm be transformed into a “dwelling” for Him—a place that is receptive to His presence, a place in which He is “at home”; that this diverse and strife-torn environment be transformed into a tranquil world, a world at peace with itself and its Creator. In the words of our sages, “The Torah was given in order to make peace in the world” (Talmud, Gittin 59b; Mishneh Torah, Laws of Chanukah 4:14).
Noach (Noah)—the name means “tranquility”—achieved this on a microcosmic level when he created an island of tranquility amidst the raging waters of the Flood: a floating island which contained specimens of every animal, bird and plant, and in which for 365 days the lion lived in peace with the lamb. Of course, Noach’s messianic world was temporary, and embraced only a tiny corner of creation; the divine desire is that we transform the entire world into a “Noah’s ark” of tranquil perfection.
Noach also means “satisfaction”—a reference to the fact that this purpose has significance only because it satisfies the divine desire for “a dwelling in the lowly realms.” The creation of a tranquil world cannot be an end in itself: had the world not been created, there would have been no strifeful entity upon which tranquility need be imposed. The endeavor of making the world a home for G d is meaningful only because G d desires it.2
Journey, Vision and Invigoration
The created existence is purposeful, the purpose being the satisfaction of the divine desire for a tranquil home on earth. To fulfill this purpose, the human soul is dispatched to the physical world, imbued with a vision of this purpose, and granted the ability to integrate this vision into all components of its psyche and character.
Lech Lecha (“Go, you”), the third section of Genesis, derives its name from its opening verse, “And G d said to Abram: ‘Go, you, from your land, from your birthplace and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you.” This, say the chassidic masters, is the command issued to every soul before it enters this world: depart from your lofty origins, from your state of oneness with G d, to journey to an unknown, alien place. Descend from your spiritual birthplace to enter a physical body and world, for this is “the land that I will show you”—the arena in which your mission in life will be fulfilled.
The soul, however, does not go alone. It is fortified with a vision (vayeira—“and He revealed Himself,” from Vayeira’s opening verse, “And He (G d) revealed Himself to Abraham”) of the divine truth, a vision that will be its guiding light in its effort to make the world a place that is hospitable to the divine presence.
But a vision alone is not enough. Unless the vision saturates the soul, permeating its every nook and cranny, it will be little more than an abstract theory or a “religious belief,” with limited effect upon the person’s day-to-day life. If our vision of G d is to serve as the focus of our lives, it must become the object of our will, the vista of our mind and the yearning of our heart.
This is the message implicit in the name of the next Torah section, Chayei Sarah (“The Life of Sarah”). The fifth section of Genesis begins with the verse, “And the life of Sarah was one hundred years, twenty years and seven years.” In the language of Kabbalah, the number “one hundred” represents the faculty of will, “twenty” connotes the intellect, and “seven” refers to the emotions; the Torah is telling us that all aspects of Sarah’s psyche and personality were invigorated by her soul’s vision of G d.
Production, Self-Extension and Delegation
We know why we’re here, and that we have been supplied with the vision and spiritual resources to carry it out. Now it’s time to get to work.
The word toldot—the name of the sixth section of Genesis—means “progeny” and “products.” “The toldot of the righteous,” say our sages, “are their good deeds.” The bricks out of which the earthly “dwelling for G d” is constructed are the mitzvot, the deeds which transform a physical resource into an object of the divine will.3
Sanctifying one’s own life and surroundings through the performance of mitzvot is not enough: one must also extend oneself (vayeitzei—“and he went out”) to places and people that lie outside one’s immediate environment. The Torah section of Vayeitzei relates how Jacob left the holy environment of his father’s home and the study houses of Shem and Eber, where he had spent the first half of his life in “the tents of Torah,” to journey to pagan Charan and manipulative Laban, where he had to contend with a hostile and materialistic world for twenty toilsome years. But it was here that Jacob attained the peak of his personal growth, and where he founded the nation of Israel.
Vayishlach (“and he sent,” from that Parshah’s opening verse, “And Jacob sent angel-messengers to his brother Esau”) connotes the next step in our efforts to make the world a home for G d. What are we to do when we have extended ourselves to the utmost of our capacity? When we have reached out to those individuals and places that are at the very extremity of our communication skills and our ability to impact the world? We should then extend our reach even further by delegating and empowering others as our agents. Our influence upon others should not be limited to affecting their lives, but also should extend to transforming them into teachers and developers who will in turn affect people and places that we ourselves could never reach.
In Torah law, this concept is known as the principle of shelichut. In the words of the Talmud, “A person’s shaliach (agent) is like himself,” and the shaliach’s actions and accomplishments are attributed to the one who empowered him to act in his stead.
Integration
When a thief is breaking into your home, goes the chassidic saying, there are basically two things you can do. You can holler, “Thief! Thief!” and drive the thief away; or you can capture the thief and teach him an honest profession.
On the more elementary level, we can make the world a more G dly place by chasing the thief away. We can stimulate the positive in ourselves so that it overpowers our own negative instincts, and work to similarly bring out the good in others; we can seek to impose a divine harmony upon a basically divisive and belligerent world.
But like the banished thief, the world has not really changed. A better, holier, more peaceful world has been imposed upon it, but underneath this new order, the “old” world remains. It has been vanquished, not transformed; suppressed, not elevated.
After a person has gone through the “production,” “excursion” and “delegation” phases of his mission in life, the next step is to integrate these gains into the fabric of reality.
Vayeishev (“and he settled down in tranquility,” from Vayeishev’s first verse, “And Jacob settled down in tranquility in the land of his father’s dwelling”) is the “settling in” of our G dly deeds to become the permanent, intrinsic state of our world.
End, Union, Life
The completion of the “integration” phase marks “the end” (mikeitz, the name of the tenth section of Genesis)—the realization of the end goal of creation. The divine home is now complete; the world has become a harmonious abode for its Creator.
The “end” itself has three stages, as successively deeper dimensions of the world’s divine harmony come to light. In the first stage, the world is a perfect “vessel” or vehicle for G d. A further stage reveals its union (vayigash—“and he approached”—the name of the eleventh section) with its divine source: not only is the world completely receptive to its Creator, but it is revealed to be one with the divine reality, an expression of G d’s all-embracing truth.
The highest expression of creation’s fulfillment is the eternal life (vayechi—“and he lived”) that is the hallmark of the final phase of the messianic age. Death is a most natural phenomenon in the world in which we live today—an imperative of the finite and temporal nature of the physical. But the physical was not always mortal. The world, as G d created it, had the capacity for eternal life; death came only with the first sin of man, with the first breach between G d and His creation. In a world that is one with G d, a world that is in complete harmony with its source, there is nothing to disrupt the flow of vitality from the Creator to creation.
The Torah section of Vayechi describes Jacob’s demise: his parting words to his children, his passing and his funeral. Yet the section’s name—the one word that conveys its essence—means “And [Jacob] lived.” Vayechi expresses the axiom that, in truth, “Our father Jacob did not die.” Jacob’s life is immutable, because it is a life in the ultimate sense of the word: life as an exercise of harmony with the divine.
Bereishit to Vayechi, the Parshah names of Genesis chronicle the most basic truths of our existence: that life is purposeful, its purpose being to satisfy the divine desire for a home on earth; that the soul descends to earth furnished with a vision of G d and the capacity to integrate this vision into its self and character; that man must sanctify his life with acts of goodness, extend himself beyond his “natural” environment, further extend himself by delegating of his powers to others, and labor to not only command but also transform reality; that our efforts will invariably result in a world united with its G d; that life—pure and eternal—is the ultimate expression of the divine in man.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Indeed, according to the laws of Hebrew grammar, the word bereishit is not ideal usage; the more correct term for “in the beginning” is barishonah. This leads even a commentator such as Rashi, who always interprets the Torah according to its most elementary meaning, to offer the acronymic interpretation of beit reishit (“two firsts”) mentioned in the text.
2.
The word for “desired” used by the Midrash in the statement “G d desired a dwelling in the lowly realms” is nit’aveh, from the root taavah, which connotes a supra-rational desire. There is no logical explanation as to why G d desired “a dwelling in the lowly realms”; we only know that He desired it, and that the satisfaction of this desire is the ultimate purpose of creation.
3.
The Torah section of Toldot opens with the birth of Isaac’s two literal progeny—Jacob and Esau—representing the two basic categories of mitzvot: mitzvot whose object is to “do good,” and mitzvot whose objective is to “turn away from evil” (see Jacob and Esau).
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Leadership and the People
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2086891/jewish/Leadership-and-the-People.htm
The sedra of Shemot, in a series of finely etched vignettes, paints a portrait of the life of Moses, culminating in the moment at which G‑d appears to him in the bush that burns without being consumed. It is a key text of the Torah view of leadership, and every detail is significant.
I want here to focus on just one passage in the long dialogue in which G‑d summons Moses to undertake the mission of leading the Israelites to freedom—a challenge which, no less than four times, Moses declines. I am unworthy, he says. I am not a man of words. Send someone else. It is the second refusal, however, which attracted special attention from the sages and led them to formulate one of their most radical interpretations. The Torah states:
Moses replied: “But they will not believe me. They will not listen to me. They will say, ‘G‑d did not appear to you.’”1
The sages, ultra-sensitive to nuances in the text, evidently noticed three strange features of this response. The first is that G‑d had already told Moses, “They will listen to you.”2 Moses’ reply seems to contradict G‑d’s prior assurance. To be sure, the commentators offered various harmonizing interpretations. Ibn Ezra suggests that G‑d had told Moses that the elders would listen to him, whereas Moses expressed doubts about the mass of the people. Ramban says that Moses did not doubt that they would believe initially, but he thought that they would lose faith as soon as they saw that Pharaoh would not let them go. There are other explanations, but the fact remains that Moses was not satisfied by G‑d’s assurance. His own experience of the fickleness of the people (one of them, years earlier, had already said, “Who made you ruler and judge over us?”) made him doubt that they would be easy to lead.
The second anomaly is in the signs that G‑d gave Moses to authenticate his mission. The first (the staff that turns into a snake) and third (the water that turned into blood) reappear later in the story. They are signs that Moses and Aaron perform not only for the Israelites, but also for the Egyptians. The second, however, does not reappear. G‑d tells Moses to put his hand in his cloak. When he takes it out, he sees that it has become “leprous as snow.” What is the significance of this particular sign? The sages recalled that later, Miriam was punished with leprosy for speaking negatively about Moses.3 In general they understood leprosy as a punishment for lashon hara, derogatory speech. Had Moses, perhaps, been guilty of the same sin?
The third detail is that, whereas Moses’ other refusals focused on his own sense of inadequacy, here he speaks not about himself but about the people. They will not believe him. Putting these three points together, the sages arrived at the following comment:
Reish Lakish said: He who entertains a suspicion against the innocent will be bodily afflicted, as it is written, “Moses replied: ‘But they will not believe me.’” However, it was known to the Holy One, blessed be He, that Israel would believe. He said to Moses: They are believers, the children of believers, but you will ultimately disbelieve. They are believers, as it is written, “And the people believed.”4 The children of believers, [as it is written,] “And he [Abraham] believed in the L‑rd.”5 But you will ultimately disbelieve, as it is said, “[And the L‑rd said to Moses,] ‘Because you did not believe in Me . . .’”6 How do we know that he was afflicted? Because it is written,7 “And the L‑rd said to him, ‘Put your hand inside your cloak . . .’”8
This is an extraordinary passage. Moses, it now becomes clear, was entitled to have doubts about his own worthiness for the task. What he was not entitled to do was to have doubts about the people. In fact, his doubts were amply justified. The people were fractious. Moses calls them a “stiff-necked people.” Time and again during the wilderness years they complained, sinned, and wanted to return to Egypt. Moses was not wrong in his estimate of their character. Yet G‑d reprimanded him, indeed punished him by making his hand leprous. A fundamental principle of Jewish leadership is intimated here for the first time: a leader does not need faith in himself, but he must have faith in the people he is to lead.
This is an exceptionally important idea. The political philosopher Michael Walzer has written insightfully about social criticism, in particular about two stances the critic may take vis-à-vis those he criticizes. On the one hand there is the critic as outsider. At some stage, beginning in ancient Greece,
Detachment was added to defiance in the self-portrait of the hero. The impulse was Platonic; later on it was Stoic and Christian. Now the critical enterprise was said to require that one leave the city, imagined for the sake of the departure as a darkened cave, find one’s way, alone, outside, to the illumination of Truth, and only then return to examine and reprove the inhabitants. The critic-who-returns doesn’t engage the people as kin; he looks at them with a new objectivity; they are strangers to his new-found Truth.
This is the critic as detached intellectual. The prophets of Israel were quite different. Their message, writes Johannes Lindblom, was “characterized by the principle of solidarity.” “They are rooted, for all their anger, in their own societies,” writes Walzer. Like the Shunamite woman (II Kings 4:13), their home is “among their own people.” They speak, not from outside, but from within. That is what gives their words power. They identify with those to whom they speak. They share their history, their fate, their calling, their covenant.
Hence the peculiar pathos of the prophetic calling. They are the voice of G‑d to the people, but they are also the voice of the people to G‑d. That, according to the sages, was what G‑d was teaching Moses: What matters is not whether they believe in you, but whether you believe in them. Unless you believe in them, you cannot lead in the way a prophet must lead. You must identify with them and have faith in them, seeing not only their surface faults but also their underlying virtues. Otherwise, you will be no better than a detached intellectual—and that is the beginning of the end. If you do not believe in the people, eventually you will not even believe in G‑d. You will think yourself superior to them, and that is a corruption of the soul.
The classic text on this theme is Maimonides’ Epistle on Martyrdom. Written in 1165, when Maimonides was thirty years old, it was occasioned by a tragic period in medieval Jewish history, when an extremist Muslim sect, the Almohads, forced many Jews to convert to Islam under threat of death. One of the forced converts (they were called anusim; later they became known as marranos) asked a rabbi whether he might gain merit by practicing as many of the Torah’s commands as he could in secret. The rabbi sent back a dismissive reply. Now that he had forsaken his faith, he wrote, he would achieve nothing by living secretly as a Jew. Any Jewish act he performed would not be a merit, but an additional sin.
Maimonides’ Epistle is a work of surpassing spiritual beauty. He utterly rejects the rabbi’s reply. Those who keep Judaism in secret are to be praised, not blamed. He quotes a whole series of rabbinic passages in which G‑d rebukes prophets who criticized the people of Israel, including the one above about Moses. He then writes:
If this is the sort of punishment meted out to the pillars of the universe—Moses, Elijah, Isaiah and the ministering angels—because they briefly criticized the Jewish congregation, can one have an idea of the fate of the least among the worthless [i.e., the rabbi who criticized the forced converts] who let his tongue loose against Jewish communities of sages and their disciples, priests and Levites, and called them sinners, evildoers, gentiles, disqualified to testify, and heretics who deny the L‑rd G‑d of Israel?
The Epistle is a definitive expression of the prophetic task: to speak out of love for one’s people; to defend them, see the good in them, and raise them to higher achievements through praise, not condemnation.
Who is a leader? To this, the Jewish answer is: one who identifies with his or her people; mindful of their faults, to be sure, but convinced also of their potential greatness and their preciousness in the sight of G‑d. “Those people of whom you have doubts,” said G‑d to Moses, “are believers, the children of believers. They are My people, and they are your people. Just as you believe in Me, so you must believe in them.”
FOOTNOTES
1.
Exodus 4:1.
2.
Ibid. 3:18.
3.
Numbers 12:10.
4.
Exodus 4:31.
5.
Genesis 15:6.
6.
Numbers 20:12.
7.
Exodus 4:6.
8.
Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 97a.
BY RABBI JONATHAN SACKS
Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks is Chief Rabbi of Great Britain and the British Commonwealth. To read more writings and teachings from the Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, please visit www.chiefrabbi.org.
More articles by Jonathan Sacks | RSS
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Another gem Rachel.
IMHO a more recent manifestation of this was Romney's campaign. Ultimately in his heaert he condescended to we the people and his strategy showed it. At the deepest level, this is why he lost.
Contrast Reagan. In his heart he believed in we the people and that is why he won.
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Marc,
I'm glad you enjoyed the previous piece
Va'eira(Exodus 6:2-9:35)
Of Lice and Men
Chief Rabbi Lord Sachs
http://www.aish.com/tp/i/sacks/185800472.html?s=fb
Throughout all Egypt the dust turned into lice. But when the magicians tried to produce lice by their secret arts, they could not. The lice attacked men and animals alike. The magicians said to Pharaoh, 'This is the finger of God.' But Pharaoh's heart was hard and he would not listen
Too little attention has been paid to the use of humour in the Torah. Its most important form is the use of satire to mock the pretensions of human beings who think they can emulate God. One thing makes God laugh - the sight of humanity attempting to defy heaven:
The kings of the earth take their stand,
And the rulers gather together
against the Lord and His anointed one.
"Let us break our chains," they say,
"and throw off their fetters."
He who sits in heaven laughs,
God scoffs at them. (Psalm 2:2-4)
There is a marvellous example in the story of the Tower of Babel. The people in the plain of Shinar decide to build a city with a tower that "will reach heaven." This is an act of defiance against the divinely given order of nature ("The heavens are the heavens of God: the earth He has given to the children of men"). The Torah then says, "But God came down to see the city and the tower ..." Down on earth, the builders thought their tower would reach heaven. From the vantage point of heaven, however, it was so miniscule that God had to "come down" to see it.
Satire is essential to understanding at least some of the plagues. The Egyptians worshipped a multiplicity of gods, most of whom represented forces of nature. By their "secret arts" the magicians believed that they could control these forces. Magic is the equivalent in an era of myth to technology in an age of science. A civilization that believes it can manipulate the gods, believes likewise that it can exercise coercion over human beings. In such a culture, the concept of freedom is unknown.
The plagues were not merely intended to punish Pharaoh and his people for their mistreatment of the Israelites, but also to show them the powerlessness of the gods in which they believed ("I will perform acts of judgement against all the gods of Egypt: I am God", Ex. 12:12). This explains the first and last of the nine plagues prior to the killing of the firstborn. The first involved the Nile. The ninth was the plague of darkness. The Nile was worshipped as the source of fertility in an otherwise desert region. The sun was seen as the greatest of the gods, Re, whose child Pharaoh was considered to be. Darkness meant the eclipse of the sun, showing that even the greatest of the Egyptian gods could do nothing in the face of the true God.
What is at stake in this confrontation is the difference between myth - in which the gods are mere powers, to be tamed, propitiated or manipulated - and biblical monotheism in which ethics (justice, compassion, human dignity) constitute the meeting-point of God and mankind. That is the key to the first two plagues, both of which refer back to the beginning of Egyptian persecution of the Israelites: the killing of male children at birth, first through the midwives (though, thanks to Shifra and Puah's moral sense, this was foiled) then by throwing them into the Nile to drown. That is why, in the first plague, the river waters turn to blood. The significance of the second, frogs, would have been immediately apparent to the Egyptians. Heqt, the frog-goddess, represented the midwife who assisted women in labour. Both plagues are coded messages meaning: "If you use the river and midwives - both normally associated with life - to bring about death, those same forces will turn against you." An immensely significant message is taking shape: Reality has an ethical structure. If used for evil ends, the powers of nature will turn against man, so that what he does will be done to him in turn. There is justice in history.
The response of the Egyptians to these first two plagues is to see them within their own frame of reference. Plagues, for them, are forms of magic, not miracles. To Pharaoh's "magicians", Moses and Aaron are people like themselves who practice "secret arts". So they replicate them: they show that they too can turn water into blood and generate a horde of frogs. The irony here is very close to the surface. So intent are the Egyptian magicians on proving that they can do what Moses and Aaron have done, that they entirely fail to realise that far from making matters better for the Egyptians, they are making them worse: more blood, more frogs.
This brings us to the third plague, lice. One of the purposes of this plague is to produce an effect which the magicians cannot replicate. They try. They fail. Immediately they conclude, "This is the finger of God".
This is the first appearance in the Torah of an idea, surprisingly persistent in religious thinking even today, called "the god of the gaps". This holds that a miracle is something for which we cannot yet find a scientific explanation. Science is natural; religion is supernatural. An "act of God" is something we cannot account for rationally. What magicians (or technocrats) cannot reproduce must be the result of Divine intervention. This leads inevitably to the conclusion that religion and science are opposed. The more we can explain scientifically or control technologically, the less need we have for faith. As the scope of science expands, the place of God progressively diminishes to vanishing point.
What the Torah is intimating is that this is a pagan mode of thought, not a Jewish one. The Egyptians admitted that Moses and Aaron were genuine prophets when they performed wonders beyond the scope of their own magic. But this is not why we believe in Moses and Aaron. On this, Maimonides is unequivocal:
Israel did not believe in Moses our teacher because of the signs he performed. When faith is predicated on signs, a lurking doubt always remains that these signs may have been performed with the aid of occult arts and witchcraft. All the signs Moses performed in the wilderness, he did because they were necessary, not to authenticate his status as a prophet ... When we needed food, he brought down manna. When the people were thirsty, he cleaved the rock. When Korach's supporters denied his authority, the earth swallowed them up. So too with all the other signs. What then were our grounds for believing in him? The revelation at Sinai, in which we saw with our own eyes and heard with our own ears ... (Hilkhot Yesodei haTorah 8:1).
The primary way in which we encounter God is not through miracles but through His word - the revelation - Torah - which is the Jewish people's constitution as a nation under the sovereignty of God. To be sure, God is in the events which, seeming to defy nature, we call miracles. But He is also in nature itself. Science does not displace God: it reveals, in ever more intricate and wondrous ways, the design within nature itself. Far from diminishing our religious sense, science (rightly understood) should enlarge it, teaching us to see "How great are Your works, O God; You have made them all with wisdom." Above all, God is to be found in the voice heard at Sinai, teaching us how to construct a society that will be the opposite of Egypt: in which the few do not enslave the many, nor are strangers mistreated.
The best argument against the world of ancient Egypt was Divine humor. The cultic priests and magicians who thought they could control the sun and the Nile discovered that they could not even produce a louse. Pharaohs like Ramses II demonstrated their godlike status by creating monumental architecture: the great temples, palaces and pyramids whose immensity seemed to betoken divine grandeur (the Gemara explains that Egyptian magic could not function on very small things). God mocks them by revealing His presence in the tiniest of creatures (T. S. Eliot: "I will show you fear in a handful of dust").
What the Egyptian magicians (and their latter-day successors) did not understand is that power over nature is not an end in itself but solely the means to ethical ends. The lice were God's joke at the expense of the magicians who believed that because they controlled the forces of nature, they were the masters of human destiny. They were wrong. Faith is not merely belief in the supernatural. It is the ability to hear the call of the Author of Being, to be free in such a way as to respect the freedom and dignity of others.
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http://www.firstthings.com/blogs/firstthoughts/2013/01/09/ought-and-is/
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http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Sticking-to-Your-Resolutions.html
A majority of people report making resolutions each new calendar year. Unfortunately, your chances of making it through January with your resolution intact are slim. For while it’s easy to get fired up about starting the new calendar year off right, when everyone is making resolutions too and excitement about change is in the air, it’s harder to sustain that commitment as the weeks go by (the same phenomenon applies to Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year).
Right now, during the depths of January when we’re most struggling to maintain our resolutions, is the real time to change. Studies show that those who make it through this month have a better chance of sticking to their resolutions for the rest of the year.
Jewish tradition gives us strategies for sticking with resolutions, even once the initial excitement has worn off. Even if you haven’t made any big resolutions yet this year, these behaviors can give you the tools to make this year your best yet.
1. Smart Planning
The famous Jewish poem “A Woman of Valor” describes the ideal woman. In addition to being a wife and mother, she’s selfless and busy: a tireless businesswoman. Many commentators have taken her description to be an allegory for the entire Jewish people. One of the most important qualities ascribed to her is foresight: “she considers a field, a buys it” (Proverbs 31:15). Amidst all her busy activities, she takes the time to stop, think, and plan ahead where it is she wants to be.
Jewish tradition encourages this type of preparing: set aside some time regularly – it can be annually, monthly or more often – to spend some time thinking about your goals and coming up with real life, detailed plans for tackling them. Brainstorm specific ways to replace old habits with new ones. When do you find it most difficult to implement your new behavior? What can you do when you feel yourself slipping back into old habits? Spending some time on this sort of exercise can transform resolutions from pipedreams to real, actionable plans.
Modern research echoes this wisdom. Scientists have found that this sort of regular, detailed planning is much more effective than more general, sweeping goals. Spend some time honestly thinking about your strengths and weaknesses: try to anticipate the challenges you face, and work on coming up with strategies that will help you towards your goals.
2. Seeing the Bigger Picture
While you’re brainstorming, spend some time also considering why you’ve chosen your goals and resolutions. What bigger picture are they part of? When the first excitement of new resolutions fades, having in mind what larger goals our resolutions are part of can help sustain us, giving us a larger reason for our behaviors. A person who wants to lose weight in the New Year, for instance, might ask herself why: does she want to be healthy? Does she want to have energy to be there for her family? What sort of person, ultimately, does she want to become?
When we reframe our resolutions as steps towards our ultimate goals, we gain the confidence that it’s possible to reach them. In modern psychological parlance, this is called self-efficacy: the belief that our goals are possible, which greatly enhances our self-control and ability to realize our ambitions.
This January, try asking yourself the big, heavy questions. What are you living for? What do you truly value? Thinking about these issues can help motivate us in keeping the resolutions that will bring us closer to our ultimate purpose.
3. New Habits
The Talmud relates the story of Rabbi Meir, who came to the aid of a couple who used to fight every Shabbat (Gittin 52a). Each Friday afternoon for three weeks, Rabbi Meir went to their house and acted as peacemaker, smoothing over their differences and helping them not to fight. By the end of the third week, the Talmud relates, the couple no longer had the habit of fighting: their problem was cured.
The Torah recognizes that after three weeks, new behaviors begin to become routine; if we can only make it through this difficult, early phase, our chance of changing our conduct permanently is much stronger.
Modern science also recognizes that forming new habits is crucial to changing the way we do things. Habit, which bypasses conscious thought, occurs when particular neural pathways in our brains are strengthened; brain activity along those lines is easier than other types of thought, and so becomes our default mode of behavior. It’s possible to “reprogram” our brains and create or strengthen new, different, neural connections.
“Reprogramming” the way we behave usually takes several weeks of conscious effort. Researchers have found that three weeks – the same length of time the Talmud mentioned – is roughly the length of time needed to change our brain structure. Recognizing this – and realizing that once our new behavior becomes habit it will be much easier to sustain – can help get us through the challenges of our first month or so when keeping new resolutions.
4. Healthy Environments
“Do not put a stumbling block before the blind” (Leviticus 19:14) the Torah enjoins. It can be hard enough to stick to a new regime without surrounding ourselves with temptations to lapse in our new resolutions. Whatever behavior we are trying to affect, it’s easier when we remove ourselves from challenging situations.
Conversely, the Torah also instructs us to find mentors for ourselves. “Provide for yourself a teacher and get yourself a friend” (Pirkei Avot 1:6). Attaching ourselves to people and communities whose behaviors model what we want for ourselves, can help move ourselves closer to our goals.
5. Connecting with God
Finally, even after taking all these steps, it can be difficult to get over the hump of January (or any time following the decision to turn over a new leaf, whatever the time of year or one’s stage in life). There are times when we’ve all felt completely helpless: that achieving our goals is beyond our grasp.
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Three thousand years ago, King David grasped this truth. He realized his only chance to succeed was appealing to God, and he penned words that have guided Jews ever since: “From the depths have I called to You, oh God” (Psalm 130:1).
In ancient times some synagogues even contained indentations in the floor where people could lead prayer “out of the depths”. Doing so – appealing to God when we realize we can’t succeed on our own – can bring us closer to the Divine, giving us both the strength and the resolution to succeed in our goals.
When the going gets tough, try opening a dialogue with God. This can be as formal or informal as you like. Get used the idea of asking God for help with your resolutions. This dialogue can help us clarify exactly what it is we’re trying to achieve and why, and it can also help give us the energy and spiritual sustenance to succeed in our goals.
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Here I will tell a story that I suppose is rather personal but what the heck, today’s not a bad day for the personal. Yesterday I went to St. Patrick’s for confession and mass, to start the year off on the right foot. Walking through the cathedral—it was jammed with tourists taking pictures of statues and architecture and also, and with some startling excitement, of the regular New Yorkers in the pews taking part in the noon mass—I remembered something I experienced there last summer, at confession.
I add here that I like going to confession; I always find it quenching or refreshing or inspiring. Usually I go at my local church. But sometimes if I’m walking by St. Pat’s and it’s confession time I’ll go right in, because the great thing about St. Pat’s is that in terms of priests you never know what you’ll get—a gruff old Irishman from Boston, a mystic from the Philippines, a young intellectual just out of seminary in Rome. Once I think I heard, through the screen, the jolly voice of New York’s cardinal. But whoever I get always seems to say something I need to hear.
Anyway, last summer I’m at St Patrick’s on a weekday afternoon and I go to the confessional area and stand on line. In the confessionals at St. Pat’s you kneel in a small, darkened booth and speak through a screen. You can sort of see the shadow of the priest on the other side.
The door opens and I enter and kneel. I outline my sins as I see them, share whatever confusion or turmoil or happiness I’m feeling. Then I was silent, waiting to see what bubbled up. What bubbled up was a persistent problem that was spiritual at its core. We talked about it, and then the priest—American accent, perhaps early middle age—said, “You wouldn’t struggle with this if you understand how fully God loves you.”
There was silence for a moment, and then I said, “Actually, Father, I always have trouble with that one.”
Here I thought the priest would gently explain how wrong I was to doubt. Instead he said, “Oh, we all do! All of us have trouble with that.”
I said, “Even you?”
“Yes, priests too, the love of God is something we all have trouble comprehending and believing.”
This struck me with force.
And then suddenly in the silence, through the screen, I saw a light. It grew and glowed in the darkness, it moved. A miracle? I cleared my throat.
“Father, did you just open up an iPad?”
Yes, he said, and we started to laugh. He keeps particular readings there that might be helpful with certain specific questions. He’d like me to read some verses when I get home.
I’m sorry, I said, I don’t have a pen and paper, I may not remember what you say. Wait—I’ve got my BlackBerry. “Tell me chapters and verse and I’ll email them to myself.”
And so he scrolled down and called out readings—the letters of St. Peter the fisherman, of St Paul—and I thumbed away sending emails to myself.
It was so modern and wonderful. Genius technology enters the confessional in a great cathedral in 2012.
“And God saw the light, and it was good.”
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It happened at a New York Airport.
Airlines gate agent in New York for being smart and funny, while
making her point, when confronted with a passenger who probably
deserved to fly as cargo. For all of you out there who have had to
deal with an irate customer, this one is for you.
A crowded United Airlines flight was canceled. A
single agent was re-booking a long line of inconvenienced travelers.
Suddenly, an angry passenger pushed his way to the desk. He slapped his ticket on the counter and said, "I HAVE to be on this flight and it has to be FIRST CLASS."
The agent replied, "I'm sorry, sir. I'll be happy to try
to help you, but I've got to help these folks first; and then I'm
sure we'll be able to work something out."
The passenger was unimpressed. He asked loudly, so that
the passengers behind him could hear, "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?"
Without hesitating, the agent smiled and grabbed her
public address microphone. "May I have your attention, please?", she began, her voice heard clearly throughout the terminal. "We have a passenger here at Gate 14 WHO DOES NOT KNOW WHO HE IS. If anyone can help him with his identity, please come to Gate 14".
With the folks behind him in line laughing hysterically,
the man glared at the United Airlines agent, gritted his teeth, and said, "F*** You!"
Without flinching, she smiled and said, "I'm sorry sir,
you'll have to get in line for that, too."
Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to
dance in the rain.
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Why Does Everything Always Go Wrong?
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/743982/jewish/Why-Does-Everything-Always-Go-Wrong.htm
To a mother who was kvetching about everything always going wrong, and that her life was “full of curses and troubles”
Oy . . . I’m getting the picture.
Let me tell you what the Rebbe very often told people: Many troubles come because they feel at home. That is, when a person’s mind is full of thoughts of how rotten things are and how bad they are going, the troubles say, “Hey, here’s a place for us with all our friends, where we can feel at home!”
So what do you need to do? Throw out the unwanted guests—meaning, all those lousy thoughts—and bring in some friendly ones. There’s always something good; all of us have many blessings in life. You are alive, you are a mother who cares, you are not starving in Africa. First and foremost, you are a Jew who can turn and speak to G‑d firsthand at any time and He will listen, because you are His firstborn son.
Once you start thinking those thoughts and banish all the lousy ones, the troubles don’t feel at home any more. Instead, all those blessings that have been standing out the door for years waiting to come in—but couldn’t, because it just wasn’t the right company inside—now they will all come to party and fill your house.
Granted, this is not an easy task, at least for the first week or so. But we know from much experience that it works, and it works wonders: Misery attracts misery; joy attracts blessings.
How about giving it two weeks and see what happens?
Rabbi Tzvi Freeman
Here is my new favorite gratitue journal http://happyrambles.com/
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Painting God
by Hannah Dreyfus
My quest for answers does not preclude a simple, emotional acceptance of God’s presence in the world.
When I was in kindergarten, I painted a picture of God. I was very proud of my artistic escapade into the non-corporeal. God had long white hair, a hot pink kippah, a technicolor tallit, no nose, and rather insufficient limbs (of the stick variety). God was deep in prayer, naturally, reciting the morning blessings to sing-song perfection.
I brought my modest masterpiece to the front of class, eager to show my teacher what I’d accomplished. The God who lived in the sky, probably somewhere near Marry Poppins – the God who Mommy cried to when she found out Grandpa died, and the God who smiled down at me when I didn’t pull my sister’s hair in synagogue – that God was now mine, a creation of crayon and colored paper.
But when I tugged on my teacher’s skirt to inform her of my theological milestone, she bit back a smile and gently reprimanded my efforts. “God isn’t a person or a thing, sweetie. We’re not supposed to paint pictures of God.”
I pinpoint my interest in Judaism and Jewish thought to that moment. Who was this God to whom I said good morning every sunrise and good night, right hand covering eyes tightly squeezed as I recited the Shema every night? Who was this God who demanded that we hide all our bread in cabinets marked with yellow warning tape once a year, and camp out in the backyard, in a tabernacle strung with Christmas lights and topped with sweetly smelling evergreen braches when the summer turned to fall? Who was this God who instructed us to put fixtures over the bathroom light switches on a Friday afternoon to ensure we don’t accidently desecrate the Sabbath? Who was this God, who gave me picture books filled with Abraham and Isaac and Sarah and Rebecca, in sweeping cloaks atop slender camels, but then told me not to draw Him a portrait?
Was this God camera shy, like Grandma, who always skirted to the edge of frame, muttering some excuse about age, before ducking out of finders view? Was God scared to be found?
The question, for me, never was “is He there?” If God was not there, who heard my mother’s whisper when she stood for several minutes, hands covering eyes, after lighting the Shabbat candles? During my summers in the years just shy of teenagehood, smelling of crisp mountain air, chlorine, and smoldering fire pits, I saw God too, in the stillness of the lake, mist rising silently, just before daybreak. In the song of the crickets as I meandered back to my tent, head thrown back to swallow the stars. If Abraham had found God traced in the sky, so could I.
When life introduced me to pain and death, I also found God. I screamed at Him on that still, October morning when my high school friend’s sister passed away without warning. And I cried to Him when I realized things wouldn’t change, no matter how much I screamed.
During my seminary year spent in Israel, I was told what I had heard before, but with newfound conviction and zeal, by people who didn’t just believe, but lived: God was everywhere. Nature was an illusion, only to test. I read of those precious few who had pushed past nature’s persuasive veil. Sitting cross-legged on the grassy hilltops of Jerusalem, it was easy enough to imagine how.
But skepticism and doubt crept between looming Manhattan skyscrapers, shadows obscuring the skyline from view. In the pages of Hume, Wittgenstein, and Spinoza, I found many of my fearful suspicions reflected. As I walked closer towards the simple, beautiful, portrait I had painted, I began to see flaws in the trusting, non-discriminatory strokes. I began to trace cracks, with trembling fingers. Disheartened, I fell back, disillusioned by the simple picture. I was angry with those who had confirmed and even encouraged my simple portrait, even while telling me, in gently reprimanding tones, that is not our place to paint pictures of God.
For a time, I hid that initial picture from view – the picture I had found among the stars, and in my mother’s whisper. I started on a new picture: a cold, analytical sketch. This picture was based upon thesis statements and comparative readings. The subject of this portrait would be built firmly upon books and articles, dissected and analyzed to avoid misstep. I wouldn’t be fooled again by beautiful simplicity, no matter how tempting. This portrait would be sketched in unforgiving, precise pencil, not crayon.
During my mid-semester break, I headed back to Israel, to Jerusalem. My head spun with questions. The canvas of my new picture had grown weary, streaked with eraser marks. I found myself growing weary. I missed the God I had resolutely left behind, as I wandered between the crowded skyscrapers of New York City.
The gap between my skeptical and emotional self did not close consciously. The serene, modest beauty of Jerusalem, hushed by rare snow, didn’t intellectually combat my neatly contested list of questions. Rather, she rendered them null and void. Like a mother, answering a tired child’s long list of bereavements with an embrace, rather than answers. The child is left hiccupping, still indignant perhaps, but with no breath left for complaints.
Watching the sunlight glint off the white, the questions that had built up, like a wall of stone, crumbled, as if by the sounding call of Joshua’s shofar, walls of Jericho sinking into the ground. The defenses, built up like a small army, melted like a child’s breath on a frosty pane. I stood at the Western Wall and cried to a God I had never lost. It was the same God who had inspired my childish fervor and creativity. The same God who winked at me from behind evergreen trees of childhood memories. The same God I trusted while sitting, cross-legged, atop Jerusalem’s blossoming hills.
I still have questions. I don’t regret asking, nor will I cease to do so. I am a more sophisticated thinker for the journey. The greatest Jewish thinkers of all time, after all, never desisted from intellectual inquiry.
But during my stay in Jerusalem, I realized my quest for answers does not preclude a simple, emotional acceptance of God’s presence in the world. I realized simplicity and truth never were at odds. There will always be questions, debates, and philosophical contentions enough for any willing skeptic. But they fall, like matchsticks in the wind, in those rare, privileged moments when we face a portrait so beautiful, we cannot explain.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/sp/so/Painting-God.html
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I'm sorry for the delay in posting--I have been having an attitude problem.
COVENANT & CONVERSATION: Mishpatim – In The Details
Covenant & Conversation
Download Covenant & Conversation as a PDF
Chief Rabbi Lord Sacks
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2013/02/04/covenant-conversation-mishpatim-in-the-details/#.URK03uhrq-4
On the opening phrase of Mishpatim – “And these are the laws you are to set before them” – Rashi comments: “And these are the laws” – Wherever uses the word “these” it signals a discontinuity with what has been stated previously. Wherever it uses the term “and these” it signals a continuity. Just as the former commands were given at Sinai, so these were given at Sinai. Why then are the civil laws placed in juxtaposition to the laws concerning the altar ? To tell you to place the Sanhedrin near to the Temple. “Which you shall set before them” – G-d said to Moses: You should not think, I will teach them a section or law two or three times until they know the words verbatim but I will not take the trouble to make them understand the reason and its significance. Therefore the Torah states “which you shall set before them” like a fully laid table with everything ready for eating. (Rashi on Shemot 23:1)
Three remarkable propositions are being set out here, which have shaped the contours of Judaism ever since.
The first is that just as the general principles of Judaism (aseret hadibrot means not “ten commandments” but “ten utterances” or overarching principles) are Divine, so are the details. In the 1960s the Danish architect Arne Jacobson designed a new college campus in Oxford. Not content with designing the building, he went on to design the cutlery and crockery to be used in the dining hall, and supervised the planting of every shrub in the college garden. When asked why, he replied in the words of another architect, Mies van der Rohe: “G-d is in the details”.
That is a Jewish sentiment. There are those who believe that what is holy in Judaism is its broad vision, never so compellingly expressed as in the Decalogue at Sinai. The truth however is that G-d is in the details: “Just as the former were given at Sinai, so these were given at Sinai.” The greatness of Judaism is not simply in its noble vision of a free, just and compassionate society, but in the way it brings this vision down to earth in detailed legislation. Freedom is more than an abstract idea. It means (in an age in which slavery was taken for granted – it was not abolished in Britain or the United States until the nineteenth century) letting a slave go free after seven years, or immediately if his master has injured him. It means granting slaves complete rest and freedom one day in seven. These laws do not abolish slavery, but they do create the conditions under which people will eventually learn to abolish it. Not less importantly, they turn slavery from an existential fate to a temporary condition. Slavery is not what you are or how you were born, but some thing that has happened to you for a while and from which you will one day be liberated. That is what these laws – especially the law of Shabbat – achieve, not in theory only, but in living practice. In this, as in virtually every other aspect of Judaism, G-d is in the details.
The second principle, no less fundamental, is that civil law is not secular law. We do not believe in the idea “render to Caesar what is Caeser’s and to G-d what belongs to G-d”. We believe in the separation of powers but not in the secularisation of law or the spiritualisation of faith. The Sanhedrin or Supreme Court must be placed near the Temple to teach that law itself must be driven by a religious vision. The greatest of these visions, stated in this week’s sedra, is: “Do not oppress a stranger, because you yourself know how it feels like to be a stranger: you were strangers in Egypt.” (Shemot 23:9)
The Jewish vision of justice, given its detailed articulation here for the first time, is based not on expediency or pragmatism, nor even on abstract philosophical principles, but on the concrete historical memories of the Jewish people as “one nation under G-d.” Centuries earlier, G-d has chosen Abraham so that he would “teach his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord, by doing what is right and just.” (Bereishith 18:19) Justice in Judaism flows from the experience of injustice at the hands of the Egyptians, and the G-d-given challenge to create a radically different form of society in Israel.
This is already foreshadowed in the first chapter of the Torah with its statement of the equal and absolute dignity of the human person as the image of G-d. That is why society must be based on the rule of law, impartially administered, treating all alike – “Do not follow the crowd in doing wrong. When you give testimony in a lawsuit, do not pervert justice by siding with the crowd, and do not show favouritism to a poor man in his lawsuit.” (Shemot 23:2-3)
To be sure, at the highest levels of mysticism, G-d is to be found in the innermost depths of the human soul, but G-d is equally to be found in the public square and in the structures of society: the marketplace, the corridors of power, and courts of law. There must be no gap, no dissociation of sensibilities, between the court of justice (the meeting-place of man and man) and the Temple (the meeting-place of man and G-d).
The third principle and the most remarkable of all is the idea that law does not belong to lawyers. It is the heritage of every Jew. “Do not think, I will teach them a section or law two or three times until they know the words verbatim but I will not take the trouble to make them understand the reason and significance of the law. The Torah states ‘which you shall set before them’ like a fully laid table with everything ready for eating.” This is the origin of the name of the most famous of all Jewish codes of law, R. Joseph Karo’s Shulkhan Arukh.
From earliest times, Judaism expected everyone to know and understand the law. Legal knowledge is not the closely guarded property of an elite. It is – in the famous phrase – “the heritage of the congregation of Jacob.” (Devarim 33:4) Already in the first century CE Josephus could write that “should any one of our nation be asked about our laws, he will repeat them as readily as his own name. The result of our thorough education in our laws from the very dawn of intelligence is that they are, as it were, engraved on our souls. Hence to break them is rare, and no one can evade punishment by the excuse of ignorance” (Contra Apionem, ii, 177-8). That is why there are so many Jewish lawyers. Judaism is a religion of law – not because it does not believe in love (“You shall love the Lord your G-d”, “You shall love your neighbour as yourself”) but because, without justice, neither love nor liberty nor human life itself can flourish. Love alone does not free a slave from his or her chains.
The sedra of Mishpatim, with its detailed rules and regulations, can sometimes seem a let-down after the breathtaking grandeur of the revelation at Sinai. It should not be. Yitro contains the vision, but G-d is in the details. Without the vision, law is blind. But without the details, the vision floats in heaven. With them the divine presence is brought down to earth, where we need it most.
COVENANT & CONVERSATION: Yitro – The Politics of Revelation
The revelation at Mount Sinai – the central episode not only of the parshah of Yitro, but of Judaism as a whole – was unique in the religious history of mankind. Other faiths (Christianity and Islam) have claimed to be religions of revelation, but in both cases the revelation of which they spoke was to an individual (“the son of G-d”, “the prophet of G-d”). Only in Judaism was G-d’s self-disclosure not to an individual (a prophet) or a group (the elders) but to an entire nation, young and old, men, women and children, the righteous and not yet righteous alike.
From the very outset, the people of Israel knew something unprecedented had happened at Sinai. As Moses put it, forty years later:
Ask now about the former days, long before your time, from the day G-d created man on earth; ask from one end of the heavens to the other. Has anything so great as this ever happened, or has anything like it ever been heard of? Has any other people heard the voice of G-d speaking out of fire, as you have, and lived? (Deut. 4: 32-33).
For the great Jewish thinkers of the Middle Ages, the significance was primarily epistemological. It created certainty and removed doubt. The authenticity of a revelation experienced by one person could be questioned. One witnessed by millions could not. G-d disclosed His presence in public to remove any possible suspicion that the presence felt, and the voice heard, were not genuine.
Looking however at the history of mankind since those days, it is clear that there was another significance also – one that had to do not with religious knowledge but with politics. At Sinai a new kind of nation was being formed and a new kind of society – one that would be an antithesis of Egypt in which the few had power and the many were enslaved. At Sinai, the children of Israel ceased to be a group of individuals and became, for the first time, a body politic: a nation of citizens under the sovereignty of G-d whose written constitution was the Torah and whose mission was to be “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”
Even today, standard works on the history of political thought trace it back, through Marx, Rousseau and Hobbes to Plato’s Republic, Aristotle’s Politics and the Greek city state (Athens in particular) of the fourth century BCE. This is a serious error. To be sure, words like “democracy” (rule by the people) are Greek in origin. The Greeks were gifted at abstract nouns and systematic thought. However, if we look at the “birth of the modern” – at figures like Milton, Hobbes and Locke in England, and the founding fathers of America – the book with which they were in dialogue was not Plato or Aristotle but the Hebrew Bible. Hobbes quotes it 657 times in The Leviathan alone. Long before the Greek philosophers, and far more profoundly, at Mount Sinai the concept of a free society was born.
Three things about that moment were to prove crucial. The first is that long before Israel entered the land and acquired their own system of government (first by judges, later by kings), they had entered into an overarching covenant with G-d. That covenant (brit Sinai) set moral limits to the exercise of power. The code we call Torah established for the first time the primacy of right over might. Any king who behaved contrarily to Torah was acting ultra vires, and could be challenged. This is the single most important fact about biblical politics.
Democracy on the Greek model always had one fatal weakness. Alexis de Tocqueville and John Stuart Mill called it “the tyranny of the majority”. J. L. Talmon called it “totalitarian democracy.” The rule of the majority contains no guarantee of the rights of minorities. As Lord Acton rightly noted, it was this that led to the downfall of Athens: “There was no law superior to that of the state. The lawgiver was above the law.” In Judaism, by contrast, prophets were mandated to challenge the authority of the king if he acted against the terms of the Torah. Individuals were empowered to disobey illegal or immoral orders. For this alone, the covenant at Sinai deserves to be seen as the single greatest step in the long road to a free society.
The second key element lies in the prologue to the covenant. G-d tells Moses: “This is what you are to say to the house of Jacob and tell the people of Israel. ‘You yourselves have seen what I did to Egypt and how I carried you on eagles’ wings and brought you to Me. Now, if you obey Me fully and keep My covenant, you will be My treasured possession, for the whole earth is Mine. You will be for Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation . . .’” Moses tells this to the people, who reply: “We will do everything the Lord has said.”
What is the significance of this exchange? It means that until the people had signified their consent, the revelation could not proceed. There is no legitimate government without the consent of the governed, even if the governor is Creator of heaven and earth. I know of few more radical ideas anywhere. To be sure, there were sages in the Talmudic period who questioned whether the acceptance of the covenant at Sinai was completely free. However, at the heart of Judaism is the idea – way ahead of its time, and not always fully realised – that the free G-d desires the free worship of free human beings. G-d, said the rabbis, does not act tyrannically with His creatures.
The third, equally ahead of its time, was that the partners to the covenant were to be “all the people” – men, women and children. This fact is emphasised later on in the Torah in the mitzvah of Hakhel, the septennial covenant renewal ceremony. The Torah states specifically that the entire people is to be gathered together for this ceremony, “men, women and children.” A thousand years later, when Athens experimented with democracy, only a limited section of society had political rights. Women, children, slaves and foreigners were excluded. In Britain, women did not get the vote until the twentieth century. According to the sages, when G-d was about to give the Torah at Sinai, He told Moses to consult first with the women and only then with the men (“thus shall you say to the house of Jacob” – this means, the women ). The Torah, Israel’s “constitution of liberty”, includes everyone. It is the first moment, by thousands of years, that citizenship is conceived as being universal.
There is much else to be said about the political theory of the Torah (see my The Politics of Hope, The Dignity of Difference, and The Chief Rabbi’s Haggadah as well as the important works by Daniel Elazar and Michael Walzer). But one thing is clear. With the revelation at Sinai something unprecedented entered the human horizon. It would take centuries, millennia, before its full implications were understood. Abraham Lincoln said it best when he spoke of “a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” At Sinai, the politics of freedom was born.
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The Hidden G‑d
Where do you hide when you’re everywhere?
By Tzvi Freeman
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/2115891/jewish/The-Hidden-G-d.htm
It was one of those brutal winter mornings for this West Coast kid in Brooklyn, not so much for the stormy weather as for the struggle to sleep in a dormitory where the Israeli contingent had deemed that night party night. A small group of us had cut a deal with Rabbi Yoel Kahan, teacher supreme of Chassidut Chabad, to provide us a class three times a week at 7 AM. There were conditions: one of us had turn up at his home at 6:30 to wake him, drive him to our semi-authorized-but-not-really room outside the yeshivah, and brew him a strong coffee. Despite the vertigo and aching head, I wouldn’t miss that class for the world.
Reb Yoel, as all his students still call him (may he live for long and healthy years), recognized the torpor of that sleepless night on our faces. I don’t recall the passage we were studying—somewhere in the writings of Rabbi Sholom Dovber, from the year 5672 (1911–12). Deep stuff. Kinda too deep for a morning like this. But in the middle of some obscure passage, he leaped mischievously into a question so ridiculously simple, all of us were now bouncing off the edge of our chairs; so absurdly obvious, none of us could find an answer.
Reb Yoel wanted to know why we couldn’t see G‑d.
“He’s invisible!” came the first response.
That was certainly of no help. Yes, the class was in Yiddish, but Reb Yoel had the words for “tautology” nonetheless.
“G‑d is spiritual,” someone innocently suggested, “and we are physical.” Boy, was that a mistake.
Reb Yoel thundered back, “In the beginning, G‑d created the heavens and the earth!” G‑d created both the physical and the spiritual, he explained. He Himself is neither.
So we tried this: “Well, if we can’t see spiritual things, like emotions, ideas, angels and higher worlds, how can we expect to see that which is beyond even the spiritual?”
Now we were getting somewhere. Straight into the trap he had laid for us.
“Why can’t you see spiritual things?” he demanded. “There are entire worlds that are spiritual. Where are they hidden?”
“They’re not hidden,” someone responded. “They’re right here. Just that we can’t see them.”
Now Reb Yoel began to move objects around on the table at which we all were seated. “This here,” he pointed to a cassette tape recorder we had sneaked beneath the cover of a book, “is hidden. Why? Because it is not within my field of vision. My vision and this object are in two different places. Therefore, I cannot see it.”
Well, we thought it was hidden. Reb Yoel, at the time, never approved of us recording his classes.
“Now, what about radio waves? Are they hidden? Are they in the same place as we are?”
“Yes, they are,” I answered, eager to display my technological expertise. “This room, and everywhere around us, is full of them, broadcasting every station in New York City.”
“Then why can’t you see them?”
“Because,” I strained, grasping for some way to describe frequency spectrums in Yiddish, “radio waves are not . . .”
“They are not within the same space as your vision!”
“Okay.” Same difference, I figured.
“So, as far as your eyes are concerned, radio waves are not here. And the same with emotions, and ideas, and angels, and higher worlds—they are not here. They are not within the same world as your physical eyes. So, you can’t see them.”
This was starting to make sense. But I wasn’t prepared for the bomb that came next.
“So, why can’t you see G‑d?” he clamored. “Isn’t G‑d everywhere?”
The class exploded into yet more futile regurgitations of our earlier attempts, in yet more feeble forms.
“But G‑d is formless! How can you see something that is formless?”
Useless answer. He’s here, now, nonetheless. Here, in our world of form.
“G‑d is not something you see. Seeing and G‑d are way apart!”
He’s in ideas. He’s in emotions. He’s in the palpable, visceral world of the senses. Why isn’t He in your field of vision?
More useless. G‑d is everywhere. He’s in the heavens, and He’s here on earth. He’s in ideas. He’s in emotions. He’s in the palpable, visceral world of the senses. He’s in the cool earth of the ground you clump in your hand and squeeze out between your fingers. He’s in the ethereal world of the philosopher, and He’s in the pragmatic world of the trucker speeding down Interstate 86. He’s in the putrid world of the worker digging out the city sewers down the street, and He’s in the aroma of the garlic our cook was now sprinkling on the chickens for tonight’s dinner. None of this could exist if He were not there. He’s everywhere, in everything. So, He’s certainly in your field of vision. Why can’t you see Him?
We had visibly given up, but the tension of the lecture was like static electricity waiting for a lightning bolt.
“The spiritual worlds,” Reb Yoel continued, “the World of Formation, the World of Creation—realms of angels and souls—they are not in another place that you could travel to. Yet, neither are they here. You and they are in different spaces—even more than radio waves.”
“But the World of G‑dliness—that is here, now!”
Then the answer. As simple as was the question, so the answer. Far too simple for sophisticated students as ourselves.
Reb Yoel leaned forward. “The only reason you cannot see G‑d,” he whispered, “is because He doesn’t want you to.”
“This is why we call Him ‘the hidden G‑d.’ Achein atah Keil Mistater—‘Truly, You are the Hiding G‑d.’ Because He is the only one who is truly hidden. Everything else is not truly hidden—it’s simply not here. But He, He is hidden even when He is here. He is present in His absence, absent in His presence.”
“G‑d, you see, is not a something, not a presence. G‑d just is.”
The rest passed over my head. And the cassette recording turned out futile as well.
In that class, Reb Yoel provided us a key to unlock so many passages in the teachings of Chabad. Here’s the vital passage in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s The Gate of Unity and Faith (both translation and italics are my own):
Now, just as no created being has the capacity to grasp G‑d’s mode of greatness—meaning, His capacity to create something from nothing and vitalize it . . .—just the same way, none has the capacity to fathom G‑d’s mode of might. This is the modality of constraining the spread of vital energy from His greatness, so that rather than an open descent, energizing and sustaining the creations overtly, the energy is masked so that it remains undetectable within the actual created being. The creation now appears as though it were an autonomous entity, and not simply the artifact of a breath-like current of energy. Rather than appearing as sunlight appears—as nothing more than the radiance of the sun—it is now a something all of its own.
Truthfully, it is not its own entity, but actually quite similar to the sun’s radiation. Yet, that itself is the awesome might of a wholly transcendent G‑d: He can do anything, and so He can constrain this breath-like vitalizing energy that flows from the breath of His mouth until it becomes undetectable, so as not to annihilate the identity of the created being.
This is the facet that no created mind can fathom: What kind of constraining process is this that renders a vital force undetectable—and yet, a creation emerges out of the void? This is not within the capacity of a created being to comprehend—just as no created being can fathom how something can be created out of nothing to begin with.
Years later, I found another expert to ask the same question—my three-year-old daughter. I asked her why we couldn’t see G‑d. Her eyes opened wide as she whispered, “He’s hiding!”
Only then did I feel as stupid as I should have felt back there with Reb Yoel. I guess, when it comes to G‑d, we’re all better off thinking like three-year-olds.
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Judaism’s greatest lesson: Behavior matters most
By Dennis Prager
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Dennis Prager.
If I were asked to identify the greatest Jewish teaching, the most important lesson to be learned from all of Judaism, I would argue that, aside from ethical monotheism, it is that behavior matters more than anything else, and certainly more than feelings.
As the Talmud tells us, “It is not the thought that counts, but the deed.”
This is truly a Jewish idea. I first realized this many years ago when a non-Jewish middle-aged caller to my radio show sorrowfully related to me that he thought he was a terrible son. He explained that for the previous 10 years he had been the sole financial and emotional support of his ailing mother — and sometimes, he confided to me, the burden was so heavy that he wished she would finally succumb to her illnesses.
When I told him that I thought he was one of the most wonderful sons I had ever had the honor of speaking to, he thought I was mocking him. He couldn’t believe that I was serious. But I was. I explained to him that it is completely irrelevant what he sometimes feels or wishes. What matters is how beautifully he has acted toward his mother all these years.
This should be the guiding principle of our views on virtually every subject.
Charity
The Torah commands us to tithe our income. Neither the Torah nor later Judaism ever cared whether our heart is in it. We are commanded to give whether or not we feel like giving. Tzedakah — which is translated as “charity,” but it is in fact the feminine form of “justice” — helps the needy. And people who are in need prefer to receive $100 from one who feels religiously obligated to give, rather than than $5 from one whose heart prompts him to give $5.
Self-Esteem
The self-esteem movement has largely been a moral and emotional disaster. It was produced by people who, among other mistaken ideas, believed that feelings were more important than actions. Thus, no matter how little children may accomplish, they are still to be rewarded with medals, trophies, lavish praise, etc. The result is that they deem how they feel about themselves as being of greater importance than how they act.
In a math competition with students from other industrialized democracies, American students came in last. But they came in first in self-esteem about their knowledge of math. And the prominent criminologist and professor of psychology, Roy Baumeister, has often noted that no group has higher self-esteem than violent criminals.
Social Justice
“Social justice” is a politically loaded term. Nevertheless, I will deal here only with the intent of those committed to “social justice” — to helping people who are less well-off than we are.
We have here another prime example of the relevance of the Jewish teaching that behavior is what matters: Making social policies that work is what matters. Too often, social justice policies are enacted because they make their proponents feel good because they think they are doing good, not because they actually do good. To give but one of many examples, everything I have read confirms what common sense suggests: Lowering standards for college admission for blacks has done far more harm than good for black students. But proponents don’t seem to care about that; what they care about is feeling that they are helping a historically persecuted group.
Happiness
In decades of lecturing, writing and broadcasting on the subject of happiness, my two central premises have come from this Jewish teaching that behavior is what matters most. The first premise is that if we act happy, we are far more likely to feel happy. The second is that we all owe everyone in our lives not to inflict our unhappy feelings on them. With few exceptions, no matter how we feel, we have a moral obligation to act with a happy disposition.
Sex
The rule that one should not rely on feelings to determine one’s behavior even applies to sex with one’s spouse. That is why the Talmud actually lists the number of times per week/month/year a man owes his wife sex. The same holds true for wives. If a woman is married to a good man whom she loves, in general she shouldn’t allow her mood alone to be the sole determinant of whether she has sex with her husband. It is far better for her, for her husband and for their marriage to have sex even on some occasions when she is not in the mood. Of course, it is his obligation to then try to get her in the mood, but she should allow him to at least try to do so even on occasions when she is not in the mood.
Judaism
Judaism itself is built on this behavioral paradigm. We don’t fast on Yom Kippur only if we are in the mood to do so. A Jew doesn’t observe Shabbat only if he is in the mood to do so at sunset on Friday. One simply does so, and if done well, religious feelings follow.
You want to raise good children? Communicate to them that how they feel is of no concern to almost anyone in the world. But how they act is of concern to everyone they will ever meet.
Dennis Prager is a nationally syndicated radio talk show host (AM 970 in Los Angeles) and founder of PragerUniversity.com. His latest book is the New York Times best-seller “Still the Best Hope: Why the World Needs American Values to Triumph” (HarperCollins, 2012).
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THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: Living with the past without being held captive by it
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2013/02/22/thought-for-the-day-living-with-the-past-without-being-held-captive-by-it/#.USdzOhlrq-5
Chief Rabbi Sachs
If you’re driving through a Jewish area this Saturday night or Sunday, don’t be surprised if you see lots of children in the streets wearing fancy dress and masks, or people going from house to house delivering presents of food and drink. The reason is that we’ll be celebrating Purim, the most boisterous and exuberant of all Jewish festivals.
Which is actually very odd indeed, because Purim commemorates the story told in the book of Esther, when Haman, a senior official of the Persian Empire, persuaded the king to issue a decree to annihilate all Jews, young and old, men, women and children, on one day: a warrant for genocide. Thanks to the vigilance of Mordechai and the courage of Esther, the decree was not carried out, and ever since, we’ve celebrated by reading the story, having parties, giving to the poor and sharing gifts of food with friends.
I used to be very puzzled by this. Why such exhilaration at merely surviving a tragedy that was only narrowly averted? Relief, I can understand. But to turn the day into a carnival? Just because we’re still here to tell the story?
Slowly, though, I began to understand how much pain there has been in Jewish history, how many massacres and pogroms throughout the ages. Jews had to learn how to live with the past without being traumatised by it. So they turned the day when they faced and then escaped the greatest danger of all into a festival of unconfined joy, a day of dressing up and drinking a bit too much, to exorcise the fear, live through it and beyond it, and then come back to life, unhaunted by the ghosts of memory.
Purim is the Jewish answer to one of the great questions of history: how do you live with the past without being held captive by the past? Ours is a religion of memory, because if you forget the past, you’ll find yourself repeating it. Yet it’s also a future oriented faith. To be a Jew is to answer the question, Has the messiah come?, with the words, Not yet.
There are so many parts of the world today where ancient grievances are still being played out, as if history were a hamster wheel in which however fast we run we find ourselves back where we started. Purim is a way of saying, remember the past, but then look at the children, celebrate with them, and for their sake, put the past behind you and build a better future.
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Groom’s Letter to Parents, Remembered After Fatal Hit and Run
The young groom took some moments on his wedding day to write a letter thanking his parents for never sparing time or money if he needed, say, a tutor or an eye doctor, and for sending him to yeshiva “to learn your values, religious and worldly, until I reached to this current lucky moment.”
Children, Nathan Glauber wrote, often do not understand what parents do for them until they mature and have their own children, so he asked them to forgive him for any pain he may have caused them.
......
http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/03/06/a-wedding-day-letter-remembered-after-grooms-and-wifes-deaths/
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I have no idea where else to put this:
http://gothamist.com/2013/03/12/what_was_in_marilyn_monroes_persona.php#photo-1
From the article:
According to OpenCulture, when Monroe died in 1962 she left around 400 books behind, "many of which were later catalogued and auctioned off by Christie’s in New York City." Now on LibraryThing you can get a look at 262 of those books—her collection included Ulysses by James Joyce, Crime And Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Bound For Glory by Woody Guthrie, The Roots Of American Communism by Theodore Draper (a risky title to keep around given that whole FBI thing), The Bible, How To Travel Incognito by Ludwig Bemelmans, The Little Engine That Could, and Jack Kerouac's On The Road. She also had a number of books that spoke to a more domestic life, including The Joy of Cooking, Baby & Child Care by Dr. Benjamin Spock, and one guide to flower arranging.
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Chabad
Adam was the direct handiwork of God. No other human being could ever be as magnificent. Yet he had only one temptation to resist, and he gave in.
Which teaches us that the greatest challenges in life are those that are closest to your purpose of being. To the point that if you wish to know your central purpose in life, you need only look at where your greatest challenges lie.
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Authentic Humility Iyar 26, 5773 • May 6, 2013
Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe, Rabbi M. M. Schneerson
Print this Page
Humility has to be real. Real humility means transcendence of the self.
Moses, it is written, was the most humble of all men.
Obviously, he knew who he was. He knew that of all men, he alone was chosen to accomplish the greatest tasks of history --to lead an entire nation out from bondage and bring them to the greatest revelation that would ever be. He was the loftiest of all prophets, who spoke directly to G-d whenever he wished.
He knew all this and yet he was humble.
Because Moses told himself, "This is not my own achievement. This is what I have done with the powers G-d has granted me. Perhaps had someone else been given these same powers, perhaps that someone else would have done a better job."
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Ten months between betrothal and wedding? :lol: :wink: :evil:
Celestial Formations Iyar 27, 5773 • May 7, 2013
By Lazer Gurkow
Artist's conception of the Israelite camp in formation around the Tabernacle at the foot of Mount Sinai
They traveled together, a single mass of two million people moving slowly through the sands. Each tribe precisely positioned, each group in perfect formation, their footprints marking the desert.
At the center of this great mass was the Tabernacle, the holy house of G d. Immediately surrounding the Tabernacle was the tribe of Levi: Moses, Aaron, and their immediate families to the east; the Gershon family to the west; the Kehat family to the south; and the Merari family to the north.
Arrayed around these four families were the remaining twelve tribes of Israel. Three tribes to the east, three to the west, three to the north and three to the south.1
Angelic Entourage
The Midrash relates that G d descended from the heavens at Sinai surrounded by a majestic entourage of 22,000 angels. The entourage, arrayed around the divine presence, was divided into four groups.2
The eastern group was led by the angel Gabriel. The western group was led by the angel Raphael. The northern group was led by the angel Uriel, and the southern group was led by the angel Michael.3
Arrayed around the first circle of angels was yet another circle of angels, also comprised of four groups. This outer circle numbered 600,000 angels.4
Witnessing this majestic array, our ancestors yearned for a similar formation. Being totally encircled by G d’s presence would ensure that their attention would be exclusively focused upon G d. They asked that they be positioned in similar formation when G d’s presence would become manifest in the Tabernacle.5
Request Granted
Thirty days after the Tabernacle was erected, G d commanded Moses to take a census of the Jewish people and to establish their formations in accordance with that of the angels. To his amazement, Moses found that the census matched the number of angels in G d’s entourage perfectly. There were 22,000 Levites, corresponding to the number of angels in G d’s inner circle, and 600,000 Jews in the other tribes, corresponding to the number of angels in G d’s outer circle.6
When Moses was instructed to establish the tribal formations, he worried that it would lead to friction among the tribes. Which tribe would lead, and which would follow? Who would lead to the east, and who to the west? Moses didn’t relish controversy.
“Don’t worry,” G d told him, “the patriarch Jacob has already arranged it. Before Jacob passed away, he instructed his sons to carry his coffin in the same formation that their children would later use in the desert.
“Judah would lead to the east, followed by Issachar and Zebulun. Reuben would lead to the south, followed by Simon and Gad. Ephraim would lead to the west, followed by Manasseh and Benjamin. Dan would lead to the north, followed by Asher and Naphtali.”7
Tribes and Angels: Might, Kindness, Healing, Light
The tribe of Judah led to the east, corresponding to the angelic camp led by Gabriel. Judah was a symbol of strength and firm discipline, as is Gabriel, the angel of divine strength. The tribe of Reuben led to the south, corresponding to the angelic camp led by Michael. Reuben was a symbol of kindness; he was the first to rush to Joseph’s rescue. This corresponds to Michael, the angel of divine benevolence. The tribe of Ephraim led to the west, corresponding to the angelic camp led by Raphael. Generations later, the tribe of Ephraim would prevent Jews from the north of Israel from visiting the Temple in Jerusalem. They never repented for this sin, and were never spiritually healed. They were therefore aligned with Raphael, the angel of divine healing. The tribe of Dan led to the north, corresponding to the angelic camp led by Uriel. The tribe of Dan actually implemented Ephraim’s ban on the pilgrimage, and denied themselves access to spiritual light. They were therefore aligned with Uriel, the angel of divine light.8
Eleven Months
G d waited eleven full months before granting His children’s wish and agreeing to this celestial formation.9
The Midrash teaches that G d betrothed the Jews at Sinai, and married them on the day that the Tabernacle was erected.10 In ancient times it was customary to wait ten months between betrothal and marriage—and indeed, there was a ten-month interval between the day we received the Ten Commandments and the day the
Tabernacle was erected.11
According to the Talmud, wedding celebrations should last for thirty days;12 and indeed, G d waited one additional month. He wanted to conclude the celebrations and make certain that the bond was complete. Only then, when we were fully committed, our devotion beyond question, did He grant our desire for celestial formations.13
Becoming Angelic
Our ancestors’ request reflected a desire to reach beyond their grasp. To perceive G d’s greatness the way the angels do, and to be affected by G d’s presence the way angels are. They knew that this was beyond them, but this did not prevent them from yearning for it.
G d waited till they reached the pinnacle of their own potential, and then granted their request. In doing so G d made it possible for us, even here today, to reach beyond ourselves and periodically gain a measure of angelic inspiration.14
FOOTNOTES
1.
Numbers 2:1–31 and 3:23–39. See also Rabbeinu Bechayei, Numbers 2:10.
2.
Bamidbar Rabbah 2:3.
3.
Rabbeinu Bechayei, Numbers 2:1–25. See Zohar 2:118b for a slightly different order.
4.
Talmud, Shabbat 88a.
5.
Bamidbar Rabbah 2:3; Keli Yakar, Numbers 2:2.
See also Alshich, Numbers 1:2, who explains that G d deliberately positioned the Levites between the Tabernacle and the tribes. It ensured that that the rays of G dly light emanating from the Tabernacle would not radiate in pure form as it did at Sinai and overwhelm the uninitiated, but be filtered through the prism of the righteous Levites. The Levites, bolstered by their proximity to Moses and Aaron, would learn to tolerate the intensity of the pure rays and pass them on to the other tribes in a dimmer, softer form than the original.
6.
Numbers 1:46 and 2:39. Only the men between the age of twenty and sixty were counted in the general population, as this was a census of battle-worthy men; among the Levites, children from the age of one month and up were also counted. There were in fact 603,550 men; however, the additional three and a half thousand men were not considered in the larger number (see Alshich, Numbers 1:2).
7.
Midrash Tanchuma, Bamidbar 12.
8.
Rabbeinu Bechayei, Numbers 2:1–25. See also Keli Yakar and Nachmanides, Numbers 2:2–3, for alternative explanations.
Gabriel, Michael and Raphael are also the angels who came to visit Abraham and Sarah after Abraham’s circumcision. Raphael came to heal Abraham and to save Abraham’s nephew Lot. Michael came to inform them that a child would soon be born to them, and Gabriel came to destroy the city of Sodom. Each was sent on a mission that corresponded to its character. (See Bereishit Rabbah 50:2.)
9.
The Ten Commandments were given on the sixth of Sivan, and the formations were established on the first of Iyar of the following year.
Many explanations are offered in addition to the one offered in the essay. Ohr Hachayim (Numbers 1:2) argues that G d was waiting for enough children to be born so that the census would match that of His angelic entourage; he brilliantly compares this census to the previous one (Exodus 38:26) and demonstrates an uncanny resemblance between them. Keli Yakar and Alshich suggest that G d wanted to firmly establish His presence in the Tabernacle for at least one month before He acquiesced to the request. Alshich further argues that this was in response to the sin of the Golden Calf. When Moses informed the people that G d had forgiven them, the people immediately set about building the Tabernacle. Upon its completion, G d made His presence manifest in it to demonstrate His forgiveness. After thirty days of such presence, it was time to align the people in the same formation as the angels, to allow for maximum exposure to, and benefit from, the divine presence among them.
10.
Midrash Tanchuma, Ki Tisa 16 and Naso 20; see also Rashi, Numbers 7:1.
11.
Genesis 24:55: “Let the girl stay with us a year or ten [months].” These are the ten months that we allow between betrothal and marriage, so that the bride might adorn herself with the twenty-four adornments mentioned in Isaiah 3:18–24 (Talmud, Ketubot 57b).
12.
Talmud, Ketubot 8a.
13.
Keli Yakar, Numbers 1:1.
14.
Based on Sefat Emet (by Rabbi Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter of Gur, 1847–1905), Bamidbar 5638.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIohmGj5qgk&list=PLUJJqf3LpZyVphd-vFGqqY3diw5iOOl1R
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIohmGj5qgk&list=PLUJJqf3LpZyVphd-vFGqqY3diw5iOOl1R[/youtube]
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Wonderful to have you with us again Rachel!
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/28/grown-up-calvin-and-hobbes-craig-mahoney_n_3346746.html
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Thanks Marc!
Explaining Tragedy to Our Children
Sara Esther Crispe
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sara-esther-crispe/explaining-tragedy-to-our-children_b_3325672.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false#sb=4040024b=facebook
When I was a freshman in college, the little brother of my close friend was shot in the back and killed. For his beeper. Beepers were cool back then, and I guess the kid who murdered him really wanted it.
His loss affected me profoundly. It was so senseless, so unjust, so unnecessary. And I need things to make sense. I need to somehow understand and find a logical cause and affect. If someone is sick, he might die. If someone is old, he might die. But if someone has a beeper and someone else wants it, he might also die? I just didn't get it.
I still don't get it.
I am a mother now. I have four kids. And there are many things they don't get. Many things I can't explain.
---- http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sara-esther-crispe/explaining-tragedy-to-our-children_b_3325672.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false#sb=4040024b=facebook
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God gives us free will. No celestial strings or guardrails, every act, good or evil, we own it.
Anything less would mean that were are automatons without responsibility.
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I personally think free will and an omnipotent God are not mutually exclusive.
However, the free will problem has been argued about by Jewish scholars for at least 2,000 years and possible closer to 3,000 years and I don't have the time or inclination to give it justice.
"On many accounts, the idea of "Freedom of Choice" seems a self-evident truth. It seems indispensable not only to any "religion", but also to any world-vision that holds the human being responsible for his or her actions. It resonates with the most fundamental element of our self-knowledge: that life is something that we live ("live" being an active verb) and our actions are things that we do. The fact that our choices and decisions have consequence does not need to be proven to us -- we experience it first hand, 24 hours a day, 3,600 seconds an hour.
But no sooner do we attempt to scratch the surface of this self-evident truth, that a flood of questions, paradoxes, absurdities and dilemmas overwhelm us. For this self-evident truth clashes with other, seemingly no less immutable truths: the apparently mechanical nature of our reality, the laws of cause and effect, and -- from a theological standpoint -- G-d's absolute knowledge of the "future" and His omnipotence and Oneness"
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/3051/jewish/Freedom-and-Choice-an-Anthology.htm
The above links to lots of articles about Free Wlill and Aish has a bunch as well
http://www.aish.com/search/?keywords=free+will&x=0&y=0
Judaism and all good religions do a terrible job of explaining why bad things happen but hopefully they provide a good answer for what to do when bad things happen.
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http://theweek.com/article/index/99512/the-last-word-he-said-he-was-leaving-she-ignored-him
"When Laura Munson's husband asked for a divorce, she ducked instead of fighting. He needed to learn, she says, that his unhappiness wasn’t really about her"
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Why was Moses not destined to enter the Land?
It is one of the most perplexing, even disturbing, passages in the Torah. Moses the faithful shepherd, who has led the Israelites for forty years, is told that he will not live to cross the Jordan and enter the promised land.
No one has cast a longer shadow over the history of the Jewish people than Moses – the man who confronted Pharaoh, announced the plagues, brought the people out of Egypt, led them through the sea and desert and suffered their serial ingratitudes; who brought the word of God to the people, and prayed for the people to God. The name Israel means “one who wrestles with God and with men and prevails.” That, supremely, was Moses, the man whose passion for justice and hyper-receptivity to the voice of God made him the greatest leader of all time. Yet he was not destined to enter the land to which he had spent his entire time as a leader travelling toward. Why?
http://www.chiefrabbi.org/2013/06/11/covenant-conversation-chukat-why-was-moses-not-destined-to-enter-the-land/#.UbcwJfY4Vrp
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVQP6GL-Ps0
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVQP6GL-Ps0[/youtube]
Advice for Sick Friends
Sometimes our advice is not only wrong, it’s hurtful.
by Emuna Braverman
http://www.aish.com/f/mom/Advice-for-Sick-Friends.html
In Letty Cottin Pogrebin’s new book, “How to be a Friend to a Friend Who’s Sick,” she says something very wise and very important. And she’s very blunt. It’s something that can actually be extrapolated to many of life’s challenges.
Under the heading, Ten Commandments for Conversing with a Sick Friend, she advises:
10. Don’t pressure them to “keep up the fight” or practice “positive thinking.” It’s cruel to imply that negative thoughts – that is, feeling discouraged, not battling hard enough, not having the “right attitude” – caused their illness in the first place or may have compounded their suffering. If your friend keeps getting sicker, the last thing they need is to blame themselves…Don’t say, “You’re gonna beat it!” when you know they probably won’t. Positive thinking can’t cure Huntington’s disease, ALS, or inoperable brain cancer. Telling a terminal patient to “Keep up the fight!” isn’t just futile; it’s mean. Don’t make a dying patient feel guilty for having lost the fight. Don’t make death into a personal failure.
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http://www.aish.com/f/mom/Advice-for-Sick-Friends.html
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Filling the Crevices of the Wall
http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Filling-the-Crevices-of-the-Wall.html
by Sara Debbie Gutfreund
A few years ago my grandfather passed away right before the 17th of Tammuz. On the fast day I was helping my mother as she sat shiva and an old family friend offered me a drink.
"No thanks, I'm fasting." I said.
"What are you fasting for?" he asked. So I explained that it was the 17th of Tammuz, and we were mourning the day that the walls of Jerusalem were breached before the Second Temple was destroyed.
"I never heard of this fast day. But you know what's even sadder? Last year my wife and I visited Israel for the first time. We went on a tour of the Old City and the tour guide points out the Temple Mount. And all we could see was this huge mosque and then the tour guide points out the Western Wall. And I couldn't believe it. That's it? That's all that's left of the Temple? One wall? So I think I know why there's a fast. There's so little we have left."
He put down his own drink and stared out the window into the withering summer day. And I thought about his words for days afterwards: That's it? That's all that's left? One wall?
....
http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Filling-the-Crevices-of-the-Wall.html
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As an American patriot, I think I'm feeling the same sense of loss.
Filling the Crevices of the Wall
http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Filling-the-Crevices-of-the-Wall.html
by Sara Debbie Gutfreund
A few years ago my grandfather passed away right before the 17th of Tammuz. On the fast day I was helping my mother as she sat shiva and an old family friend offered me a drink.
"No thanks, I'm fasting." I said.
"What are you fasting for?" he asked. So I explained that it was the 17th of Tammuz, and we were mourning the day that the walls of Jerusalem were breached before the Second Temple was destroyed.
"I never heard of this fast day. But you know what's even sadder? Last year my wife and I visited Israel for the first time. We went on a tour of the Old City and the tour guide points out the Temple Mount. And all we could see was this huge mosque and then the tour guide points out the Western Wall. And I couldn't believe it. That's it? That's all that's left of the Temple? One wall? So I think I know why there's a fast. There's so little we have left."
He put down his own drink and stared out the window into the withering summer day. And I thought about his words for days afterwards: That's it? That's all that's left? One wall?
....
http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Filling-the-Crevices-of-the-Wall.html
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http://www.elephantjournal.com/2012/04/10-reasons-why-buddhism-is-better-than-your-religion/
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http://www.deathandtaxesmag.com/195348/18-obsolete-words-which-should-have-never-gone-out-of-style/
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It’s true! What spiritual teachers have known for ages, that our body and outer world is programmable by language, words and thoughts, has now been scientifically proven and explained.
Russian biophysicist Pjotr Garjajev has proven that one can simply use words and sentences of the human language to change our DNA. His work validated that the words we speak, including affirmations, can elevate us to the realms of joy, vibrant health, and prosperity or bring us down into the depths of despair, poor health, and impoverishment.
For example, saying, “I am sick and tired,” then you will be. “I ain’t got no money,” then you won’t. But saying, “Every day, in every way I am feeling better and better,” or “I am prosperous, loved, and fortunate,” then you will be. Even the words we are hearing from the media and others affect us either in a beneficial way or destructive and painful way.
The researchers found that “not everybody is equally successful or can do it with always the same strength. The individual person must work on the inner processes and development in order to establish a conscious communication with the DNA.” Again, as in everything, if we want results we need to endeavor.
Give up degrading and impoverishing words and phrases unless we want what these words will create. Stress, worry or a hyperactive intellect prevent successful hyper-communication or the information will be totally distorted and useless.
Whatever we want to bring to us and experience, we must use the words backed with the feelings and intentions that correspond and are the mental equivalents of our desires made manifest. All is possible!
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The Morality of Love
by Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks
Ekev(Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25)
The Morality of Love
Something implicit in the Torah from the very beginning becomes explicit in the book of Devarim. God is the God of love. More than we love Him, He loves us. Here, for instance, is the beginning of this week's parsha:
If you pay attention to these laws and are careful to follow them, then the LORD your God will keep his covenant of love [et ha-brit ve-et ha-chessed] with you, as he swore to your ancestors. He will love you and bless you and increase your numbers. (Deut 7:12-13)
Again in the parsha we read:
To the LORD your God belong the heavens, even the highest heavens, the earth and everything in it. Yet the LORD set his affection on your ancestors and loved them, and he chose you, their descendants, above all the nations-as it is today. (Deut. 10:14-15)
And here is a verse from last week's:
Because he loved your ancestors and chose their descendants after them, he brought you out of Egypt by his Presence and his great strength. (Deut. 4:37)
The book of Deuteronomy is saturated with the language of love. The root a-h-v appears in Shemot twice, in Vayikra twice (both in Lev. 19), in Badmibar not at all, but in Sefer Devarim 23 times. Devarim is a book about societal beatitude and the transformative power of love.
Nothing could be more misleading and invidious than the Christian contrast between Christianity as a religion of love and forgiveness and Judaism as a religion of law and retribution. As I pointed out in Covenant and Conversation to Vayigash, forgiveness is born (as David Konstan notes in Before Forgiveness) in Judaism. Interpersonal forgiveness begins when Joseph forgives his brothers for selling him into slavery. Divine forgiveness starts with the institution of Yom Kippur as the supreme day of Divine pardon following the sin of the Golden Calf.
Similarly with love: when the New Testament speaks of love it does so by direct quotation from Leviticus ("You shall love your neighbour as yourself") and Deuteronomy ("You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul and all your might"). As philosopher Simon May puts it in his splendid book, Love: A History: "The widespread belief that the Hebrew Bible is all about vengeance and 'an eye for an eye,' while the Gospels supposedly invent love as an unconditional and universal value, must therefore count as one of the most extraordinary misunderstandings in all of Western history. For the Hebrew Bible is the source not just of the two love commandments but of a larger moral vision inspired by wonder for love's power." (1) His judgment is unequivocal: "If love in the Western world has a founding text, that text is Hebrew." (2)
More than this: in Ethical Life: The Past and Present of Ethical Cultures, philosopher Harry Redner distinguishes four basic visions of the ethical life in the history of civilizations.(3) One he calls civic ethics, the ethics of ancient Greece and Rome. Second is the ethic of duty, which he identifies with Confucianism, Krishnaism and late Stoicism. Third is the ethic of honour, a distinctive combination of courtly and military decorum to be found among Persians, Arabs and Turks as well as in medieval Christianity (the 'chivalrous knight') and Islam.
The fourth, which he calls simply morality, he traces to Leviticus and Deuteronomy. He defines it simply as 'the ethic of love,' and represents what made the West morally unique: "The biblical 'love of one's neighbour' is a very special form of love, a unique development of the Judaic religion and unlike any to be encountered outside it. It is a supremely altruistic love, for to love one's neighbour as oneself means always to put oneself in his place and to act on his behalf as one would naturally and selfishly act on one's own." (4) To be sure, Buddhism also makes space for the idea of love, though it is differently inflected, more impersonal and unrelated to a relationship with God.
What is radical about this idea is that, first, the Torah insists, against virtually the whole of the ancient world, that the elements that constitute reality are neither hostile nor indifferent to humankind. We are here because Someone wanted us to be, One who cares about us, watches over us and seeks our wellbeing.
Second, the love with which God created the universe is not just divine. It is to serve as the model for us in our humanity. We are bidden to love the neighbour and the stranger, to engage in acts of kindness and compassion, and to build a society based on love. Here is how our parsha puts it:
For the LORD your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, mighty and awesome God who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes. He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the stranger, giving him food and clothing. So you must love the stranger, for you yourselves were strangers in the land of Egypt. (Deut. 10:18-19)
In short: God created the world in love and forgiveness and asks us to love and forgive others. I believe that to be the most profound moral idea in human history.
There is however an obvious question. Why is it that love, which plays so great a part in the book of Deuteronomy, is so much less in evidence in the earlier books of Shemot, Vayikra (with the exception of Lev. 19) and Bamidbar?
The best way of answering that question is to ask another. Why is it that forgiveness plays no part - at least on the surface of the narrative - in the book of Bereishit? (5) God does not forgive Adam and Eve or Cain (though he mitigates their punishment). Forgiveness does not figure in the stories of the Flood, the Tower of Babel or the destruction of Sodom and the cities of the plain (Abraham's plea is that the cities be spared if they contain fifty or ten righteous people; this is not a plea for forgiveness). Divine forgiveness makes its first appearance in the book of Exodus after Moses' successful plea in the wake of golden calf, and is then institutionalised in the form of Yom Kippur (Lev. 16), but not before. Why so?
The simple, radical, answer is: God does not forgive human beings until human beings learn to forgive one another. Genesis ends with Joseph forgiving his brothers. Only thereafter does God forgive human beings.
Turning to love: Genesis contains many references to it. Abraham loves Isaac. Isaac loves Esau. Rebecca loves Jacob. Jacob loves Rachel. He also loves Joseph. There is interpersonal love in plentiful supply. But almost all the loves of Genesis turn out to be divisive. They lead to tension between Jacob and Esau, between Rachel and Leah, and between Joseph and his brothers. Implicit in Genesis is a profound observation missed by most moralists and theologians. Love in and of itself - real love, personal and passionate, the kind of love that suffuses much of the prophetic literature as well as Shir Ha-Shirim, the greatest love song in Tanakh, as opposed to the detached, generalised love called agape which we associate with ancient Greece - is not sufficient as a basis for society. It can divide as well as unite.
Hence it does not figure as a major motif until we reach the integrated social-moral-political vision of Deuteronomy which combines love and justice. Tzedek, justice, turns out to be another key word of Deuteronomy, appearing 18 times. It appears only four times in Shemot, not at all in Bamidbar, and in Vayikra only in chapter 19, the only chapter that also contains the word 'love.' In other words, in Judaism love and justice go hand in hand. Again this is noted by Simon May:
[W]hat we must note here, for it is fundamental to the history of Western love, is the remarkable and radical justice that underlies the love commandment of Leviticus. Not a cold justice in which due deserts are mechanically handed out, but the justice that brings the other, as an individual with needs and interests, into a relationship of respect. All our neighbours are to be recognised as equal to ourselves before the law of love. Justice and love therefore become inseparable.(6)
Love without justice leads to rivalry, and eventually to hate. Justice without love is devoid of the humanizing forces of compassion and mercy. We need both. This unique ethical vision - the love of God for humans and of humans for God, translated into an ethic of love toward both neighbour and stranger - is the foundation of Western civilization and its abiding glory.
It is born here in the book of Deuteronomy, the book of law-as-love and love-as-law.
NOTES
1. Simon May, Love: A History (Yale University Press, 2011), 19-20.
2. Ibid., 14.
3. Harry Redner, Ethical Life: The Past and Present of Ethical Cultures, New York, Rowman and Littlefield, 2001.
4. Ibid., 50.
5. I exclude, here, midrashic readings of these texts, some of which do make reference to forgiveness.
6. Loc. Cit., 17.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/tp/i/sacks/165056536.html
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As usual from you Rachel, a worthy read.
In a related vein currently I am reading Robert Wright's "The Evolution of God". Are you familiar with it? He foundation is an evolutionary pysch scientist who wrote "The Moral Animal" and "Non-Zero Sum: the logic of human destiny".
When your posted piece says "God does not forgive human beings until human beings learn to forgive one another" it echoes a key theme in his "The Evolution of God".
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Marc,
Thank for the kind words. I'm not really familiar with "The Evolution of God" It looks interesting. I just today finished reading/listening to the excellent "A History of the Jews" by Paul Johnson. It is a one- volume book of the history of the world "seen from the viewpoint of a learned and intelligent victim." The author is actually a British Roman Catholic but this book is very popular among Orthodox Jews.
Miracles You Can't See
http://www.aish.com/sp/ph/Miracles-You-Cant-See.html
by Rabbi Yaakov Salomon
It's a blazing night in August. You grab a PowerAde and sneak in a serene midnight repose on the porch swing. The faintest tinge of a breeze wafts at your sweltering brow. It is a few minutes before midnight.
Suddenly, a bluster of blinding light douses the darkened sky. The breeze is abruptly transformed into a ferocious gust that lifts you inches off your seat. Fear abounds, but strangely, it is accompanied by a remarkable tranquility that confuses and calms you at the same time.
In a flash you find yourself in a scene from a sci-fi movie as a spacecraft, the size of two football fields, lands before you. A short ladder descends and a creature of sorts makes his way out of the vessel and walks towards you. You are too dazed to move.
http://www.aish.com/sp/ph/Miracles-You-Cant-See.html
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Paul Johnson is an outstanding historian. I have read his "Modern Times" with great admiration and in my home his "History of the Jews" was spoken of with respect.
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Helping Children Develop Faith
By Sara Chana Radcliffe
http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/2281422/jewish/Helping-Children-Develop-Faith.htm
You may have read the title of this article and wondered, How can I help my children develop their faith? I’m still developing my faith!
Of course, we could ask a similar question about our anger management. Since we continue to lose control on some occasions, should we just not even try to teach our children to manage their tempers? Of course not.
Life is all about growth and improvement. If we’re still angry or still lacking in an abundance of faith, that’s normal. The important thing is that we are constantly working on ourselves. Our kids should be able to see concrete signs of improvement: fewer angry outbursts, greater patience, more self-control, less wringing of hands, fewer words of fear and worry, greater equanimity in the face of challenge, more verbal expressions of sincere trust in G‑d’s ways.
So yes, imperfect as we are, we have the right and the obligation to help our children develop their emunah (faith in G‑d). It is an act of tremendous kindness on our part to help our children learn to swim confidently in the deep end of life, to have all the internal resources they need in order to deal with every challenge they will face. So let’s look at how we can help kids achieve faith.
Instilling Faith and Trust: Do’s & Don’ts
Let’s begin with the “dont’s”:
Try not to share your worries and negative thought processes with your children. Children can easily pick up on their parents’ habits and are likely to become worried themselves.
When children express their own anxieties, never reprimand them with comments like, “Don’t think that way.” Anxiety and fears are not bad behaviors; they are emotions that require proper support and healing.
Don’t shut children down by saying things like, “It’s all up to G‑d,” or, “Don’t worry--G‑d always protects us,” and so on. Although these are perfectly true statements, they should not be offered until you have helped the child address his or her frightened feelings. Fear causes cortical inhibition (a diminished capacity to process and utilize cognitive information), so providing education while the child is in a frightened state is usually useless. Moreover, Fear causes cortical inhibition so may be perceived as uncaring, which can harm the parent-child relationship.
Now let’s look at a few “do’s”:
Do accept your child’s fear with open arms: “You’re afraid? Tell me about it.” This helps the fear begin to move out of the child and into your welcoming arms.
If sharing the fear does not release it completely (which is quite often the case), offer other strategies for helping to calm the fear. (See “Fear Busters” below.)
Once the fear is settled and the child feels more calm, offer the wisdom of Judaism on the subject of faith in G‑d. For example, “Instead of running scary pictures through your mind, imagine the situation turning out just fine. As the Rebbe said, ‘Think good, and it will be good.’” Or, “No matter how it turns out, we can remember that there is a reason for everything, and everything that G‑d does is for our good, whether we see it right away or not.” Check out one of the many wonderful books or online resources that explain the the concept of Divine Providence--the fact that G‑d supervises and supports each one of us in all the small and large details of our life.
Take advantage of emotionally neutral moments to gently slip concepts of faith into your child’s heart and mind. Tell vivid stories of your own experiences of being supported by G‑d. For example, tell your child how you asked G‑d for help in finding a parking space right in front of a building because you were already late for a meeting. Sure enough, just as you were pulling up, a car pulled out right in front of the building, leaving you a perfect parking space. “Thank You, G‑d!”
Help your child create a “faith-builder” diary--a personal record, complete with stories, drawings, and photos of events in which the benevolent Hand of G‑d became obvious to your child, especially the occasions that were preceded by worry, dread and fear.
Fear Busters
There are numerous ways to help calm a child’s mind and body. Here is a small selection:
A child who worries is an expert at (negative) visualization. After the child has described his scary image of unfolding events, and you have accepted the worry with open arms, ask him to close hisA child who worries is an expert at (negative) visualization eyes and imagine everything working out just fine. Ask him to describe the positive events in his new “movie” to you. Ask him how the positive image makes him feel. Instruct him to repeat the exercise as often as possible and particularly when the scary story enters his mind.
Another use of this visualization skill is to imagine G‑d’s divine protection and assistance in various ways. For example, “see” G‑d’s messengers, His protective angels, surrounding the bed when drifting off to sleep.
Teach your child to use the breath to help calm the heart, which will then calm the brain, which, in turn, will release calming hormones to every cell of the body. There are numerous ways to breathe for this purpose, but a simple one is to breathe in normally and then breathe out slowly, thinking the number “one” on the out breath. To be effective in times of need, this breathing pattern needs to be practiced for one minute daily, forever. An ideal time for practice is at bedtime when falling asleep or in the morning just after awakening.
There are many other strategies children can learn that will calm their anxious feelings. Always help your child turn off fight-or-flight chemistry before talking about Divine Providence! Most important, keep your own faith-builder diary that can strengthen your own belief that G‑d is there for you. The most powerful way to help children accept the reality of G‑d’s kindness is through your positive modeling. When you sound like you believe it, your kids will too!
BY SARA CHANA RADCLIFFE
Sarah Chana Radcliffe, M.Ed.,C.Psych.Assoc. is the author of "Raise Your Kids without Raising Your Voice" and The Delicate Balance published by Targum Press. Click here to visit her website.
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http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/71930/jewish/The-Astronaut.htm
From the Rebbe's remarks at a farbrengen (Chassidic gathering) on Shabbat, December 28, 1968:
Yesterday, an event took place that had no known precedent in human history: a manned spacecraft approached the moon, orbited it several times, photographed both its "light side" and its "dark side," and returned safely to earth at the exact time and place that were programmed.
The Baal Shem Tov1 taught us that "from everything a person sees or hears, he must derive a lesson in the service of his Creator." Indeed, this event, and its every aspect and detail, is full with instructive insights into our mission in life.2
Some twenty-four hours before the conclusion of the space mission, another event took place: a question was posed at an "Encounter" session3 -- a question that the said space mission can help address.
A participant in the "Encounter" challenged one of the speakers: "I understand that under Torah law, if a person eats a bite of non-kosher food, the penalty is thirty-nine lashes. I think that what a person eats is his own business. Laws should forbid and penalize actions that are harmful to others and to society, but should stay out of a person's private life."
The rabbi conducting the session was quite flustered by the question. How to explain to a roomful of young people, raised in free and democratic America, the fact that for an act as "harmless" and "personal" as eating a bite of food, the Torah instructs that a person be bound, stretched out, and thirty-nine lashes be administered to his bare back with a whip? After much hemming and hawing, he came out with the standard apologetic reply: that in order for a transgression to be punishable by lashes, it must be committed in the presence of two witnesses; that these two witnesses must first warn the transgressor of the criminality of his deed and of the penalty it carries; that the transgressor must commit the deed within seconds of the above warning; thus, due to these and a host of other stipulations, this penalty was rarely, if ever, actually carried out. It might therefore be said that the Torah-mandated punishment of lashes is more an indicator of the severity of the transgression than an operative penal procedure.
All this is of course true, but it doesn't really answer the question. Even if the penalty of lashes was administered but once in a hundred years, does the deed warrant such punishment? And why does the Torah legislate such a gross intrusion into a person's private life?
But our sages tell us that "A person is obligated to say: The entire world was created for my sake."4 In the words of Maimonides, "A person should always see himself as half meritous and half guilty, and the entire world as half meritous and half guilty, so that when he transgresses one transgression, he tips the balance for himself, and for the entire world, to the side of guilt, and causes it destruction, and when he does a single mitzvah, he tips the balance for himself, and for the entire world, to the side of merit, and causes salvation for himself and for the entire world."5
Ingesting a spiritually toxic bite of food is not a harmless act, nor is it a personal one: all of creation is deeply affected by our every thought, word and deed, for the better or, G-d forbid, for the worse. What greater crime can there be than for a person to knowingly jeopardize his own well-being, and that of his family, community and the entire world, because his taste-buds prefer a non-kosher piece of meat over a kosher one?
This is what is written in the books. The nature of the human being, however, is that things are more readily understood and accepted when he or she sees a tangible example of it. By divine providence, we have such an example in the space mission concluded yesterday.
Three adult men were told to put aside all personal preferences and follow a set of guidelines that dictated their every behavior, including their most intimate habits. They were told exactly what, how much and when to eat, when and in what position to sleep, and what shoes to wear. Should any one of them have challenged this "dictatorial" regimen, he would have been reminded that one billion dollars have been invested in their endeavor. Now, one billion dollars commands a lot of respect. Never mind that it's not his billion -- it's only Uncle Sam's billion -- still, when a person is told that one billion dollars are at stake, he'll conform to all guidelines and instructions. Of course, he has no idea how most of these instructions relate to the success of his mission -- that has been determined by grey-haired scientists after many years of research; but he'll take their word for it, and readily accept the extensive intrusion into his private affairs.
And what if at stake is not a billion-dollar scientific project, but the divine purpose in creation?
FOOTNOTES
1. Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (1698-1760), founder of Chassidism.
2. What follows is but one of several lessons the Rebbe derived in his talk from the said space flight. For another of these, see The Rocket Age
3. The Lubavitcher community in Crown Heights holds periodic "Encounter With Chabad" -- weekends, in which Jews of all backgrounds stay with Chassidic families and attend lectures and workshops on Jewish thought and practice.
4. Talmud, Sanhedrin 37a.
5. Mishneh Torah, Laws of Repentance, 3:4
TOLD BY THE LUBAVITCHER REBBE
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, adapted by Yanki Tauber; originally published in Week In Review
Originally published in Week in Review.
Republished with the permission of MeaningfulLife.com. If you wish to republish this article in a periodical, book, or website, please email permissions@meaningfullife.com.
More articles by Lubavitcher Rebbe; adapted Yanki Tauber | RSS
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http://www.glennbeck.com/2013/08/12/glenn-better-days-are-right-around-the-corner/?utm_source=Daily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=2013-08-12_243594&utm_content=5054942&utm_term=_243594_243604
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Mayim Bialik: How I Teach My Kids About Both Science & Faith
As a scientist and a person of faith, I get asked the following question a lot: “How do you reconcile your scientific beliefs with your faith in God?” The question seems to concern others a lot more than it concerns me, largely because I see no conflict at all. They exist together, happily, and each supports the other.
How do I teach my sons about religion without compromising my scientific integrity? Well, I make sure to tell my sons that the Tanakh (Hebrew bible) is not a science book. God created the universe as a scientific one. God created evolution and gravity and placed the stars in the sky.
http://www.kveller.com/blog/parenting/mayim-bialik-how-i-teach-my-kids-both-about-science-faith/#more-34818
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Rachel et al:
In a related vein, I just finished reading Robert Wright's "The Evolution of God".
This is the third book I have read by him. The prior two are "The Moral Animal" (an evolutionary explanation of the development of morality) and "Non-Zero Sum: the logic of human destiny".
Though he is a bit of a Democrat, this book, like the others, is an excellent read and I recommend it highly.
It's final chapters take on the Science vs. God question in a deep and serious way.
By the way, note that there is a "Science vs. God" thread here.
TAC!
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Marc,
I'm glad you enjoyed "The Evolution of God". I'm familiar with the other thread but I decided not post there because I disagree with the title . Science vs God is a false dichotomy . I see it as Science and Religion and I don't see a conflict.
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Well said. I am going to change the title right now.
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http://play.simpletruths.com/lp/store/?mid=406
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Mayim Bialik: How I Teach My Kids About Both Science & Faith
As a scientist and a person of faith, I get asked the following question a lot: “How do you reconcile your scientific beliefs with your faith in God?” The question seems to concern others a lot more than it concerns me, largely because I see no conflict at all. They exist together, happily, and each supports the other.
How do I teach my sons about religion without compromising my scientific integrity? Well, I make sure to tell my sons that the Tanakh (Hebrew bible) is not a science book. God created the universe as a scientific one. God created evolution and gravity and placed the stars in the sky.
http://www.kveller.com/blog/parenting/mayim-bialik-how-i-teach-my-kids-both-about-science-faith/#more-34818
Pretty much my take on things.
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In honor of the 50th anniversary:
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRIF4_WzU1w[/youtube]
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Let My Teaching Fall Like Rain
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2299332/jewish/Let-My-Teaching-Fall-Like-Rain.htm
In the glorious song with which Moses addresses the congregation, he invites the people to think of the Torah—their covenant with G‑d—as if it were like the rain that waters the ground so that it brings forth its produce:
Let my teaching fall like rain
and my words descend like dew,
like showers on new grass,
like abundant rain on tender plants.
G‑d’s word is like rain in a dry land. It brings life. It makes things grow. There is much we can do of our own accord: we can plow the earth and plant the seeds. But in the end, our success depends on something beyond our control. If no rain falls, there will be no harvest, whatever preparations we make. So it is with Israel. It must never be tempted into the hubris of saying: “My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.”1
The sages, however, sensed something more in the analogy. This is how Sifrei puts it:
Let my teaching fall like rain: Just as the rain is one thing, yet it falls on trees, enabling each to produce tasty fruit according to the kind of tree it is—the vine in its way, the olive tree in its way and the date palm in its way—so the Torah is one, yet its words yield Scripture, Mishnah, laws and lore. Like showers on new grass: just as showers fall upon plants and make them grow, some green, some red, some black, some white, so the words of Torah produce teachers, worthy individuals, sages, the righteous and the pious.
There is only one Torah, yet it has multiple effects. It gives rise to different kinds of teaching, different sorts of virtue. Torah is sometimes seen by its critics as overly prescriptive, as if it sought to make everyone the same. The midrash argues otherwise. The Torah is compared to rain precisely to emphasize that its most important effect is to make each of us grow into what we could become. We are not all the same, nor does Torah seek uniformity. As a famous mishnah puts it:
When a human being makes many coins from the same mint, they are all the same. God makes everyone in the same image—His image—yet none is the same as another.2
This emphasis on difference is a recurring theme in Judaism. For example, when Moses asks G‑d to appoint his successor, he uses an unusual phrase: “May the L‑rd, G‑d of the spirits of all mankind, appoint a man over the community.”3
On this, Rashi comments:
Why is this expression (“G‑d of the spirits of all mankind”) used? [Moses] said to him: L‑rd of the universe, You know each person’s character, and that no two people are alike. Therefore, appoint a leader for them who will bear with each person according to his disposition.
One of the fundamental requirements of a leader in Judaism is that he or she is able to respect the differences between human beings. This is a point emphasized by Maimonides in Guide for the Perplexed:
Man is, as you know, the highest form in creation, and he therefore includes the largest number of constituent elements. This is why the human race contains so great a variety of individuals that we cannot discover two persons exactly alike in any moral quality or in external appearance . . . This great variety and the necessity of social life are essential elements in man’s nature. But the wellbeing of society demands that there should be a leader able to regulate the actions of man. He must complete every shortcoming, remove every excess, and prescribe for the conduct of all, so that the natural variety should be counterbalanced by the uniformity of legislation, so that social order be well established.4
The political problem, as Maimonides sees it, is how to regulate the affairs of human beings in such a way as to respect their individuality while not creating chaos. A similar point emerges from a surprising rabbinic teaching:
Our rabbis taught: If one sees a crowd of Israelites, one says: ‘Blessed be He who discerns secrets’—because the mind of each is different from that of another, just as the face of each is different from that of another.5
We would have expected a blessing over a crowd to emphasize its size, its mass: human beings in their collectivity. A crowd is a group large enough for the individuality of the faces to be lost. Yet the blessing stresses the opposite—that each member of a crowd is still an individual with distinctive thoughts, hopes, fears and aspirations.
The same was true for the relationship between the sages. A mishnah6 states:
When R. Meir died, the composers of fables ceased. When Ben Azzai died, assiduous students ceased. When Ben Zoma died, the expositors ceased. When R. Akiva died, the glory of the Torah ceased. When R. Chanina died, men of deed ceased. When R. Jose Ketanta died, the pious men ceased. When R. Jochanan ben Zakkai died, the luster of wisdom ceased . . . When Rabbi died, humility and the fear of sin ceased.
There was no single template of the sage. Each had his own distinctive merits, his unique contribution to the collective heritage. In this respect, the sages were merely continuing the tradition of the Torah itself. There is no single role model of the religious hero or heroine in Tanach, the Hebrew Bible. The patriarchs and matriarchs each had their own unmistakable character. Moses, Aaron and Miriam emerge as different personality types. Kings, priests and prophets had different roles to play in Israelite society. Even among the prophets, “no two prophesy in the same style,” said the sages. Elijah was zealous, Elisha gentle. Hosea speaks of love, Amos speaks of justice. Isaiah’s visions are simpler and less opaque than those of Ezekiel.
The same applies to even to the revelation at Sinai itself. Each individual heard, in the same words, a different inflection:
The voice of the L‑rd is with power:7—that is, according to the power of each individual, the young, the old, and the very small ones, each according to their power [of understanding]. G‑d said to Israel, “Do not believe that there are many gods in heaven because you heard many voices. Know that I alone am the L‑rd your G‑d.”8
According to Maharsha, there are 600,000 interpretations of Torah. Each individual is theoretically capable of a unique insight into its meaning. The French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas commented:
The Revelation has a particular way of producing meaning, which lies in its calling upon the unique within me. It is as if a multiplicity of persons . . . were the condition for the plenitude of “absolute truth,” as if each person, by virtue of his own uniqueness, were able to guarantee the revelation of one unique aspect of the truth, so that some of its facets would never have been revealed if certain people had been absent from mankind.
Judaism, in short, emphasizes the other side of the maxim E pluribus unum (“Out of the many, one”). It says: “Out of the One, many.”
The miracle of creation is that unity in heaven produces diversity on earth. Torah is the rain that feeds this diversity, allowing each of us to become what only we can be.
FOOTNOTES
1. Deuteronomy 8:17.
2. Sanhedrin 4:5.
3. Numbers 27:16.
4. Guide for the Perplexed 2:40.
5. Talmud, Berachot 58a.
6. Sotah 9:15.
7. Psalms 29:4.
8. Shemot Rabbah 29:1.
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks is Chief Rabbi of Great Britain and the British Commonwealth. To read more writings and teachings from the Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, please visit www.chiefrabbi.org.
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I just posted this on my FB page; I am curious to see what response it draws , , ,
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Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year starts Wednesday night at sundown.
What Is Rosh Hashanah?
The anniversary of the creation of Adam and Eve, a day of judgment and coronation, the sounding of the shofar . . .
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/JewishNewYear/template_cdo/aid/4762/jewish/What-Is-Rosh-Hashanah.htm
The festival of Rosh Hashanah—the name means “Head of the Year”—is observed for two days beginning on 1 Tishrei, the first day of the Jewish year. It is the anniversary of the creation of Adam and Eve, the first man and woman, and their first actions toward the realization of mankind’s role in G‑d’s world.
Rosh Hashanah thus emphasizes the special relationship between G‑d and humanity: our dependence upon G‑d as our creator and sustainer, and G‑d’s dependence upon us as the ones who make His presence known and felt in His world. Each year on Rosh Hashanah, “all inhabitants of the world pass before G‑d like a flock of sheep,” and it is decreed in the heavenly court “who shall live, and who shall die . . . who shall be impoverished, and who shall be enriched; who shall fall and who shall rise.” But this is also the day we proclaim G‑d King of the Universe. The Kabbalists teach that the continued existence of the universe is dependent upon the renewal of the divine desire for a world when we accept G‑d’s kingship each year on Rosh Hashanah.
The central observance of Rosh Hashanah is the sounding of the shofar, the ram’s horn, which also represents the trumpet blast of a people’s coronation of their king. The cry of the shofar is also a call to repentance, for Rosh Hashanah is also the anniversary of man’s first sin and his repentance thereof, and serves as the first of the “Ten Days of Repentance” which culminate in Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Another significance of the shofar is to recall the Binding of Isaac which also occurred on Rosh Hashanah, in which a ram took Isaac’s place as an offering to G‑d; we evoke Abraham’s readiness to sacrifice his son, and plead that the merit of his deed should stand by us as we pray for a year of life, health and prosperity. Altogether, we listen to one hundred shofar blasts over the course of the Rosh Hashanah services.
Additional Rosh Hashanah observances include: a) Eating a piece of apple dipped in honey, to symbolize our desire for a sweet year, and other special foods symbolic of the new year’s blessings. b) Blessing one another with the words “Leshanah tovah tikateiv veteichateim,” “May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year.” c) Tashlich, a special prayer said near a body of water (an ocean, river, pond, etc.), in evocation of the verse, “And You shall cast their sins into the depths of the sea.” And as with every major Jewish holiday, after candlelighting and prayers we recite kiddush and make a blessing on the challah.
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCYRM7KYJY4
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCYRM7KYJY4[/youtube]
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Answering Rosh Hashanah's Call
by Sara Debbie Gutfreund
http://www.aish.com/h/hh/rh/shofar/Answering-Rosh-Hashanahs-Call.html
If you have ever lost a child in a crowded place, you know the raw fear. Has anyone seen a two-year-old with a blue shirt on? He has brown hair. A Gap baseball hat with green letters?
A couple of years of ago we lost our toddler in an amusement park in Israel. One second he was right in front of us, and the next thing we knew he was nowhere to be found. At first we thought he had to be at most a few feet away, and we called out his name. No response. After a minute of looking around and shouting, I began to panic. Where could he have gone? We started stopping people and asking them to help us. I fought back tears as I ran past the jumping castles and bumper cars. By then we had a small crowd circling the area and calling his name.
http://www.aish.com/h/hh/rh/shofar/Answering-Rosh-Hashanahs-Call.htm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=YoV-0Div12U#t=42
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=YoV-0Div12U#t=42[/youtube]
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YK begins at sundown. Maybe Rachel will share something with us , , ,
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Marc,
Thanks for the reminder. Easy Fast. May we written in the Book of Life
Yom Kippur, Still Single?
by Delia Fine
I slowly began to realize that Yom Kippur is a gift, not a burden.
Growing up, I often heard Yom Kippur described as the “saddest day of the year,” but I wasn’t sure what the women in my synagogue were crying about. Maybe they felt true remorse for their sins. Maybe they cried because they were begging God for a good year; their heartfelt wishes for the future bringing them to tears.
http://www.aish.com/d/w/Yom-Kippur-Still-Single.html
Yom Kippur infographic --
http://www.aish.com/h/hh/yom-kippur/guide/Yom-Kippur-Infographic.html
Yom Kippur: Everyone Falls
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ftjmDHalDk4
[youtube]www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftjmDHalDk4[/youtube]
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The Jewish Holiday season is still on going
It is actually Sukkot
http://www.jewfaq.org/holiday5.htm
Our surprise direct line.
by Sara Yoheved Rigler
Seattle resident Sarah Busch was chagrined when she opened her monthly Nordstrom statement. Instead of the concise, compact statement she had been receiving for decades, the 79-year-old retired bookkeeper unfolded a bulky 8 X 10 statement in a new format. She decided to complain.
She phoned Nordstrom's corporate headquarters right there in Seattle and asked to speak to someone in management. "Don't give me Customer Service," she instructed the operator. After a few rings, a masculine voice answered the phone. "First of all, I'd like to know to whom I'm speaking," Sarah Busch began.
"This is Blake Nordstrom," came the reply.
"Blake Nordstrom? You're the President!" a confounded Sarah Busch exclaimed.
"I am indeed," he responded.
"What are YOU doing answering the phone?"
http://www.aish.com/sp/so/Blake-Nordstrom-Speaking.html?s=fb
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8-) 8-) 8-)
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The Courage Not to Conform Cheshvan 5, 5774 • October 9, 2013
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
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Leaders lead. That does not mean to say that they don’t follow. But what they follow is different from what most people follow. They don’t conform for the sake of conforming. They don’t do what others do merely because others are doing it. They follow an inner voice, a call. They have a vision, not of what is, but of what might be. They think outside the box. They march to a different tune.
Never was this more dramatically signaled than in the first words of G d to Abraham, the words that set Jewish history in motion: “Leave your land, your birthplace and your father’s house, and go to the land that I will show you.”
Why?
They don’t conform for the sake of conforming
Because people do conform. They adopt the standards and absorb the culture of the time and place in which they live—“your land.” At a deeper level, they are influenced by friends and neighbors—“your birthplace.” More deeply still, they are shaped by their parents and the family in which they grew up—“your father’s house.”
I want you, says G d to Abraham, to be different. Not for the sake of being different, but for the sake of starting something new: a religion that will not worship power and the symbols of power—for that is what idols really were and are. I want you, said G d, to “teach your children and your household afterward to follow the way of the L rd by doing what is right and just.”
To be a Jew is to be willing to challenge the prevailing consensus when, as so often happens, nations slip into worshipping the old gods. They did so in Europe throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. That was the age of nationalism: the pursuit of power in the name of the nation-state that led to two world wars and tens of millions of deaths. It is the age we are living in now, as North Korea acquires and Iran pursues nuclear weapons so that they can impose their ambitions by force. It is what is happening today throughout much of the Middle East and Africa, as nations descend into violence and what Hobbes called “the war of every man against every man.”
We make a mistake when we think of idols in terms of their physical appearance—statues, figurines, icons. In that sense, they belong to ancient times we have long outgrown. Instead, the right way to think of idols is in terms of what they represent. They symbolize power. That is what Ra was for the Egyptians, Baal for the Canaanites, Chemosh for the Moabites, Zeus for the Greeks, and missiles and bombs for terrorists and rogue states today.
Power allows us to rule over others without their consent. As the Greek historian Thucydides put it: “The strong do what they wish, and the weak suffer what they must.”
Judaism is a sustained critique of power. That is the conclusion I have reached after a lifetime of studying our sacred texts. It is about how a nation can be formed on the basis of shared commitment and collective responsibility. It is about how to construct a society that honors the human person as the image and likeness of G d. It is about a vision, never fully realized but never abandoned, of a world based on justice and compassion, in which “they will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the L rd as the waters cover the sea.”1
Abraham is, without doubt, the most influential person who ever lived. Today he is claimed as the spiritual ancestor of 2.4 billion Christians, 1.6 billion Muslims and 13 million Jews, more than half the people alive today. Yet he ruled no empire, commanded no great army, performed no miracles and proclaimed no prophecy. He is the supreme example in all of history of influence without power.
Why? Because he was prepared to be different. As the sages say, he was called ha-ivri, “the Hebrew,” because “all the world was on one side (be-ever echad) and he was on the other.”2 Leadership, as every leader knows, can be lonely. Yet you continue to do what you have to do, because you know that the majority is not always right and conventional wisdom is not always wise. Dead fish go with the flow. Live fish swim against the current. So it is with conscience and courage. So it is with the children of Abraham. They are prepared to challenge the idols of the age.
After the Holocaust, some social scientists were haunted by the question of why so many people were prepared,
Dead fish go with the flow. Live fish swim against the currentwhether by active participation or silent consent, to go along with a regime that they knew was committing one of the great crimes against humanity.
One key experiment was conducted by Solomon Asch. He assembled a group of people, asking them to perform a series of simple cognitive tasks. They were shown two cards, one with a line on it, the other with three lines of different lengths, and asked which was the same size as the line on the first. Unbeknown to one participant, all the others had been briefed by Asch to give the right answer for the first few cards, then the wrong one for most of the rest. On a significant number of occasions the experimental subject gave an answer he could see was wrong, because everyone else had done so. Such is the power of the pressure to conform that it can lead us to say what we know is untrue.
More frightening still was the Stanford experiment carried out in the early 1970s by Philip Zimbardo. The participants were randomly assigned roles as guards or prisoners in a mock prison. Within days the students cast as guards were behaving abusively, some of them subjecting the “prisoners” to psychological torture. The students cast as prisoners put up with this passively, even siding with the guards against those who resisted. The experiment was called off after six days, during which time even Zimbardo found himself drawn into the artificial reality he had created. The pressure to conform to assigned roles is strong enough to lead people into doing what they know is wrong.
The experiment was called off after six days
That is why Abraham, at the start of his mission, was told to leave “his land, his birthplace and his father’s house,” to free himself from the pressure to conform. Leaders must be prepared not to follow the consensus. One of the great writers on leadership, Warren Bennis, writes:3 “By the time we reach puberty, the world has shaped us to a greater extent than we realize. Our family, friends, and society in general have told us—by word and example—how to be. But people begin to become leaders at that moment when they decide for themselves how to be.”
One reason why Jews have become, out of all proportion to their numbers, leaders in almost every sphere of human endeavor is precisely this willingness to be different. Throughout the centuries, Jews have been the most striking example of a group that refused to assimilate to the dominant culture or convert to the dominant faith. One other finding of Solomon Asch’s is worth noting. If just one other person was willing to support the individual who could see that the others were giving the wrong answer, it gave him the strength to stand out against the consensus. That is why, however small their numbers, Jews created communities. It is hard to lead alone, far less hard to lead in the company of others, even if you are a minority.
Judaism is the countervoice in the conversation of humankind. As Jews, we do not follow the majority merely because it is the majority. In age after age, century after century, Jews were prepared to do what the poet Robert Frost immortalized:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.4
It is what makes a nation of leaders.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Isaiah 11:9.
2.
Genesis Rabbah 42:8.
3.
Warren Bennis, On Becoming a Leader (Basic Books, 1989), 49.
4.
Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken, Birches, and Other Poems, 10.
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Bragging Rights Cheshvan 4, 5774 • October 8, 2013
By Yossy Gordon
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There was once a well-known doctor who was famous not only for his medical expertise, but also for his extraordinary bedside manner. He was gentle and kind, and often helped people far beyond the call of duty. He had one fault, though: he loved talking about his righteousness, and felt that he was due honor for his deeds.
Once, as the doctor traveled along in his fashionable coach, he noticed a rabbi walking along the side of the road. The good doctor graciously offered him a ride. The rabbi accepted. As they rode, the doctor began to talk about his good work. “When a patient comes to me who cannot afford to pay, I treat him exactly as I do a paying customer,” said the doctor.
“Oh, yes,” responded the rabbi, “I do the same.”
The doctor was surprised. The rabbi did not appear to have any medical skills at all. What could he mean? Most likely, mused the doctor quietly, he treats whoever asks him rabbinical questions in the same manner. Hmmm . . .
The doctor was flabbergasted to hear the rabbi say, “Aha! I do the same.”
The doctor spoke up again. “When I see patients who cannot afford to pay my fee, I provide free medication for them as well.”
The rabbi listened intently and responded with a curt “Nu, I do the same.”
Perplexed, the doctor began deliberating to himself: Was the rabbi dispensing medicine too? No, no, no . . . He must mean that when people need things from him for which he normally charges a fee, he gives it away to the needy for free.
The doctor tried again: “When I see patients who cannot afford to pay for my fee or medicine, and need to go elsewhere to recover from their illness, I sponsor their trips to various spas and health centers.”
Confident that he had now, finally, topped the rabbi, the doctor was flabbergasted to hear the rabbi say, “Aha! I do the same.”
This continued until finally the doctor lost patience. “Excuse me, honored rabbi. I don’t understand you,” he said with aggravation in his voice. “Are you a doctor? Do you provide medical care and medicine, or arrange that needy patients can stay in health spas? What do you mean, ‘I do the same?’”
The rabbi answered with a smile: “I just wanted to tell you that I, too, talk to others only about the good things I do. My faults I never talk about, just like you . . .”
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Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
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I remember the first time I heard Psalm 23 spoken was at a funeral for someone who very unexpectedly died over a weekend where I was doing some part time work. He died suddenly of a heart attack without warning. No one could believe it. It was in a Catholic hospital near where I lived.
I went to the afternoon service at the Chapel because he had been kind to me. It would have been 1980 or 1981. Being Jewish I never heard those words before. The power of those words struck me immediately and now 32 years later I still vividly recall the Priest reciting those words with elevated volume tone and conviction. Their power just vibrated through my senses. I don't remember anything else that was said - just those words!
Powerful and beautiful stuff. Cut through my different religious background like water can cut through pure rock.
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I remember the first time I heard Psalm 23 spoken was at a funeral for someone who very unexpectedly died over a weekend where I was doing some part time work. He died suddenly of a heart attack without warning. No one could believe it. It was in a Catholic hospital near where I lived.
I went to the afternoon service at the Chapel because he had been kind to me. It would have been 1980 or 1981. Being Jewish I never heard those words before. The power of those words struck me immediately and now 32 years later I still vividly recall the Priest reciting those words with elevated volume tone and conviction. Their power just vibrated through my senses. I don't remember anything else that was said - just those words!
Powerful and beautiful stuff. Cut through my different religious background like water can cut through pure rock.
Thanks CCP. This goes back to David, King of Israel roughly 1000 BC. I read this at my father's Christian funeral. I believe you will find it in Jewish teachings as well.
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My understanding as well.
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http://www.alternet.org/personal-health/14-habits-highly-miserable-people?page=0%2C0&paging=off¤t_page=1#bookmark
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Thanksgivukkah
by Rabbi Benjamin Blech
The similarities – and essential differences – between Thanksgiving and Hanukkah.
It will never again happen in our lifetimes – unless you are somehow still alive 70,000 years from now.
This year the first night of Hanukkah will coincide with the American holiday of Thanksgiving. The latkes will share their prominent place at the festive meal with the turkey. Small wonder that some have already humorously decided that this year we ought to call the day by a new name – Thanksgivukkah.
In all seriousness, a “coincidence” of this magnitude requires some reflection. This is a perfect time to give some thought to the essential difference between the motivation for the American day of expressing gratitude to God and the Jewish rationale for our Festival of Lights. Because although thankfulness is the theme behind both of these holidays, they are significantly unlike each other in their emphasis on the particular reason that calls forth our response of appreciation to the Almighty.
As human beings we have two basic needs. One is physical. Because we are flesh and blood we require food to sustain us. Without sustenance we could not live. That is why there is a biblical obligation to bless God at the conclusion of every full meal, defined as one in which we have partaken of bread, the biblical staff of life. “And you shall eat, and you should be satiated, and you shall bless the Lord your God” (Deut. 9:7).
That is one of only two biblically mandated blessings. The other? The blessing over the study of Torah. Food is essential for our bodies but Torah is at least just as important for the preservation of our souls. Food allows us to live; Torah gives us a reason for living. Food satisfies our physical cravings; Torah responds to our deeper need for purpose and meaning to our existence.
We are a duality going back to the story of the creation of Adam who was formed from the dust of the earth and the breath of the divine. We need our bodies to house our souls; we need our souls to validate our presence in the world.
All other blessings in Jewish tradition come by way of rabbinic obligation. They are post-biblical efforts on the part of the rabbis to ensure greater awareness of God in our daily lives. But the Torah is primarily concerned with human recognition of the two major mainstays of our existence. We need to acknowledge the great gifts that make possible our physical as well as our spiritual survival – our daily bread and our opportunity to peruse the words of God’s Torah.
It is no coincidence then that holidays reflect sensitivity to these two different divine favors that we have found bestowed upon us in special moments of history.
The First Thanksgiving
One need not be Jewish to grasp the concept of gratitude as it applies to God’s wondrous role in providing for the needs of our bodies. That indeed was what prompted the pilgrims to proclaim a special day of Thanksgiving. The "First Thanksgiving" was celebrated by the Pilgrims after their first harvest in the New World in 1621. They based it, they wrote, on the biblical holiday of Sukkot, the festival of the harvest. It was a feast that lasted three days, and was attended by about 53 Pilgrims and 90 American Indians. The New England colonists became accustomed to regularly celebrating "thanksgivings”, thanking God for the blessings of the end of a drought as well as of abundant crops and material blessings.
Thanksgiving became a national holiday in the United States by way of proclamation of the 16th President, Abraham Lincoln. In the middle of the American Civil War, President Lincoln, proclaimed a national Thanksgiving Day, to be celebrated on the final Thursday in November 1863. The document, written by Secretary of State William Seward, reads as follows:
The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God.
To this day, Thanksgiving remains as a powerful reminder of America’s recognition of God’s role in our national prosperity. Our tables overflow with the traditional Thanksgiving dinner, testimony to heavenly blessings bestowed upon us that grant our bodies the sustenance they require. In biblical terms, Thanksgiving is a sequel to the biblically mandated Birkat Ha-mazon, the Grace after Meals in which we express gratitude to the One Above “who feeds the world in his goodness with grace, with kindness and with mercy.”
Spiritual Blessing
But Thanksgiving does not address another kind of thankfulness we owe to God. Its emphasis on material blessings requires another component that has its source in the second blessing demanded of us by the Bible. It is the blessing for the spiritual part of our lives. It is the thanks we need to recite before the study of Torah, a blessing that alerts us to the hunger of our souls and our yearning to be nourished by the sacred.
On the Jewish calendar that blessing has a historic source in the story of Hanukkah. To speak of Hanukkah as a military victory of the Maccabees is to totally misunderstand its meaning. There have been many moments in our past when we have survived the threat of physical destruction. They are not Hanukkah. The Jews in the Seleucid Empire did not need to fear physical death. Antiochus was not bothered by the survival of Jews; what he wanted at all costs to prevent was the survival of Judaism. His decrees were against the observance of Torah. Jews could readily find their lives spared if they would be willing to forfeit their faith.
Hanukkah is a holiday whose story is perhaps most relevant to our own days. Its threat was not to our bodies, but our souls. The danger was not death but disappearance by way of assimilation.
How appropriate, the Sages note, that the ritual of Hanukkah emphasizes the use of oil. For eight nights it is the source of the light that fills our homes and our synagogues. Oil has a unique and distinct property. All other liquids, when mixed, lose their individual identity and become unrecognizable. Oil however refuses to mix. Try to stir it with water and it refuses to “assimilate”; it rises to the top and remains distinctive and identifiable.
It is the ideal symbol for the Hanukkah story which recounts the miracle of those who championed commitment to the truths of Sinai over the temptations of secularism. The Greeks sought to transform the world to their belief in the holiness of beauty. The Jews saw as their mission the message of the beauty of holiness. Two philosophies were at war with each other. And miraculously, the spiritual ideal proved triumphant.
For those of us today who are frightened by studies which question the possibility of Jewish survival in the face of seemingly rampant assimilation, we need to remind ourselves that the miracle of Hanukkah is our affirmation that we will always persevere in our faith. Hanukkah teaches us that the light of our tradition, which some might say doesn’t even have the capacity to last for one night, will against all physical laws of nature miraculously grow stronger and brighter. And Jews, like the oil of Hanukkah, will never totally assimilate.
Hanukkah then is the historic sequel to the blessing over Torah. It commemorates our religious survival against all odds, the victory of the spiritual over the profane, the sacred over the sacrilegious.
And when Thanksgiving and Hanukkah coincide we find ourselves doubly blessed. We will be able to offer thanks to God on the same day for both our spiritual and material blessings. Let us delight in this extremely rare opportunity to bless God for the food for our bodies as well as the survival of our faith that grants us spiritual sustenance for our souls.
This article can also be read at: http://www.aish.com/h/c/t/dt/Thanksgivukkah.html
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(http://ts1.mm.bing.net/th?id=H.4731255562634862&w=80&h=80&c=8&pid=3.1&qlt=90&rm=2)
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Inside/Outside
The Candles of Chanukah, Shabbat, and Havdalah
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
http://www.chabad.org/holidays/chanukah/article_cdo/aid/2406931/jewish/InsideOutside.htm
There is more than one command in Judaism to light lights. There are three. There are the Shabbat candles. There is the havdalah candle. And there are the Chanukah candles.
The difference between them is that Shabbat candles represent shalom bayit, peace in the home. They are lit indoors. They are, if you like, Judaism’s inner light, the light of the sanctity of marriage and the holiness of home.
The Chanukah candles used to be lit outside — outside the front door. It was only fear of persecution that took the Chanukah candles back inside, and in recent times the Lubavitcher Rebbe introduced the custom of lighting giant menorahs in public places to bring back the original spirit of the day. Chanukah candles are the light Judaism brings to the world when we are unafraid to announce our identity in public, live by our principles and fight, if necessary, for our freedom.
As for the havdalah candle, which is always made up of several wicks woven together, it represents the fusion of the two, the inner light of Shabbat, joined to the outer light we make during the six days of the week when we go out into the world and live our faith in public.
When we live as Jews in private, filling our homes with the light of the Shekhina, when we live as Jews in public, bringing the light of hope to others, and when we live both together, then we bring light to the world. There always were two ways to live in a world that is often dark and full of tears. We can curse the darkness or we can light a light, and as the Chassidim say, a little light drives out much darkness. May we all help light up the world.
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks is the former Chief Rabbi of Great Britain and the British Commonwealth. To read more writings and teachings by Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, or to join his e‑mail list, please visit www.rabbisacks.org.
More articles by Jonathan Sacks | RSS
The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHxs3gdtV8A
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Four Ways to Manage Fear
Don’t let your fear hold you back.
by Sara Debbie Gutfreund
http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Four-Ways-to-Manage-Fear.html
Danny Forster, the host of Discovery Channel’s Build It Bigger, a show about constructing enormous skyscrapers and towering bridges, is terrified of heights. On his first scouting trip as host, Forster's acrophobia almost cost him his job. He had flown with the show's producers to Glendale, Arizona to assess the show's first target: the University of Phoenix Stadium, the new $455 million dollar home of the Arizona Cardinals. The plan was to have Forster start off the show by working on the stadium's 240-foot-tall fabric-lined roof, but when they asked him to climb the ladder, he at first refused. Had they hired the wrong guy?
Forster's passion to build pushed him to start climbing. He rode hundreds of feet up in man lifts and climbed onto roofs, not because he had overcome his fear of heights but because he was willing to be afraid and build anyway.
....
http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/Four-Ways-to-Manage-Fear.html
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People are not changed by arguments, nor by philosophy. People change by doing.
Introduce a new habit into your life, and your entire perspective of the world changes.
First do, then learn about what you are already doing.
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From a letter by the Rebbe:
I do not accept your assertion that you do not believe.
For if you truly had no concept of a Supernal Being who created the world with purpose, then what is all this outrage of yours against the injustice of life?
The substance of the universe is not moral, nor are plants and animals. Why should it surprise you that whoever is bigger and more powerful swallows his fellow alive?
It is only due to an inner conviction in our hearts, shared by every human being, that there is a Judge, that there is right and there is wrong. And so, when we see a wrong, we demand an explanation: Why is this not the way it is supposed to be?
That itself is belief in God.
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A few weeks ago I received the best birthday gift ever. Several EMTs, paramedics and doctors in LA saved the life and the ability to walk of my best friend. Her neck was broken in a bad car accident on a curvy road in the rain on the way to work. She should actually be more or less back to normal in few months. I unfortunately have not been able to visit her for personal reasons but we have gotten to have a lot philosophical conversations on the phone about gratitude and what do with the gifts we have been given.
4 Ways to Find Inner Joy
by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
‘Tis the season to battle a touch of the blues.
It’s the season of office parties, family vacations and too many selfies popping up on Instagram and your facebook page. It sometimes feels as if everyone else is in a better place and having more fun. Many find themselves feeling down, unsettled, and battling a touch of the blues.
What can we do to find our personal joy?
Joy is not the same as fun. You can spend the day having a great time in the city with friends but when you walk through your door, you are not feeling joy. Or you can search spa finder, book the most lux treatments and then partake in gourmet meals but somehow a void remains. At the end of the day joyfulness eludes you.
Inner joy, genuine “I-feel-good-about-my-life” emotions takes work. It requires creating a positive inner core which can be a strenuous workout for the soul.
We need to stop comparing our lives and digital images with others. By focusing on the happiness of everyone else we forget how to zoom in on our own blessings. Once we are determined to seek out our inner joy and decide to stop sizing up the vacations, romantic life and wallets of our friends and family, we are ready for the first step.
1. Get Into the Gratitude Mode
Joyfulness begins with a sense of gratitude. Show me a positive, happy person and I will show you a grateful person. Appreciation doesn’t only happen when things are going perfectly. Our mission is to cultivate this sensation of thankfulness as our constant guiding spirit. How?
Customize your outlook to see the good. In Judaism we call this an ‘ayin tov,’ a positive eye. Instead of focusing on what’s wrong, train your eye to see what’s right. Pay attention to the number of times a day you have a negative reaction, criticism or complaint. When someone does something for you, do you find where they fall short instead of saying thank you? When you’re eating out in a restaurant, do you end up griping about the service or the food? Work on quieting that negative side and building the positive. You will find yourself more pleasant to be around, more thankful and evolving into a happier person.
.....
http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/4-Ways-to-Find-Inner-Joy.html
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Once upon a time there was a man who worked very hard just to keep food on the table for his family.
This particular year a few days before Christmas he punished his little five-year old daughter after learning that she had used up the family’s only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper.
As money was tight, he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve he saw that the child had used all the expensive gold paper to decorate one shoebox she had put under the Christmas tree. He also was concerned about where she had gotten the money to buy what was in the shoebox.
Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, “This is for you, Daddy!”
As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, now regretting how he had punished her.
But when he opened the shoebox, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. “Don’t you know, young lady,” he said harshly, “when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside the package!”
The little girl looked up at him with sad tears rolling from her eyes and whispered: “Daddy, it’s not empty. I blew kisses until it was full.”
The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept this little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems, he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each of us has been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends, and God. There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.
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Terrific post Crafty. Where did you get this from? Can I email this to others?
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It is an "anonymous" shared with me by a friend. Share away!
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The Far Horizon
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2430669/jewish/The-Far-Horizon.htm
To gain insight into the unique leadership lesson of this week’s Parshah, I often ask an audience to perform a thought experiment. Imagine you are the leader of a people that has suffered exile for more than two centuries, and has been enslaved and oppressed. Now, after a series of miracles, it is about to go free. You assemble them and rise to address them. They are waiting expectantly for your words. This is a defining moment they will never forget. What will you speak about?
Most people answer: freedom. That was Abraham Lincoln’s decision in the Gettysburg Address, when he invoked the memory of “a new nation, conceived in liberty,” and looked forward to “a new birth of freedom.” Some suggest that they would inspire the people by talking about the destination that lay ahead, the “land flowing with milk and honey.” Yet others say they would warn the people of the dangers and What will you speak about?challenges that they would encounter on what Nelson Mandela called “the long walk to freedom.”
Any of these would have been the great speech of a great leader. Guided by G‑d, Moses did none of these things. That is what made him a unique leader. If you examine the text in Parshat Bo, you will see that three times he reverted to the same theme: children, education, and the distant future.
When your children ask you, “What do you mean by this rite?” you shall say, “It is the Passover sacrifice to the L‑rd, because He passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when he smote the Egyptians, but saved our houses.”1
You shall explain to your child on that day, “It is because of what the L‑rd did for me when I went free from Egypt.”2
When in time to come your child asks you, saying, “What does this mean?” you shall say to him, “It was with a mighty hand that the L‑rd brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage.”3
It is one of the most counterintuitive acts in the history of leadership. Moses did not speak about today or tomorrow. He spoke about the distant future and the duty of parents to educate their children. He even hinted—as Jewish tradition understood—that we should encourage our children to ask questions, so that the handing down of the Jewish heritage would be not a matter of rote learning but of active dialogue between parents and children.
So, Jews became the only people in history to predicate their very survival on education. The most sacred duty of parents was to teach their children. Pesach itself became an ongoing seminar in the handing on of memory. Judaism became the religion whose heroes were teachers and whose passion was study and the life of the mind. The Mesopotamians built ziggurats. The Egyptians built pyramids. The Greeks built the Parthenon. The Romans built the Coliseum. Jews built schools. That is why they alone, of all the civilizations of the ancient world, are still alive and strong, still continuing their ancestors’ vocation, their heritage intact and undiminished.
Moses’ insight was profound. He knew that you cannot change the world by externalities alone, by monumental architecture, or armies and empires, or the use of force and power. How many You cannot change the world by externalities aloneempires have come and gone while the human condition remains untransformed and unredeemed?
There is only one way to change the world, and that is by education. You have to teach children the importance of justice, righteousness, kindness and compassion. You have to teach them that freedom can be sustained only by the laws and habits of self-restraint. You have continually to remind them of the lessons of history, “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt,” because those who forget the bitterness of slavery eventually lose the commitment and courage to fight for freedom. And you have to empower children to ask, challenge and argue. You have to respect them, if they are to respect the values you wish them to embrace.
This is a lesson most cultures still have not learned after more than three thousand years. Revolutions, protests and civil wars still take place, encouraging people to think that removing a tyrant or having a democratic election will end corruption, create freedom, and lead to justice and the rule of law—and still people are surprised and disappointed when it does not happen. All that happens is a change of faces in the corridors of power.
In one of the great speeches of the twentieth century, a distinguished American justice, Judge Learned Hand, said:
I often wonder whether we do not rest our hopes too much upon constitutions, upon laws and upon courts. These are false hopes; believe me, these are false hopes. Liberty lies in the hearts of men and women; when it dies there, no constitution, no law, no court can save it; no constitution, no law, no court can even do much to help it.4
What G‑d taught Moses was that the real challenge does not lie in gaining freedom; it lies in sustaining it, keeping the spirit of liberty alive in the hearts of successive generations. That can be done only through a sustained process of education. Nor is this something that can be delegated away to teachers and schools. Some of it has to take place within the family, at home, and with the sacred obligation that comes from religious duty. No one ever saw this more clearly than Moses, and only because of his teachings have Jews and Judaism survived.
What makes leaders great is that they think ahead, worrying not about tomorrow but about next year, or the next decade, or the next generation. In one of his finest speeches, Robert F. Kennedy spoke of the power of leaders to transform the world when they have a clear vision of a possible future:
Some believe there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world’s ills—against misery, against ignorance, or injustice and violence. Yet many of the world’s great movements, of thought and action, have flowed from the work of a single person. A young monk began the Protestant reformation, a young general extended an empire from Macedonia to the borders of the earth, and a young woman reclaimed the territory of France. It was a young Italian explorer who discovered the New World, and 32-year-old Thomas Jefferson who proclaimed that all men are created equal. “Give me a place to stand,” said Archimedes, “and I will move the world.” These men moved the world, and so can we all.5
Visionary leadership forms the text and texture of Judaism. It was the book of Proverbs Visionary leadership forms the text and texture of Judaismthat said, “Without a vision [chazon], the people perish.”6 That vision in the minds of the prophets was always of a long-term future. G‑d told Ezekiel that a prophet is a watchman, one who climbs to a high vantage point and so can see the danger in the distance, before anyone else is aware of it at ground level.7 The sages said, “Who is wise? One who sees the long-term consequences [ha-nolad].”8 Two of the greatest leaders of the twentieth century, Churchill and Ben Gurion, were also distinguished historians. Knowing the past, they could anticipate the future. They were like chess masters who, because they have studied thousands of games, recognize almost immediately the dangers and possibilities in any configuration of the pieces on the board. They know what will happen if you make this move or that.
If you want to be a great leader in any field, from prime minister to parent, it is essential to think long-term. Never choose the easy option because it is simple or fast or yields immediate satisfaction. You will pay a high price in the end.
Moses was the greatest leader because he thought further ahead than anyone else. He knew that real change in human behavior is the work of many generations. Therefore we must place as our highest priority educating our children in our ideals, so that what we begin they will continue, until the world changes because we have changed. He knew that if you plan for a year, plant rice. If you plan for a decade, plant a tree. If you plan for posterity, educate a child.9 Moses’ lesson, thirty-three centuries old, is still compelling today.
FOOTNOTES
1. Exodus 12:26–27.
2. Exodus 13:8.
3. Exodus 13:14.
4. “The Spirit of Liberty”—speech at “I Am an American Day” ceremony, Central Park, New York City (21 May 1944).
5. The Kennedys: America’s Front-Page Family, p. 112.
6. Proverbs 29:18.
7. Ezekiel 33:1–6.
8. Talmud, Tamid 32a.
9. A statement attributed to Confucius.
BY RABBI JONATHAN SACKS
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks is the former Chief Rabbi of Great Britain and the British Commonwealth. To read more writings and teachings by Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, or to join his e‑mail list, please visit www.rabbisacks.org.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkOUmuBXVMs&feature=youtu.be
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A Life Not with Standing
Invisible, inaudible, inanimate: my adventures in a wheelchair.
by Chava Willig Levy
I was raised in a joy-filled home. One of its most joy-filled days was April 12, 1955, when Dr. Jonas Salk announced that his polio vaccine worked. Four months later, at the age of three, I contracted polio.
Years of hospitalizations and surgeries had me hungering for home. But with each hospital discharge, one destination had me chomping at the bit to fly the coop. My ninth birthday long behind me, I had yet to attend school. Except for my synagogue’s afternoon program, home and hospital instruction was all I knew. The only advantage to this lonely segregation was its tight quarters. They afforded me the chance to minimize wheelchair use; at home, for example, a few steps from bed to kitchen table, my ersatz school desk, were well within my ambulatory range.
http://www.aish.com/sp/so/A-Life-Not-with-Standing.html
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http://catholicnewslive.com/story/118679
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An uneducated old man was visiting a city for the first time in his life. He had grown up in a remote mountain village, worked hard raising his children, and was now enjoying his first visit to his children's modern homes.
One day, while being shown around the city, the old man heard a sound that stung his ears. He had never heard such an awful noise in his quiet mountain village and he insisted on finding its cause. Following the grating sound back to its source, he came to a room in back of a house where a small boy was practicing on a violin.
Screech! Scrape ! came the discordant notes from the groaning instrument.
When he was told by his son that that was called a "violin," he decided he never wanted to hear such a horrible thing again.
The next day, in a different part of the city, the old man heard a sound that seemed to caress his aged ears. He had never heard such an enchanting melody in his mountain valley, so he demanded to find its cause. Following the delightful sound back to its source, he came to a room in the front of a house where an old lady, a maestro, was performing a sonata on a violin.
At once, the old man realized his mistake. The terrible sound that he had heard the previous day was not the fault of the violin, nor even the boy. It was just the young man had yet to learn his instrument well.
With a wisdom reserved for the simple folk, the old man thought it was the same with religion. When we come across a religious enthusiast causing such a strife with his beliefs, it is incorrect to blame the religion. It is just that the novice has yet to learn his religion well. When we come across a saint, a maestro of her religion, it is such a sweet encounter that it inspires us for many years, whatever their beliefs.
...But that was not the end of the story of the old man and the violin.
The third day, in a different part of the city, the old man heard another sound that surpassed in its beauty and purity even that of the maestro on her violin. What do you think the sound was ?
It was a sound more beautiful than the cascade of the mountain stream in spring, the autumn wind through forest groves, or the mountain birds singing after a heavy rain. It was even more beautiful than the silence in the mountain hollows on a still winter's night. What was that sound the moved the old man's heart more powerfully than anything before ?
It was a large orchestra playing a symphony.
The reason that it was, for the old man, the most beautiful sound in the world was, firstly, that every member of that orchestra was a maestro of their own instrument; secondly, that they had further learned how to play together in harmony.
"May it be the same with religion," the old man thought. "let each one of us learn through the lessons of life the soft heart of our beliefs. Let us each be a maestro of the love within our religion. Then, having learned our religion well, let us go further and learn how to play, like members of an orchestra, with other religions in harmony together!"
That would be the most beautiful sound.
Ajahn Brahm
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What follows is extremely sacrilegious-- but I lack the knowledge to answer. Anyone? Rachel?
http://io9.com/i-cant-help-but-think-that-the-new-testament-is-really-1522978228
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We are very lucky to live in a wold where the ability to learn about almost any topic is in our hands. It just takes time, effort and making it a priority. That tone and the word choices of the article are irreligious but I don’t think asking questions is disrespectful .
“A brittle faith fears questions; a robust faith welcomes them.” “ Asking questions of another is not only a sign of relationship, it is a means of establishing relationships. Rabbi Wolpe
There are at least 12 questions here and I don’t think is the best use of my time to answer them all when there are better more insightful and educated resources available.
If you are Jewish, You can get a free study partner with Partners in Torah http://www.partnersintorah.org/ I have been working with a extremely helpful and kind study partner from this organization for over 10 years.
If you are Christian, I’m assuming your local church would have a bible study group that could discuss these issues.
I highly recommend the books
Why Faith Matters by Rabbi David Wolpe
The Great Partnership: Science, Religion, and the Search for Meaning by Rabbi Jonathan Sachs
Jews are supposed to read the story of the Binding of Isaac every morning. I don’t think it a story meant to calm and comfort you. It is a story that wakes you and makes you question your life.
http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/326392/jewish/Sacrifice-Your-Son.htm
http://www.rabbisacks.org/vayera-5771-the-binding-of-isaac-a-new-interpretation/
Thanks to a moderately classical education, I have had the luxury to read the New Testament, the books or lengthly excerpts of Augustine, Anslem, Aquinas and Martin Luther. The reboot did not speak to me but I’m grateful to be Jewish and we selfishly like to keep our religion to ourselves.
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An ageing master grew tired of his apprentice’s complaints. One morning, he sent him to get some salt. When the apprentice returned, the master told him to mix a handful of salt in a glass of water and then drink it.
“How does it taste?” the master asked.
“Bitter,” said the apprentice.
The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take the same handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby lake and once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt in the water, the old man said, “Now drink from the lake.”
As the water dripped down the young man’s chin, the master asked, “How does it taste?”
“Fresh,” remarked the apprentice.
“Do you taste the salt?” asked the master.
“No,” said the young man. At this the master sat beside this serious young man, and explained softly,
“The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains exactly the same. However, the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things. Stop being a glass. Become a lake.”
~ Meditation Masters
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http://www.dennisprager.com/noah-one-moral-stories-ever-told/
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http://www.glennbeck.com/content/blog/glenn/a-fresh-start/
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Bechukotei (5774) – “We The People” Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks
http://www.rabbisacks.org/bechukotei-5774-people
You can also listen to the commentary here as well
In Bechukotai, in the midst of one of the most searing curses ever to have been uttered to a nation by way of warning, the sages found a fleck of pure gold.
Moses is describing a nation in flight from its enemies:
I will bring despair into the hearts of those of you who survive in enemy territory. Just the sound of a windblown leaf will put them to running, and they will run scared as if running from a sword! They will fall even when no one is chasing them! They will stumble over each other as they would before a sword, even though no one is chasing them! You will have no power to stand before your enemies. (Lev. 26: 36-37)
There is on the face of it nothing positive in this nightmare scenario. But the sages said: “They will stumble over each other” – read this as “stumble because of one another”: this teaches that all Israelites are sureties [i.e. responsible] for one another.”[1]
This is an exceedingly strange passage. Why locate this principle here? Surely the whole Torah testifies to it. When Moses speaks about the reward for keeping the covenant he does so collectively. There will be rain in its due season. You will have good harvests. And so on. The principle that Jews have collective responsibility, that their fate and destiny are interlinked: this could have been found in the Torah’s blessings. Why search for it among its curses?
The answer is that there is nothing unique to Judaism in the idea that we are all implicated in one another’s fate. That is true of the citizens of any nation. If the economy is booming, most people benefit. If there is a recession many people suffer. If a neighbourhood is scarred by crime, people are scared to walk the streets. If there is law and order, if people are polite to one another and come to one another’s aid, there is a general sense of well-being. We are social animals, and our horizons of possibility are shaped by the society and culture within which we live.
All of this applied to the Israelites so long as they were a nation in their own land. But what when they suffered defeat and exile and were eventually scattered across the earth? They no longer had any of the conventional lineaments of a nation. They were not living in the same place. They did not share the same language of everyday life. While Rashi and his family were living in Christian northern Europe and speaking French, Maimonides was living in Muslim Egypt, speaking and writing Arabic.
Nor did Jews share a fate. While those in northern Europe were suffering persecution and massacres during the Crusades, the Jews of Spain were enjoying their golden age. While the Jews of Spain were being expelled and compelled to wander round the world as refugees, the Jews of Poland were enjoying a rare sunlit moment of tolerance. In what sense therefore were they responsible for one another? What constituted them as a nation? How – as the author of Psalm 137 put it – could they sing God’s song in a strange land?
There are only two texts in the Torah that speak to this situation, namely the two sections of curses, one in our parsha, and the other in Deuteronomy in the parsha of Ki Tavo. Only these speak about a time when Israel is exiled and dispersed, scattered, as Moses later put it, “to the most distant lands under heaven.” There are three major differences between the two curses, however. The passage in Leviticus is in the plural, that in Deuteronomy in the singular. The curses in Leviticus are the words of God; in Deuteronomy they are the words of Moses. And the curses in Deuteronomy do not end in hope. They conclude in a vision of unrelieved bleakness:
You will try to sell yourselves as slaves—both male and female—but no one will want to buy you. (Deut. 28: 68)
Those in Leviticus end with a momentous hope:
But despite all that, when they are in enemy territory, I will not reject them or despise them to the point of totally destroying them, breaking my covenant with them by doing so, because I am the Lord their God. But for their sake I will remember the covenant with the first generation, the ones I brought out of Egypt’s land in the sight of all the nations, in order to be their God; I am the Lord. (Lev. 26: 44-45)
Even in their worst hours, according to Leviticus, the Jewish people would never be destroyed. Nor would God reject them. The covenant would still be in force and its terms still operative. That meant that Jews would still be linked to one another by the same ties of mutual responsibility that they had in the land – for it was the covenant that formed them as a nation and bound them to one another even as it bound them to God. Therefore, even when falling over one another in flight from their enemies they would still be bound by mutual responsibility. They would still be a nation with a shared fate and destiny.
This is a rare and special idea, and it is the distinctive feature of the politics of covenant. Covenant became a major element in the politics of the West following the Reformation. It shaped political discourse in Switzerland, Holland, Scotland and England in the seventeenth century as the invention of printing and the spread of literacy made people familiar for the first time with the Hebrew Bible (the “Old Testament” as they called it). There they learned that tyrants are to be resisted, that immoral orders should not be obeyed, and that kings did not rule by divine right but only by the consent of the governed.
The same convictions were held by the Pilgrim Fathers as they set sail for America, but with this difference, that they did not disappear over time as they did in Europe. The result is that the United States is the only country today whose political discourse is framed by the idea of covenant.
Two textbook examples of this are Lyndon Baines Johnson’s Inaugural of 1965, and Barack Obama’s Second Inaugural of 2013. Both use the biblical device of significant repetition (always an odd number, three or five or seven). Johnson invokes the idea of covenant five times. Obama five times begins paragraphs with a key phrase of covenant politics – words never used by British politicians – namely, “We the people.”
In covenant societies it is the people as a whole who are responsible, under God, for the fate of the nation. As Johnson put it, “Our fate as a nation and our future as a people rest not upon one citizen but upon all citizens.” In Obama’s words, “You and I, as citizens, have the power to set this country’s course.” That is the essence of covenant: we are all in this together. There is no division of the nation into rulers and ruled. We are conjointly responsible, under the sovereignty of God, for one another.
This is not open-ended responsibility. There is nothing in Judaism like the tendentious and ultimately meaningless idea set out by Jean-Paul Sartre in Being and Nothingness of ‘absolute responsibility’:
The essential consequence of our earlier remarks is that man, being condemned to be free, carries the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, he is responsible for the world and for himself as a way of being.[2]
In Judaism we are responsible only for what we could have prevented but did not. This is how the Talmud puts it:
Whoever can forbid his household [to commit a sin] but does not, is seized for [the sins of] his household. [If he can forbid] his fellow citizens [but does not] he is seized for [the sins of] his fellow citizens. [If he can forbid] the whole world [but does not] he is seized for [the sins of] the whole world.[3]
This remains however a powerful idea and an unusual one. What made it unique to Judaism is that it applied to a people scattered throughout the world united only by the terms of a covenant our ancestors made with God at Mount Sinai. But it continues, as I have argued, to drive American political discourse likewise even today. It tells us that we are all equal citizens in the republic of faith and that responsibility cannot be delegated away to governments or presidents but belongs inalienably to each of us. We are our brothers’ and sisters’ keeper.
That is what I mean by the strange, seemingly self-contradictory idea I have argued throughout these essays: that we are all called on to be leaders. Surely this cannot be so: if everyone is a leader, then no one is. If everyone leads, who is left to follow?
The concept that resolves the contradiction is covenant. Leadership is, I have argued, the acceptance of responsibility. Therefore if we are all responsible for one another, we are all called on to be leaders, each within our sphere of influence, be it within the family, the community, the organisation or a larger grouping still.
This can sometimes make an enormous difference. In late summer of 1999 I was in Pristina making a BBC television programme about the aftermath of the Kosovo campaign. I interviewed General Sir Michael Jackson, then head of the NATO forces. To my surprise, he thanked me for what “my people” had done. The Jewish community had taken charge of the city’s twenty-three primary schools. It was, he said, the most valuable contribution to the city’s welfare. When 800, 000 people have become refugees and then return home, the most reassuring sign that life has returned to normal is that the schools open on time. That, he said, we owe to the Jewish people.
Meeting the head of the Jewish community later that day, I asked him how many Jews were there currently in Pristina. His answer? Eleven. The story, as I later uncovered it, was this. In the early days of the conflict, Israel had along with other international aid agencies sent a field medical team to work with the Kosovan Albanian refugees. They noticed that while other agencies were concentrating on the adults, there was no one working with the children. Traumatised by the conflict and far from home, they were running wild.
The team phoned back to Israel and asked for young volunteers. Every youth movement in Israel, from the most secular to the most religious, sent out teams of youth leaders at two-week intervals. They worked with the children, organising summer camps, sports competitions, drama and music events and whatever else they could think of to make their temporary exile less traumatic. The Kosovan Albanians were Muslims, and for many of the Israeli youth workers it was their first contact and friendship with children of another faith.
Their effort won high praise from UNICEF, the United Nations children’s organisation. It was in the wake of this that “the Jewish people” – Israel, the American-based “Joint” and other Jewish agencies – were asked to supervise the return to normality of the school system in Pristina.
That episode taught me the power of hessed, acts of kindness when extended across the borders of faith. It also showed the practical difference collective responsibility makes to the scope of the Jewish deed. World Jewry is small, but the invisible strands of mutual responsibility mean that even the smallest Jewish community can turn to the Jewish people worldwide for help and achieve things that would be exceptional for a nation many times its size. When the Jewish people join hands in collective responsibility they become a formidable force for good.
[1] Sifra ad loc., Sanhedrin 27b, Shavuot 39a.
[2]Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness, trans. Hazel Barnes, New York, Washington Square Press, 1966, 707.
[3] Shabbat 54b.
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I recall my sixth grade teacher. He pointed out a famous picture in our history book showing the two trains connecting from the East and West Coasts and people sitting on the trains waving bouquets of flowers. Celebrating the first complete trans America railroad. He told us something I didn't know or realize. He said this picture is a drawing from a real photograph. Well one can google the real photo. The people are not waving flowers. They are waving whiskey bottles. I recall he was irritated about the dishonesty in our textbooks.
I later found out he was gay. So I suppose he had an emotional axe to grind so to speak. That said he was without a doubt the very best grade school teacher I ever had. He taught us things I still vividly remember today. Architecture, Civil War history, Russian Revolution history, and more. I think I saw him once back in the early eighties at a Fourth of July fireworks. I wish I had gone up to him to verify it was him so I could tell him he was the best teacher of my life. I am sure that would have meant something for him. My sister is a teacher and I've seen previous students and parents of students of hers do that. I know she feels great.
This sort of reminds me many years ago I was living away from home and I got intoxicated one night and started thinking how much I loved my father and I was going to tell him the next day. When the next day came I sobered up and then decided not to tell him that. It seemed so corny I guess.
A few weeks later my brother-in-law called me tell me my father was dead.
Naturally I regretted changing my mind. This is one case wherein being drunk helped me think more "clearly". I told this story to others in my family and some close friends. I know it impacted them because they all remembered this and probably learned to tell their loved ones their feelings.
Maybe by posting on this board I can help assure people it is always better to be 'corny'.
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http://www.artofmanliness.com/2014/06/19/7-letters-to-write-before-you-turn-70/
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http://www.artofmanliness.com/2013/07/25/latin-words-and-phrases-every-man-should-know/
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http://www.artofmanliness.com/2013/07/25/latin-words-and-phrases-every-man-should-know/
Excellent, Bigdog!
"Benjamin Franklin, Teddy Roosevelt, and Winston Churchill ...all were proficient in Latin." And it was my Dad's 'foreign language'.
Another I like, post hoc ergo propter hoc, describing the logic fallacy, after this, therefore because of this. Also means, that logical fallacy is as old as the Latin language. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Post_hoc_ergo_propter_hoc
(I see it comes up in the comments along with other good ones.)
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A river went out from Eden to water the garden.
Genesis 2:10
There is Eden, and there is the garden.
Eden is a place of delight, far beyond the garden, beyond all created things. Yet its river nurtures all that grows in that garden.
The garden is wisdom, understanding, knowing—where all of creation begins.
Adam is placed in the garden, to work with his mind, and to discover the transcendent Eden flowing within.
So too, that is the objective of all man’s toil in this world: To reach beyond his own mind. Not to a place where the mind is ignored, but rather, to its essence, to the inner sense of beauty and wonder that guides it. To Eden.
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Happy Rosh Hashanah! Have a Sweet and Happy New Year!
Ha’azinu (5774) – The Leader’s Call to Responsibility
http://www.rabbisacks.org/haazinu-5774-leaders-call-responsibility/
When words take wing, they modulate into song. That is what they do here in Haazinu as Moses, with the angel of death already in sight, prepares to take leave of this life. Never before had he spoken with such passion. His language is vivid, even violent. He wants his final words never to be forgotten. In a sense he has been articulating this truth for forty years but never before with such emotion. This is what he says:
Give ear, O heavens, that I may speak,
Earth, hear the sayings of my mouth ...
The Rock, His acts are perfect,
For all his ways are just.
A faithful God without wrong,
Right and straight is He.
He is not corrupt; the defect is in his children,
A warped and twisted generation.
Is this the way you repay God,
Ungrateful, unwise people?
Is he not your father, your Master.
He made you and established you. (Deut. 32: 1-6)
Don’t blame God when things go wrong. That is what Moses feels so passionately. Don’t believe, he says, that God is there to serve us. We are here to serve Him and through Him be a blessing to the world. God is straight; it is we who are complex and self-deceiving. God is not there to relieve us of responsibility. It is God who is calling us to responsibility.
With these words Moses brings to closure the drama that began in the beginning with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. When they sinned, Adam blamed the woman, the woman blamed the serpent. So it was in the beginning and so it still is in the twenty-first century secular time.
The story of humanity has been for the most part a flight from responsibility. The culprits change. Only the sense of victimhood remains. It wasn’t us. It was the politicians. Or the media. Or the bankers. Or our genes. Or our parents. Or the system, be it capitalism, communism or anything between. Most of all, it is the fault of the others, the ones not like us, infidels, sons of Satan, children of darkness, the unredeemed. The perpetrators of the greatest crime against humanity in all of history were convinced it wasn’t them. They were “only obeying orders.” When all else fails, blame God. And if you don’t believe in God, blame the people who do. To be human is to seek to escape from responsibility.
That is what makes Judaism different. It is what made some people admire Jews and others hate them. For Judaism is God’s call to human responsibility. From this call you can’t hide, as Adam and Eve discovered when they tried, and you can’t escape, as Jonah learnt in the belly of a fish.
What Moses was saying in his great farewell song can be paraphrased thus: “Beloved people, I have led you for forty years, and my time is coming to an end. For the last month, since I began these speeches, these Devarim, I have tried to tell you the most important things about your past and future. I beg you not to forget them.”
“Your parents were slaves. God brought them and you to freedom. But that was negative freedom, chofesh. It meant that there was no-one to order you about. That kind of freedom is not inconsequential, for its absence tastes like unleavened bread and bitter herbs. Eat them once a year so you never forget where you came from and who brought you out.”
“But don’t think that chofesh alone can sustain a free society. When everyone is free to do what they like, the result is anarchy, not freedom. A free society requires cherut, the positive freedom that only comes when people internalise the habits of self-restraint so that my freedom is not bought at the expense of yours, or yours at the cost of mine.”
“That is why I have taught you all these laws, judgments and statutes. None of them is arbitrary. None of them exists because God likes giving laws. God gave laws to the very structures of matter – laws that generated a vast, wondrous, almost unfathomable universe. If God were only interested in giving laws, He would have confined himself to the things that obey those laws, namely matter without mind and life-forms that know not liberty.”
“The laws God gave me and I gave you exist not for God’s sake but for ours. God gave us freedom – the most rare, precious, unfathomable thing of all other than life itself. But with freedom comes responsibility. That means that we must take the risk of action. God gave us the land but we must conquer it. God gave us the fields but we must plough, sow and reap them. God gave us bodies but we must tend and heal them. God is our father; He made us and established us. But parents cannot live their children’s lives. They can only show them by instruction and love how to live.”
“So when things go wrong, don’t blame God. He is not corrupt; we are. He is straight; it is we who are sometimes warped and twisted.” That is the Torah’s ethic of responsibility. No higher estimate has ever been given of the human condition. No higher vocation was ever entrusted to mortal creatures of flesh and blood.
Judaism does not see human beings, as some religions do, as irretrievably corrupt, stained by original sin, incapable of good without God’s grace. That is a form of faith but it is not ours. Nor do we see religion as a matter of blind submission to God’s will. That too is a form of faith but not ours.
We do not see human beings, as the pagans did, as the playthings of capricious gods. Nor do we see them, as some scientists do, as mere matter, a gene’s way of producing another gene, a collection of chemicals driven by electrical impulses in the brain, without any special dignity or sanctity, temporary residents in a universe devoid of meaning that came into existence for no reason and will one day, equally for no reason, cease to be.
We believe that we are God’s image, free as He is free, creative as He is creative, on an infinitely smaller and more limited scale to be sure, but still we are the one point in all the echoing expanse of space where the universe becomes conscious of itself, the one life form capable of shaping its own destiny: choosing, therefore free, therefore responsible. Judaism is God’s call to responsibility.
Which means: thou shalt not see thyself as a victim. Do not believe as the Greeks did that fate is blind and inexorable, that our fate once disclosed by the Delphic oracle, has already been sealed before we were born, that like Laius and Oedipus we are fated, however hard we try to escape the bonds of fate. That is a tragic view of the human condition. To some extent it was shared in different ways by Spinoza, Marx and Freud, the great triumvirate of Jews-by-descent who rejected Judaism and all its works.
Instead like Viktor Frankl, survivor of Auschwitz, and Aaron T. Beck, co-founder of cognitive behavioural therapy, we believe we are not defined by what happens to us but rather by how we respond to what happens to us. That itself is determined by how we interpret what happens to us. If we change the way we think – which we can, because of the plasticity of the brain – then we can change the way we feel and the way we act. Fate is never final. There may be such a thing as an evil decree, but penitence, prayer and charity can avert it. And what we cannot do alone we can do together, for we believe “it is not good for man to be alone.”
So Jews developed a morality of guilt in place of what the Greeks had, a morality of shame. A morality of guilt makes a sharp distinction between the person and the act, between the sinner and the sin. Because we are not wholly defined by what we do, there is a core within us that remains intact – “My God, the soul you gave me is pure” – so that whatever wrong we may have done, we can repent and be forgiven. That creates a language of hope, the only force strong enough to defeat a culture of despair.
It is that power of hope, born whenever God’s love and forgiveness gives rise to human freedom and responsibility, that has made Judaism the moral force it has always been to those who minds and hearts are open. But that hope, says Moses with a passion that still sears us whenever we tread it afresh, does not just happen. It has to be worked for and won. The only way it is achieved is by not blaming God. He is not corrupt. The defect is in us, His children. If we seek a better world, we must make it. God teaches us, inspires us, forgives us when we fail and lifts us when we fall, but we must make it. It is not what God does for us that transforms us; it is what we do for God.
The first humans lost paradise when they sought to hide from responsibility. We will only ever regain it if we accept responsibility and become a nation of leaders, each respecting and making space for those not like us. People do not like people who remind them of their responsibility. That is one of the reasons (not the only one, to be sure) for Judeophobia through the ages. But we are not defined by those who do not like us. To be a Jew is to be defined by the One who loves us.
The deepest mystery of all is not our faith in God but God’s faith in us. May that faith sustain us as we heed the call to responsibility and take the risk of healing some of the needless wounds of an injured but still wondrous world.
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Brilliant and timeless wisdom.
Happy New Year to you too Rachel.
I've never met you could walk by you on the street, yet feel connected to you through your posts.
ccp
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A fine one Rachel. Happy New Year!
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http://www.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/03/29/feiler.moses.easter.passover/
Moses is America's prophet
By Bruce Feiler, Special to CNN
March 29, 2010 1:28 p.m. EDT
tzleft.bruce.feiler.courtesy.jpg
Bruce Feiler calls this week, from Passover to Easter, Moses week in America.
Feiler says U.S. and its leaders have referred to narrative of Moses for over 400 years
Pilgrims, Jefferson, Statue of Liberty, spirituals, Superman refer to Moses, he says
Moses represents courage, balance of freedom and law, ideal of justice, he says
Editor's note: Bruce Feiler is the author of "Walking the Bible," "Abraham" and "America's Prophet: Moses and the American Story." His new book, "The Council of Dads," will be published in April.
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(CNN) -- This Saturday, millions of Americans will watch the annual spectacle of Charlton Heston acting the part of a Cold War hero in Cecil B. DeMille's "The Ten Commandments." The TV air date is no accident.
This week, beginning with Passover and ending with Easter, is "Moses week" in America. It's the one time of year when the biblical hero steps to the forefront of religious ritual, renewing the special bond that has existed between the great prophet and the United States for over 400 years.
Moses was an American icon long before there was an America. When the Pilgrims left England in 1620, they described themselves as the chosen people fleeing their pharaoh, King James. On the Atlantic, they proclaimed their journey to be as vital as "Moses and the Israelites when they went out of Egypt." And when they got to Cape Cod, they thanked God for letting them pass through their fiery Red Sea.
By the time of the Revolution, Moses had become the go-to narrative of American freedom. In 1751, the Pennsylvania Assembly chose a quote from the Five Books of Moses for its State House bell, "Proclaim Liberty thro' all the Land to all the Inhabitants Thereof -- Levit. XXV 10."
The future Liberty Bell was hanging above the room where the Continental Congress passed the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776. Congress' last order of business that day was to form a committee of Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin and John Adams to design a seal for the new United States. The committee submitted its recommendation that August: Moses, leading the Israelites across the Red Sea. In their eyes, Moses was America's true Founding Father.
Two-thirds of the eulogies at George Washington's death compared him to Moses.
--Bruce Feiler
But escaping bondage proved to be only half the story. After the Israelites arrived in the desert, they faced a period of lawlessness, which prompted the Ten Commandments. The message: Freedom depends on law.
Americans faced a similar moment of chaos after the Revolution. Just as a reluctant Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt and then handed down the Ten Commandments, a reluctant George Washington led the colonists to victory and then presided over the drafting of the Constitution. The parallel was not lost. Two-thirds of the eulogies at Washington's death compared him to Moses.
Although Moses was a unifying presence during the founding era, a generation later, he got dragged into the issue that most divided the country. The Israelites' escape from slavery was the dominant motif of slave spirituals, including "Turn Back Pharaoh's Army," "I Am Bound for the Promised Land" and the most famous, "Go Down, Moses," which was called the national anthem of slaves.
Yet as abolitionists used the exodus to attack slavery, Southerners used it to defend the institution. The War Between the States became the War Between the Moseses. It took America's most Bible-quoting president to reunite the country. Abraham Lincoln talked about the exodus at Gettysburg, and, when he died, he too was compared to Moses.
"There is no historic figure more noble than that of the Jewish lawgiver," Henry Ward Beecher eulogized. "There is scarcely another event in history more touching than his death." Until now. "Again a great leader of the people has passed through toil, sorrow, battle and war, and come near to the promised land of peace, into which he might not pass over."
The country's greatest icon, the Statue of Liberty ... even Superman [were] modeled partly on Moses.
--Bruce Feiler
Political figures weren't the only ones compared to Moses; national icons were, as well, including Uncle Sam and Old Glory. The country's greatest icon, the Statue of Liberty, was designed with spikes of light around her head and a tablet in her arms to mimic Moses' pose when he climbed down Sinai with shafts of light around his head and tablets of law in his hands.
Even Superman was modeled partly on Moses. The comic-book hero's creators, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, modeled their superhero on the superhero of the Torah. Just as baby Moses is floated down the Nile in a basket to escape annihilation, baby Superman is launched into space in a rocket ship to avoid extinction. Both Moses and Superman were picked up by aliens and raised in strange environments before being summoned to aid humanity. Superman's birth name was Kal-el, which is Hebrew for "swift god."
But it was Cecil B. DeMille who turned Moses into a symbol of American power in the Cold War. The 1956 epic "The Ten Commandments," the fifth highest-grossing movie of all time, opened with DeMille appearing onscreen.
"The theme of this picture is whether men ought to be ruled by God's law or whether they are to be ruled by the whims of a dictator," he said. "The same battle continues throughout the world today."
To drive home his point, DeMille cast mostly Americans as Israelites and Europeans as Egyptians. And in the film's final shot, Charlton Heston quotes the Liberty Bell (even though it comes from three books earlier in the Bible) and recreates the pose of the Statue of Liberty, forever securing America's place as the new Promised Land.
Today, 40 years after the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. compared himself to Moses on the night before his assassination, the Hebrew prophet is as resonant as ever.
George W. Bush said in an Oval Office interview that he was inspired to run for the presidency by a sermon in Texas in which his preacher said Moses was not a man of words but still led his people to freedom. Barack Obama said in 2007 that the civil rights pioneers were the "Moses generation," and he was part of the "Joshua generation" that would "find our way across the river." And this week, Obama holds the second White House seder.
What explains this ongoing appeal?
First, Moses embodies the courage to escape hardship and seek a better world. He keeps alive the ministry of hope. "Not America," as W.E.B. DuBois put it, "but what America will be." Moses is the figurehead of "America will be."
Second, Moses encapsulates the American juggling act between freedom and law. "Since the exodus," German poet Heinrich Heine said, "freedom has always spoken with a Hebrew accent."
Finally, Moses is a reminder that a moral society is one that embraces the outsider and uplifts the downtrodden. "You shall not oppress a stranger," God says in Exodus 23, "for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt." Moses represents the ideals of American justice.
Yet he reminds us that we often fall short of our dreams. As King said, "I've been to the mountaintop. And I've looked over. I've seen the promised land. And I may not get there with you, but I want you to know that we as a people will get to the promised land."
These words capture what may be the most enduring lesson of Moses: The true destination of a journey of hope is not this year at all but next.
The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of Bruce Feiler.
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You Can Kill, But Not Murder
Posted By Dennis Prager On December 2, 2014
That is the King James translation of the sixth commandment. It is a magnificent translation. But this one has led to much moral confusion.
Yesterday, PragerUniversity.com, which has had more than 20 million views this year, released 11 courses (each five-minutes long) — the Ten Commandments and an introduction.
The reason we made these video courses is that I believe that everything we need to make a good world and rid ourselves of evil is contained in the Ten Commandments.
For the next few weeks, my column will be selected transcripts of the courses, all of which I present.
Whatever your faith, or if you have no faith, I invite you to watch the videos at www.prageru.com — from the introduction through the tenth, or any of the Ten. They are cleverly animated with text and graphics.
Here is the text of commandment six — explaining why the King James translation is wrong:
You would think that of all the Ten Commandments the one that needs the least explaining is the sixth, because it seems so clear. It is the one that the King James Bible, the most widely used English translation of the Bible, translates as, “Thou shall not kill.”
Yet, the truth is the quite the opposite. This is probably the least well understood of the Ten Commandments. The reason is that the Hebrew original does not say, “Do not kill.” It says, “Do not murder.” Both Hebrew and English have two words for taking a life — one is “kill” (harag, in Hebrew) and the other is “murder” (ratzach in Hebrew).
The difference between the two is enormous. Kill means:
1) Taking any life — whether of a human being or an animal.
2) Taking a human life deliberately or by accident.
3) Taking a human life legally or illegally, morally or immorally.
On the other hand, murder can only mean one thing: The illegal or immoral taking of a human life. That’s why we say, “I killed a mosquito,” not, “I murdered a mosquito.” And that’s why we would say that “the worker was accidentally killed,” not that “the worker was accidentally murdered.”
So why did the King James translation of the Bible use the word “kill” rather than “murder”? Because 400 years ago, when the translation was made, “kill” was synonymous with “murder.” As a result, some people don’t realize that English has changed since 1610 and therefore think that the Ten Commandments prohibits all killing.
But, of course, it doesn’t. If the Ten Commandments forbade killing, we would all have to be vegetarians, as killing animals would be prohibited. And we would all have to be pacifists — since we could not kill even in self-defense.
However, you don’t have to know how the English language has evolved to understand that the Ten Commandments could not have prohibited all killing.
The very same part of the Bible that contains the Ten Commandments — the Five Books of Moses, the Torah as it is known by Jews — commands the death penalty for murder, allows killing in war, prescribes animal sacrifice and allows eating meat.
A correct understanding of the commandment against murder is crucial because, while virtually every modern translation correctly translates the commandment as “Do not murder,” many people cite the King James translation to justify two positions that have no biblical basis: opposition to capital punishment and pacifism.
Regarding capital punishment and the Bible, as I note in my Prager University course on capital punishment, the only law that appears in each one of the Five Books of Moses is that murderers be put to death. Opponents of the death penalty are free to hold the view that all murderers should be allowed to live. But they are not free to cite the Bible to support their view.
Yet, many do. And they always cite the Commandment, “Do not kill.” But that, as should now be abundantly clear, is not what the commandment says, and it is therefore an invalid argument.
As regards pacifism, the belief that it is always wrong to kill a human being, again, anyone is free to hold this position, as immoral as it may be. And what other word than “immoral” can one use to describe forbidding the killing of someone who is in the process of murdering innocent men, women and children, in, let’s say, a movie theater or a school?
But it is dishonest to cite the commandment against murder to justify pacifism.
There is moral killing — most obviously when done in self-defense against an aggressor — and there is immoral killing. And the word for that is “murder.”
The Ten Commandments are portrayed on two tablets. The five commandments on the second tablet all concern our treatment of fellow human beings.
The first one on that list is “Do not murder.” Why? Because murder is the worst act a person can commit. The other four commandments — prohibiting stealing, adultery, giving false testimony and coveting, are all serious offenses.
But murder leads the list because deliberately taking the life of an innocent person is the most terrible thing we can do. That is why it is so important to understand that the commandment prohibits murder, not all killing. When people liken killing in self-defense to murder — such as when they equate killing the terrorist who is murdering people with the murders that the terrorist is committing — all they are doing is reducing the evil that murder is. And when they use the Ten Commandments to justify that position, all they are doing is making the Ten Commandments, the moral foundation of Western Civilization, morally irrelevant.
The next time you hear someone cite, “Do not kill” when quoting the sixth commandment, gently but firmly explain that it actually says, “Do not murder.”
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Well worth the time of watching the whole thing!
http://www.prageruniversity.com/Ten-Commandments/#.VH6xH4WwX3S
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http://tabletmag.com/jewish-life-and-religion/187483/daf-yomi-108?utm_source=tabletmagazinelist&utm_campaign=04ce402174-Tuesday_December_9_201412_9_2014&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_c308bf8edb-04ce402174-207194629
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How Did Moses Part the Red Sea?
The science of tides may have saved the Israelites from the Egyptians
Moses had lived nearby and knew where caravans crossed the Red Sea at low tide. Pictured, a scene from ‘Exodus: Gods and Kings’
By Bruce Parker
Dec. 5, 2014 9:37 a.m. ET
Ridley Scott’s “Exodus: Gods and Kings,” which opens in movie theaters across the country Dec. 12, will include, of course, the most famous of all biblical miracles: the parting of the Red Sea. But its depiction will look quite different from the one in Cecil B. DeMille’s 1956 classic “The Ten Commandments.” In the earlier movie, Charlton Heston as Moses parted the sea into two huge walls of water, between which the children of Israel crossed on a temporarily dry seabed to the opposite shore. Pharaoh’s army of chariots chased after them only to be drowned when Moses signaled for the waters to return.
Mr. Scott has said that his new version of the story will have a more realistic and natural explanation of what happened and won’t rely on Moses to bring forth God’s miraculous intervention. He has decided to have the waters “part” as the result of a tsunami caused by an earthquake. Before a tsunami strikes, coastal waters often recede, leaving the seabed dry before the giant wave arrives.
But there are problems with this version of the story, too. The period during which coastal waters draw back before a tsunami usually lasts only 10 or 20 minutes, too little time to get all the children of Israel across the temporarily dry seabed. Also, there would have been no way for Moses to know that the earthquake and tsunami were going to happen, unless God told him. That’s fine, but then the story would retain some element of the miraculous.
There is a much better natural explanation for how a temporary path across the Red Sea could have been revealed. It involves the tide, a natural phenomenon that would have fit nicely into a well-thought-out plan by Moses, because Moses would have been able to predict when it would happen.
In certain places in the world, the tide can leave the sea bottom dry for hours and then come roaring back. In fact, in 1798, Napoleon Bonaparte and a small group of soldiers on horseback were crossing the Gulf of Suez, the northern end of the Red Sea, roughly where Moses and the Israelites are said to have crossed. On a mile-long expanse of dry sea bottom exposed at low water, the tide suddenly rushed in, almost drowning them.
In the biblical account, the children of Israel were camped on the western shore of the Gulf of Suez when the dust clouds raised by Pharaoh’s chariots were seen in the distance. The Israelites were now trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the Red Sea. The dust clouds, however, were probably an important sign for Moses; they would have let him calculate how soon Pharaoh’s army would arrive at the coast.
Moses had lived in the nearby wilderness in his early years, and he knew where caravans crossed the Red Sea at low tide. He knew the night sky and the ancient methods of predicting the tide, based on where the moon was overhead and how full it was. Pharaoh and his advisers, by contrast, lived along the Nile River, which is connected to the almost tideless Mediterranean Sea. They probably had little knowledge of the tides of the Red Sea and how dangerous they could be.
Knowing when low tide would occur, how long the sea bottom would remain dry and when the waters would rush back in, Moses could plan the Israelites’ escape. Choosing a full moon for their flight would have given them a larger tidal range—that is, the low tide would have been much lower and the sea bottom would have stayed dry longer, giving the Israelites more time to cross. The high tide also would have been higher and thus better for submerging Pharaoh’s pursuing army.
In ‘The Ten Commandments,’ Charlton Heston as Moses parted the sea into two huge walls of water, between which the children of Israel crossed on a temporarily dry seabed to the opposite shore. ENLARGE
In ‘The Ten Commandments,’ Charlton Heston as Moses parted the sea into two huge walls of water, between which the children of Israel crossed on a temporarily dry seabed to the opposite shore. Everett Collection
Timing would have been crucial. The last of the Israelites had to cross the dry sea bottom just before the tide returned, enticing Pharaoh’s army of chariots onto the exposed sea bottom, where they would drown as the returning tidal waters overwhelmed them. If the chariots were expected to arrive before the tide came back in, Moses might have planned some type of delaying tactic. If the chariots were expected to arrive after the tide came back in, he could have gotten the Israelites across and then, at the next low tide, sent a few of his best people back onto the temporarily dry sea bed to entice Pharaoh’s chariots to chase them.
The Bible mentions a strong east wind that blew all night and pushed back the waters. Ocean physics tells us that wind blowing over a shallow waterway pushes back more water than a wind blowing over a deep waterway. If a wind did by chance fortuitously blow before the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, it would have had more effect at low tide than at any other time, uncovering even more sea bottom.
Such a wind would surely have been assigned to divine intervention, and over the centuries, as the story of the Exodus was retold, that aspect would have overshadowed Moses’ careful planning to take advantage of the low tide. But Moses couldn’t have predicted the suddenly beneficial wind, so he couldn’t have based his plan on it. His timing had to be based on a tide prediction.
When Napoleon and his forces almost drowned in 1798 at the northern end of the Gulf of Suez, the water typically rose 5 or 6 feet at high tide (and up to 9 or 10 feet with the wind blowing in the right direction). But there is evidence that the sea level was higher in Moses’ time. As a result, the Gulf of Suez would have extended farther north and had a larger tidal range. If that was indeed the case, the real story of the Israelites’ crossing wouldn’t have needed much exaggeration to include walls of water crashing down on the pursuing Egyptians.
One more piece of evidence is worth citing. As it turns out, my suggestion that Moses could have planned to cross the Red Sea at low tide isn’t entirely new. The ancient author Eusebius of Caesarea (263–339 A.D.) cites two versions of the story of the crossing of the Red Sea as related by the Hellenistic historian Artapanus (80–40 B.C.). One version, told by the people of Heliopolis, is similar to the account in the Bible. But in the second version, told by the people of Memphis, “Moses, being acquainted with the country, waited for the ebb and took the people across the sea when dry.”
If the tide was indeed involved in Moses’ “parting” of the Red Sea, it has to qualify as the most dramatic and consequential tide prediction in history.
—Dr. Parker is the former chief scientist of NOAA’s National Ocean Service and is currently a visiting professor at the Stevens Institute of Technology. He is the author of “The Power of the Sea: Tsunamis, Storm Surges, Rogue Waves, and Our Quest to Predict Disasters.”
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http://www.dennisprager.com/worst-sin/
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“Judge not, lest you be judged”: Misinterpreted Bible Passages #3
September 1, 2009 by Jason A. Staples 42 Comments
*If new to this series, please see the introduction.*
Today we address one of the most quoted and most commonly misinterpreted passages in the Bible, a verse usually cited to mean that people shouldn’t judge one another but meaning something entirely different:
Matthew 7:1–2 Μὴ κρίνετε, ἵνα μὴ κριθῆτε· ἐν ᾧ γὰρ κρίματι κρίνετε κριθήσεσθε, καὶ ἐν ᾧ μέτρῳ μετρεῖτε μετρηθήσεται ὑμῖν.
“Do not judge, so that you will not be judged, since you will be judged in the same judgment that you make, and you will be measured by the same standard you apply.”
Popular Interpretation
This is one of the most quoted verses in the Bible, usually in a context something like this: “Yeah, he cheated on his wife, but who am I to judge? Hey, we’re all sinners, right? Like Jesus said, ‘Judge not, lest you be judged,'” or “Don’t judge me—if you were really a Christian you’d listen to Jesus when he said, ‘judge not.'” That is, the verse is often marshaled in order to defend against any declaration that a given person’s behavior is wrong (quite often marshaled by the person in question). Effectively, when quoted as such, the verse is understood as a prohibition against declaring any specific action sinful or wrong, since doing so would mean “judging” someone.
Hypocrisy, not judgment, is the problem
Often this verse is thrown around after some church figure (like Ted Haggard, for example) is found to be doing the very things he thundered against in the pulpit. “See,” it is said, “he shouldn’t have judged—he’s no better than anyone else.” Though this latter interpretation is often considered to be an extension of the former, the first interpretation entirely misses the point of the passage while the latter one nails it dead center. Despite how it appears if one stops reading after the first verse, this passage in Matthew is not forbidding judgment but hypocrisy. Yet again, we find that a text without a context is a pretext—the primary exegetical fault leading to misinterpretation is neglecting to read closely the surrounding section of a key verse.
Jesus follows up his warning against judgment with an explanation—we will all be judged by the same measure that we use. If we cannot hold to the standard we use, we have no business applying that standard to others. There are two possible responses to this statement: one, operating under the assumption that no one can possibly live up to a high standard, holds to the interpretation mentioned above that no one should ever judge anyone else, since we’re all sinners. The second possibility is that we should all amend our own behavior and live properly before exercising judgment and helping others to do the same.
The former is a popular option in today’s culture, which emphasizes “tolerance” as one of the highest virtues, while the latter is the choice actually made in the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus rebukes the hearer in the verses immediately following the ones we’re discussing,
“Why do you see the splinter in your brother’s eye but do not notice the log in your own eye? … You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly enough to take the splinter out of your brother’s eye.” (7:3, 5)
There are several things to note here: the first is Jesus’ wry observation about perspective. The closer an object gets to the eye, the larger it appears—a splinter from afar is log-sized if it’s in one’s eye. So a fault in one’s own life is a far greater problem than the same fault in another’s life—the opposite of how we tend to think. But the point of the passage is to shut up only until one corrects one’s own life. And, contrary to much subsequent Christian theological development, the Matthean Jesus actually expects that a person can do so, ultimately living in a righteous manner. (This would often be labeled “self-righteousness” today, though it is simply called “righteousness” in Matthew.)
The second thing worthy of note is Jesus point that only after correcting one’s own behavior will one see clearly enough to make adequate judgments and help anyone else correct his/her own behavior. This is a recognition of the human tendency to judge based on our own heart; that is, we tend to see ourselves in others. (The postmodern recognition of essential subjectivity is closely related to this concept.) Just like a man with a splinter in his eye, we see that splinter (only much larger than it really is—as a beam) everywhere we look. If we are arrogant, we tend to see arrogance in other people. If we are cruel, we tend to suspect cruelty in others. If we are lecherous (an outstanding and underused word—isn’t that a great word, “lecherous”? Even better is the noun, “lecher,” as in “you filthy lecher!”), we tend to suspect sexual motives, desires, or behaviors in others. It is extraordinarily hard for us to break out of ourselves enough to truly empathize, seeing from another’s viewpoint, and Jesus makes the case that it is far harder—perhaps impossible—to do so when we are not pure hearted ourselves. As long as we hold to our own faults, we will see them in everyone else. But, as Titus 1:15 says, “to the pure everything is pure.”
So the passage is actually a condemnation of hypocrisy, not judgment. Jesus’ counsel is to tend to our own behavior and attitudes before attempting to help anyone else. If we attempt to judge before doing so, our judgment will be flawed by our own “splinters.” But the passage is in no way forbidding judgment. On the contrary, it asserts that judgment, like charity, begins at home.
It is extraordinarily ironic that this passage therefore condemns those who most vigorously accuse others of “judging,” since they are themselves condemning condemnation—the very hypocrisy the passage condemns! The very judgment they condemn is precisely what they themselves are doing—they see their own splinter in the eyes of those around them. This passage would say to them, “Don’t forbid others from judging while condemning their judgment or right to judge! You hypocrites! Far from forbidding judgment, you have made yourselves the chief justices!” The whole point is that Jesus here rebukes those who judge others for doing what they themselves do—like negatively judging someone for being judgmental.
In the immediately following verse, Jesus requires good judgment: “Don’t give what is holy to the dogs, nor throw your pearls before swine.” Wouldn’t this require identifying who the “dogs” and “swine” are? What about identifying the “wolves in sheep’s clothing,” whom we “will know from their fruits” in 7:15–20? Elsewhere in Matthew (chapter 18), Jesus lays out guidelines for dealing with a “brother who sins,” involving a progression from showing him his error in private to taking the matter before the whole community. In the same vein, Paul repeatedly emphasizes the church’s responsibility to judge its members (though, interestingly, not the world; cf. 1 Cor 5–6, et al.).
A Few Observations and Why It Matters
One thing that is often ignored in the “judge not” discussion is that judgment also involves (in fact starts with) a declaration of what is good. If we do not judge, we cannot praise anything any more than we can condemn it. Judgment involves making the distinction between good, bad, or indifferent, not simply declaring something to be bad. In fact, it is impossible to go through life without judging; every decision we make implies a particular value judgment underlying it. As such, in its common usage, the “don’t judge” mentality often actually means, “judge this as right and good!” While it is true that some things do not require a distinct judgment, others do require a position, and to take no position is to judge it affirmatively (tolerance of adultery is implicit acceptance of it, for example). Surely no one would assume that murder should be ignored and not condemned! Any society abiding by the “don’t judge” mantra would soon devolve into utter chaos.
Secondly, without judgment (and specifically negative judgment), forgiveness is impossible. Forgiveness assumes a previous negative judgment that is superseded by the extension of mercy towards another—and Jesus requires that people forgive one another as they have been forgiven themselves (by God). Again, this both assumes judgment and encourages a merciful response.
Thirdly, the actual message of this passage—deal with one’s own sins before looking at anyone else’s, since good judgment requires a pure heart—is critically important for understanding the rest of Matthew and even the Christian life itself. Likewise, it is critical to understand that Matthew’s Jesus emphasizes repentance and right action and assumes that once these things are in place, good judgment can be made and is in fact necessary. No one should ever let himself/herself be shouted down by cries of “don’t judge,” or accusations of being “self-righteous,” since such quotes out of context do damage to the intent of the passage as a pretext for defending behavior.
In summary, in this passage Jesus warns of the human tendency to judge based on our own faults and flaws. This warning is one that should be considered before any assumption about another’s behavior or intentions. Instead, the passage asserts that we should always examine ourselves first to see if the splinter we see is actually affixed to our own eye—and only if our eye is clean can we trust our judgment enough to begin the process of helping remove the offense from anyone else. This is an incredibly important point, both emphasizing the importance of good judgment and the steps necessary to acquire it.
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http://blogs.ancestry.com/cm/2014/07/01/there-are-7-types-of-english-surnames-which-one-is-yours/?utm_source=taboola&utm_medium=referral&o_xid=62183&o_lid=62183&o_sch=Content+Marketing
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http://www.mercatornet.com/articles/view/god-reason-and-our-civilizational-crisis
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The Clintons give new meaning to the phrase "criminal lawyer".
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Accidental Talmudist
March 10, 2014 ·
A poor Jew finds a wallet with $700 in it. At his synagogue, he reads a notice saying that a wealthy congregant lost his wallet and is offering a $100 reward for it. He spots the owner and gives him the wallet.
The rich man counts the money and says, "I see you already took your reward."
The poor man answers, "What?"
"This wallet had $800 in it when I lost it."
They begin arguing, and eventually come before the rabbi.
Both state their case. The rich man concludes by saying, "Rabbi, I trust you believe ME."
The rabbi says, "Of course," and the rich man smiles. The poor man is crushed.
Then the rabbi hands the wallet to the poor man.
"What are you doing?!" yells the rich man.
The rabbi answers, "You are, of course, an honest man, and you say the wallet you lost had $800 in it. Therefore I'm sure it did. But if the man who found this wallet is a liar and a thief, he wouldn't have returned it at all. Which means that this wallet must belong to somebody else. If that man steps forward, he'll get the money. Until then, it belongs to the man who found it."
"What about my money?" the rich man asks.
"Well, we'll just have to wait until somebody finds a wallet with $800 in it..."
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We Are What We Remember Elul 17, 5776 • September 20, 2016
By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
Print this Page | Read Online
One reason religion has survived in the modern world despite four centuries of secularization is that it answers the three questions every reflective human being will ask at some time in his or her life: Who am I? Why am I here? How then shall I live?
These cannot be answered by the four great institutions of the modern West: science, technology, the market economy and the liberal democratic state. Science tells us how but not why. Technology gives us power but cannot tell us how to use that power. The market
Who am I? Why am I here? How then shall I live?
gives us choices but does not tell us which choices to make. The liberal democratic state as a matter of principle holds back from endorsing any particular way of life. The result is that contemporary culture sets before us an almost infinite range of possibilities, but does not tell us who we are, why we are here, and how we should live.
Yet these are fundamental questions. Moses’ first question to G d in their first encounter at the burning bush was “Who am I?” The plain sense of the verse is that it was a rhetorical question: Who am I to undertake the extraordinary task of leading an entire people to freedom? But beneath the plain sense was a genuine question of identity. Moses had been brought up by an Egyptian princess, the daughter of Pharaoh. When he rescued Jethro’s daughters from the local Midianite shepherds, they went back and told their father, “An Egyptian man delivered us.” Moses looked and spoke like an Egyptian.
He then married Zipporah, one of Jethro’s daughters, and spent decades as a Midianite shepherd. The chronology is not entirely clear but since he was a relatively young man when he went to Midian and was eighty years old when he started leading the Israelites, he spent most of his adult life with his Midianite father-in-law, tending his sheep. So when he asked G d, “Who am I?” beneath the surface there was a real question. Am I an Egyptian, a Midianite, or a Jew?
By upbringing he was an Egyptian, by experience he was a Midianite. Yet what proved decisive was his ancestry. He was a descendant of Abraham, the child of Amram and Yocheved. When he asked G d his second question, “Who are you?” G d first told him, “I will be what I will be.” But then he gave him a second answer:
Say to the Israelites, ‘The L rd, the G d of your fathers—the G d of Abraham, the G d of Isaac and the G d of Jacob—has sent me to you.’ This is My name forever, the name you shall call Me from generation to generation.
Here too there is a double sense. On the surface G d was telling Moses what to tell the Israelites when they asked, “Who sent you to us?” But at a deeper level the Torah is telling us about the nature of identity. The answer to the question, “Who am I?” is not simply a matter of where I was born, where I spent my childhood or my adult life or of which country I am a citizen. Nor is it answered in terms of what I do for a living, or what are my interests and passions. These things are about where I am and what I am but not who I am.
G d’s answer – I am the G d of your fathers – suggests some fundamental propositions. First, identity runs through genealogy. It is a matter of who my parents were, who their parents were and so on. This is not always true. There are adopted children. There are children who make a conscious break from their parents. But for most of us, identity lies in uncovering the story of our ancestors, which, in the case of Jews, given the unparalleled dislocations of Jewish life, is almost always a tale of journeys, courage, suffering or escapes from suffering, and sheer endurance.
Second, the genealogy itself tells a story. Immediately after telling Moses to tell the people he had been sent by the G d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, G d continued:
“Go, assemble the elders of Israel and say to them, ‘The L rd, the G d of your fathers—the G d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob—appeared to me and said: I have watched over you and have seen what has been done to you in Egypt. And I have promised to bring you up out of your misery in Egypt into the land of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites—a land flowing with milk and honey.’
It was not simply that G d was the G d of their ancestors. He was also the G d who made certain promises: that he would bring from slavery to freedom, from exile to the Promised Land. The Israelites were part of a narrative extended over time. They were part of an unfinished story, and G d was about to write the next chapter.
What is more, when G d told Moses that he was the G d of the Israelites’ ancestors, he added, “This is My eternal name, this is how I am to be recalled [zikhri] from generation to generation.” G d was here saying that he is beyond time – “This is my eternal name” – but when it comes to human understanding, he lives within time, “from generation to generation.” The way he does this is through the handing on of memory: “This is how I am to be recalled.” Identity is not just a matter of who my parents were. It is also a matter of what they remembered and handed on to me. Personal identity is
Group identity is formed by collective memory
shaped by individual memory. Group identity is formed by collective memory. 1
All of this is by way of prelude to a remarkable law in today’s parsha. It tells us that first-fruits were to be taken to “the place G d chooses,” i.e. Jerusalem. They were to be handed to the priest, and each was to make the following declaration:
“My father was a wandering Aramean, and he went down into Egypt with a few people and lived there and became a great, powerful and populous nation. The Egyptians mistreated us and made us suffer, subjecting us to harsh labor. Then we cried out to the L rd, the G d of our ancestors, and the L rd heard our voice and saw our suffering, our harsh labor and out distress. The L rd then brought us out of Egypt with a strong hand and an outstretched arm, with great fearsomeness and with signs and wonders. He brought us to this place and gave us this land flowing with milk and honey. I am now bringing the first-fruits of the soil that you, L rd, have given me.” (Deuteronomy 26: 5-10)
We know this passage because, at least since Second Temple times it has been a central part of the Haggadah, the story we tell at the Seder table. But note that it was originally to be said on bringing firstfruits, which was not on Pesach. Usually it was done on Shavuot.
What makes this law remarkable is this: We would expect, when celebrating the soil and its produce, to speak of the G d of nature. But this text is not about nature. It is about history. It is about a distant ancestor, a “wandering Aramean.” It is the story of our ancestors. It is a narrative explaining why I am here, and why the people to whom I belong is what it is and where it is. There was nothing remotely like this in the ancient world, and there is nothing quite like it today. As Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi said in his classic book Zakhor,2 Jews were the first people to see G d in history, the first to see an overarching meaning in history, and the first to make memory a religious duty.
That is why Jewish identity has proven to be the most tenacious the world has ever known: the only identity ever sustained by a minority dispersed throughout the world for two thousand years, one that eventually led Jews back to the land and state of Israel, turning Hebrew, the language of the Bible, into a living speech again after a lapse of many centuries in which it was used only for poetry and prayer. We are what we remember, and the first-fruits declaration was a way of ensuring that Jews would never forget.
In the past few years, a spate of books has appeared in the United States asking whether the American story is still being told, still being taught to children, still framing a story that speaks to all its citizens, reminding successive generations of the battles that had to be fought for there to be a “new birth of freedom,” and the virtues needed for liberty to be sustained.3 The sense of crisis in each of these works is palpable, and though the authors come from very different positions in the political spectrum, their thesis is roughly the same: If you forget the story, you will lose your identity. There is such a thing as a
Who we are depends on what we remember
national equivalent of Alzheimer’s. Who we are depends on what we remember, and in the case of the contemporary West, a failure of collective memory poses a real and present danger to the future of liberty.
Jews have told the story of who we are for longer and more devotedly than any other people on the face of the earth. That is what makes Jewish identity so rich and resonant. In an age in which computer and smartphone memories have grown so fast, from kilobytes to megabytes to gigabytes, while human memories have become so foreshortened, there is an important Jewish message to humanity as a whole. You can’t delegate memory to machines. You have to renew it regularly and teach it to the next generation. Winston Churchill said: “The longer you can look back, the further you can see forward.” 4 Or to put it slightly differently: Those who tell the story of their past have already begun to build their children’s future.
FOOTNOTES
1.
The classic works on group memory and identity are Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, University of Chicago Press, 1992, and Jacques le Goff, History and Memory, Columbia University Press, 1992.
2.
Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory. University of Washington Press, 1982. See also Lionel Kochan, The Jew and His History, London, Macmillan, 1977.
3.
Among the most important of these are Charles Murray, Coming Apart, Crown, 2013; Robert Putnam, Our Kids, Simon and Shuster, 2015; Os Guinness, A Free People’s Suicide, IVP, 2012; Eric Metaxas, If You Can Keep It, Viking, 2016; and Yuval Levin, The Fractured Republic, Basic Books, 2016.
4.
Chris Wrigley, Winston Churchill: a biographical companion, Santa Barbara, 2002, xxiv.
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https://www.facebook.com/prageru/videos/1010033059039550/?hc_ref=NEWSFEED
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http://www.accidentaltalmudist.org/#intro
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So I was at a Las Vegas area buffet last night. There were various sections of differing cusines. Under the American section, there was brisket, potato latkes, potato and apple kugel and other similar foods. First time I had a latke and kugel. The sign said matzo ball soup, but I didn't find it.
This seems meaningful to me.
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http://www.artofmanliness.com/2017/02/20/cant-return-eden/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+TheArtOfManliness+%28The+Art+of+Manliness%29&mc_cid=cd8dfb18cc&mc_eid=d095873e37
You Can’t Return to Eden
By Brett and Kate McKay on Feb 20, 2017 12:46 pm
Though one of the first Europeans to explore Tahiti, Louis-Antoine de Bougainville, only stayed on the island for about ten days, he was thoroughly impressed with what appeared to be a true paradise on earth. The natives, he observed, were graceful in movement, gentle in disposition, generous in spirit, and peaceful at heart. They seemed to live in a state of childlike innocence — free from shame and modesty, open in their sexuality and nakedness, living only for pleasure and love. Bougainville saw them as untainted by the artificial mores of civilization — the very picture of the “noble savage” ideal then being celebrated back on the continent.
Tahiti’s environment itself was similarly inviting — the surroundings were verdant, the climate temperate, the days sunlit, and the food not only plentiful, but seemingly easy to gather and harvest. “I thought,” Bougainville wrote, “I was transported into the Garden of Eden.”
Even more than a century after the French explorer’s stay in 1768, and the observations of subsequent visitors who noted that Tahiti’s inhabitants were not always as peaceable as they seemed nor its resources as plenteous, travel and fiction literature continued to paint the island as an oasis of innocence, beauty, and easy abundance. Said one such leaflet:
“Born where there is no winter, in a country where the soil is richly fertile, the Tahitians have only to lift their hands in order to harvest the bread-fruits and wild bananas which form their staple food. Consequently, they have no need to work and the fishing which they carry on for the sake of a little variety in their diet is more a pleasure which they indulge in gladly…In this land where misery is unknown and labor needless…everyone has his place in the sun and in the shade, his place in the water, and his sustenance in the wood.”
One who was intrigued by this alluring description of an earthly paradise was the French artist Paul Gaugin, who saw in Tahiti a chance for a fresh start — the opportunity to throw off “everything that is artificial and conventional” and sustain himself on the fruits of an abundant garden; “There in Tahiti in the silence of the lovely topical night,” he dreamed, “[I will be] free at last, with no money troubles, and able to love, to sing and to die.”
Gaugin left his wife and children for the island in 1891, but found his destination was not quite the bountiful idyll he had imagined — that even the temperate climate had both seasons of plenty and seasons of greater scarcity, and that it was more difficult to live off the land than reaching up to grab a banana or pulling netfuls of fish from well-stocked lagoons. As he lamented, even in Tahiti, food didn’t fall into one’s lap without some effort:
“[Nature] is rich, she is generous, she refuses to no one who will ask his share of her treasures of which she has inexhaustible reserves in the trees, in the mountains, in the sea. But one must know how to climb tall trees, how to go into the mountains, in order to return weighed down with heavy booty…One must know how, one must be able to do things.”
Gaugin was not the first man to go off seeking paradise only to be disappointed in the reality he found. And he certainly won’t be the last.
Mankind has not given up on its search for a “Tahiti” — a place of plenty where one can live in innocent idleness, having every need met without labor or toil. And there remain innumerable companies and ads that seek to capitalize on this universal human desire — the longing not just to literally journey to a location where the living’s easy, but to achieve an unburdened, unstressed psychological state. Such hawkers of attainable paradise may not produce leaflets trumpeting the wonders of Tahiti, but the promise being offered is very much the same: use this gadget, employ this hack, take this lifestyle design course, and you can return to Eden. You can earn money without work, eat whatever you want without gaining weight, love whoever you will without consequence.
Underneath the allure of all these promises — at the bottom of this ache for utopia — lies a desire to return to youth, to restore the responsibility-free life that was forfeited in the process of growing up.
Yet no matter how much one seeks this left behind paradise, there’s no going back to Eden.
By the Sweat of Your Brow
The story of Adam and Eve is common to all of the world’s Abrahamic religions, and its influence is infused throughout cultures around the world. Some see the story as absolute scripture, as literally true. Others see it only as literature, as myth. Between, and in-between the two camps, multiple interpretations of the story have been forwarded — some which view its meaning not, or not only as, a carrier of spiritual/theological truths, but as a symbolic meditation on human psychology.
Arguably the most compelling of these interpretations, in my view, has been advanced by scholars who see the story of Adam and Eve as a metaphor for maturation.
In this view, the innocent state in which Adam and Eve originally exist corresponds to the innocence that all children inhabit. Just like kids, Adam and Eve initially do not know they are naked nor feel shame in their bare bodies. And just like kids, the pair’s responsibilities are light. Adam is tasked with working and taking care of this “garden eastward in Eden,” but his surroundings seem to be so lush, that one does not imagine his duties being particularly laborious; his father has provided an abundance of fruit trees from which Adam and Eve can simply pluck their daily sustenance. All their needs are taken care of by a loving parent.
There’s one tree in the garden Adam and Eve can’t eat from, however — that which bears the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. Ignorant of these two moral poles, they have never made a real mistake, but also have never been tempted to sin, nor had to make a fully autonomous choice between right and wrong. As the parent of young children, Adam and Eve’s father wants to protect them from the brunt of that struggle, knowing that with more knowledge comes more responsibility — weightier consequences for choices — and that they aren’t yet ready to make all their own decisions.
Unlike in the traditional Christian interpretation of the story in which God wishes to keep Adam and Eve from the tree of knowledge indefinitely, however, in looking at it as a metaphor for maturation, the father knows that his children will eventually partake of its fruit, and he both dreads that day, and yet understands its necessity in their future happiness.
Like all parents, he wrestles with dueling impulses: on the one hand, he wants his kids to stay innocent, safe, and close to him forever; but on the other, he knows that they can’t grow or progress unless they separate from him, gain knowledge, and learn to exercise moral agency on their own. Hence his conflicting commandments: he tells Adam and Eve not to eat the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil…but he also tells them to multiply. Some readers have felt that this latter commandment could not have been fulfilled by Adam and Eve without their first breaking the former, and thus becoming awakened to their nakedness, their sexuality — their desire for each other. Here then is a father who doesn’t want his kids to get older, but knows they must to fulfill their potential, and to follow his pattern in having children themselves. It’s a fractured feeling every parent has experienced: “Don’t grow up!” “Please grow up!”
It is Eve who first recognizes that “the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom” and who first partakes of it — no surprise, since girls mature before boys do. Adam, still in the prepubescent “Girls are yucky” phase, has to be coaxed into the transgression, but he too comes to see that eating the fruit is the only way forward. The pair recognize their nakedness and their first feelings of shame — they have entered adolescence and discovered their sexuality. They will begin to individuate from their father, and make more and more of their own choices.
Their father, in turn, mourns when he realizes this fact and recognizes his children have become sexualized beings and are growing up — and away from him. He disgorges the consequences that lie down the path they are heading — onerous toil and painful childbirth — which, while often seen as punishments in the traditional interpretation of the story, are here read as descriptive rather than prescriptive; i.e., this is just how adulthood is — here’s what to expect.
Adam and Eve have just begun the journey to growing up, and they need to learn even more by striking out on their own. It’s time for them to leave the Garden of Eden. But the rupture between Adam and Eve and their father is hardly total. He makes garments of skin to protect them as they set out for the “real world.” And while they no longer walk with their father daily as they did in the garden, they continue to speak with him as they venture outside it. They’re still made in his image.
As Adam and Eve continue to grow up, they’ll make mistakes, and the consequences will sometimes sting — as will the thorns and thistles they encounter in their work. Sometimes Adam will resent the sweat that forms on his brow as he tries to make a life for him and Eve. Sometimes he will be homesick for Eden. But while the line of communication and mentoring between children and father remains intact, there is ultimately no going back for Adam. The way is barred by cherubim and a flaming sword; regression to an infantile state isn’t possible. Or even desirable.
Not if he wants to continue to grow. Not if he wants to become who he is. There are lessons he can only learn outside the garden.
Seen through a theological lens, the story of Adam and Eve might be an explanation for how sin entered the world. But seen another way, it might not only describe a fall from spiritual grace, but a rise to earthly moral agency — an allegory of the challenge all mortals face in separating from their parents, asserting their own will, and growing up.
Heeding the Cherubim and a Flaming Sword
I like to think of this layer of meaning on the Adam and Eve story when I’m putting my children to bed at night. The lights are low, their beds are cozy, and I’m often tired. Knowing I have a few more hours of work to do before I get to turn in, I sometimes want to just crawl under the covers with them, sleep as long as I desire, and wake up to another day of playing and making crafts at school. I want to be six again.
But then I think of the cherubim and their flaming sword, and I am comforted to remember that one of humanity’s oldest texts foretold this feeling thousands of years ago. That it’s universal and timeless and millions upon millions have felt and overcome it before.
I remember in that moment that wish as I might, there’s no going back to Eden, and that even if there was, I wouldn’t want to. That the search for a hack to get there, or some secret vacation spot where it’s hiding is not only fruitless, but counterproductive in reaching my goal of learning as much as possible and maximizing my full potential before I die.
I remember that childhood is full of innocence, but also ignorance; that knowledge brings freedom and autonomy, but also responsibility, and that responsibility brings burdens. And I try to welcome them as grounding counterbalances in a life that would otherwise be marked by empty weightlessness. I try to find the ways in which the sweat of my brow is not vindictive but redemptive.
I remind myself that while I desire to be taken care of, such care would exact a price in my autonomy and ability to be an independent moral agent. That you can only meaningfully say yes, if you’re fully able to say no. When the urge to crawl back into the womb is strong, I remember that while it’s warm and safe in that idyll, there’s almost no room to turn and move and stretch out.
The story of Adam and Eve can teach us that while there is pleasure in tending to another’s creations, there’s more pleasure in creating ourselves. It can teach us that there can be no growth without opposition, no sweet without the bitter. That you can’t choose good without knowing evil. That though thorns and thistles only grow outside the garden, the same is true of character.
So I thank the cherubim for barring the way, and I remember that paradise can be created where you are, at whatever age, and that growing up can be a wonderful upwards fall.
The post You Can’t Return to Eden appeared first on The Art of Manliness.
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A Eulogy for Alex
By Brett & Kate McKay on Mar 18, 2017 09:11 pm
Editor’s note: Ten days after his son, Alex, drove off a bridge and was killed in a car accident, Reverend William Sloane Coffin delivered the following sermon to his congregation at Riverside Church in New York City.
I was first introduced to this sermon years ago in a college communications course, and I have thought of it with surprising regularity ever since. Its presence in my mind has been so frequent, especially recently after the loss of a dear friend, that I finally decided to share it here. Not because our diverse readership will agree with all of its theological underpinnings, but because I think it offers wise advice on what to say (and not say) when someone dies tragically, a poignant window on the human experience, and a lesson in the art of effective rhetoric (hence why we were discussing it in a communications class). It’s just one of those things I think is worth a read by all. Actually, it’s even more worth a listen; it’s considerably more powerful in the oral form in which it was delivered, and the audio can be accessed here.
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As almost all of you know, a week ago last Monday night, driving in a terrible storm, my son — Alexander — who to his friends was a real day-brightener, and to his family “fair as a star when only one is shining in the sky” — my twenty-four-year-old Alexander, who enjoyed beating his old man at every game and in every race, beat his father to the grave.
Among the healing flood of letters that followed his death was one carrying this wonderful quote from the end of Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms:
“The world breaks everyone, then some become strong at the broken places.”
My own broken heart is mending, and largely thanks to so many of you, my dear parishioners; for if in the last week I have relearned one lesson, it is that love not only begets love, it transmits strength.
When a person dies, there are many things that can be said, and there is at least one thing that should never be said. The night after Alex died I was sitting in the living room of my sister’s house outside of Boston, when the front door opened and in came a nice-looking, middle-aged woman, carrying about eighteen quiches. When she saw me, she shook her head, then headed for the kitchen, saying sadly over her shoulder, “I just don’t understand the will of God.” Instantly I was up and in hot pursuit, swarming all over her. “I’ll say you don’t, lady!” I said.
For some reason, nothing so infuriates me as the incapacity of seemingly intelligent people to get it through their heads that God doesn’t go around this world with his fingers on triggers, his fists around knives, his hands on steering wheels. God is dead set against all unnatural deaths. And Christ spent an inordinate amount of time delivering people from paralysis, insanity, leprosy, and muteness. Which is not to say that there are no nature-caused deaths — I can think of many right here in this parish in the five years I’ve been here — deaths that are untimely and slow and pain-ridden, which for that reason raise unanswerable questions, and even the specter of a Cosmic Sadist — yes, even an Eternal Vivisector. But violent deaths, such as the one Alex died — to understand those is a piece of cake. As his younger brother put it simply, standing at the head of the casket at the Boston funeral, “You blew it, buddy. You blew it.” The one thing that should never be said when someone dies is “It is the will of God.” Never do we know enough to say that. My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.
I mentioned the healing flood of letters. Some of the very best, and easily the worst, knew their Bibles better than the human condition. I know all the “right” biblical passages, including “Blessed are those who mourn,” and my faith is no house of rest, came from fellow reverends, a few of whom proved they knew their cards; these passages are true, I know. But the point is this. While the words of the Bible are true, grief renders them unreal. The reality of grief is the absence of God — “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” The reality of grief is the solitude of pain, the feeling that your heart is in pieces, your mind’s a blank, that “there is no joy the world can give like that it takes away.” (Lord Byron).
That’s why immediately after such a tragedy people must come to your rescue, people who only want to hold your hand, not to quote anybody or even say anything, people who simply bring food and flowers — the basics of beauty and life — people who sign letters simply, “Your brokenhearted sister.” In other words, in my intense grief I felt some of my fellow reverends — not many, and none of you, thank God — were using comforting words of Scripture for self-protection, to pretty up a situation whose bleakness they simply couldn’t face. But like God herself, Scripture is not around for anyone’s protection, just for everyone’s unending support.
And that’s what hundreds of you understood so beautifully. You gave me what God gives all of us — minimum protection, maximum support. I swear to you, I wouldn’t be standing here were I not upheld.
After the death of his wife, C.S. Lewis wrote, “They say ‘the coward dies many times’; so does the beloved. Didn’t the eagle find a fresh liver to tear in Prometheus every time it dined?”
When parents die, as my mother did last month, they take with them a large portion of the past. But when children die, they take away the future as well. That is what makes the valley of the shadow of death seem so incredibly dark and unending. In a prideful way it would be easier to walk the valley alone, nobly, head high, instead of — as we must — marching as the latest recruit in the world’s army of the bereaved.
Still there is much by way of consolation. Because there are no rankling unanswered questions, and because Alex and I simply adored each other, the wound for me is deep, but clean. I know how lucky I am! I also know this day-brightener of a son wouldn’t wish to be held close by grief (nor, for that matter, would any but the meanest of our beloved departed) and that, interestingly enough, when I mourn Alex least I see him best.
Another consolation, of course, will be the learning — which better be good, given the price. But it’s a fact: few of us are naturally profound. We have to be forced down. So while trite, it’s true:
I walked a mile with Pleasure,
She chattered all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.
I walked a mile with Sorrow
And ne’er a word said she;
But the things I learned from her
But oh, the things I learned from her
When sorrow walked with me.
–Robert Browning Hamilton
Or, in Emily Dickinson’s verse:
By a departing light
We see acuter quite
Than by a wick that stays.
There’s something in the flight
That clarifies the sight
And decks the rays.
And of course I know, even when pain is deep, that God is good. “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Yes, but at least, “My God, my God”; and the psalm only begins that way, it doesn’t end that way. As the grief that once seemed unbearable begins to turn now to bearable sorrow, the truths in the “right” biblical passages are beginning, once again, to take hold: “Cast thy burden upon the Lord and He shall strengthen thee”; “Weeping may endure for the night but joy cometh in the morning”; “Lord, by thy favor thou hast made my mountain to stand strong”; “For thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling”; “In this world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world”; “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
And finally I know that when Alex beat me to the grave, the finish line was not Boston Harbor in the middle of the night. If a week ago last Monday, a lamp went out, it was because, for him at least, the Dawn had come.
So I shall — so let us all — seek consolation in that love which never dies, and find peace in the dazzling grace that always is.
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1) Who you are;
2) What you do;
3) For whom you do it;
4) What those people want and need;
5) How they change as a result.
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From Australia
https://www.mercatornet.com/above/view/god-writes-straight-with-crooked-lines/20733?utm_source=MercatorNet&utm_campaign=bf3af63726-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2017_11_20&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_e581d204e2-bf3af63726-124674163
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How Billy Graham Changed My Life
I met him in 1985. His care and his teachings began my faith walk—and helped me quit drinking.
Lunch with Rev. Billy Graham at the White House.
Lunch with Rev. Billy Graham at the White House. Photo: White House Photo by Eric Draper/Courtesy George W. Bush Presidential Library & Museum
By George W. Bush
Feb. 23, 2018 6:18 p.m. ET
334 COMMENTS
Billy Graham was, with C.S. Lewis, one of the 20th century’s most influential figures in evangelicalism. I never had the honor of meeting Lewis, but I did know Billy, who died last week at 99. He changed my life.
I first met him on my grandmother’s porch in Kennebunkport, Maine, in 1985. In her 80s, she was frail but sharp. They sat together and Billy held her hand while talking about the Bible. Later she described it as one of the most peaceful days of her life.
Soon after, I had my own personal encounter with Billy. As I wrote in “Decision Points,” he asked me to go for a walk with him around Walker’s Point. I was captivated by him. He had a powerful presence, full of kindness and grace, and a keen mind. He asked about my life in Texas. I talked to him about Laura and our little girls.
Then I mentioned something I’d been thinking about for a while—that reading the Bible might help make me a better person. He told me about one of the Bible’s most fundamental lessons: One should strive to be better, but we’re all sinners who earn God’s love not through our good deeds, but through His grace. It was a profound concept, one I did not fully grasp that day. But Billy had planted a seed. His thoughtful explanation made the soil less hard, the brambles less thick.
Shortly after we got back to Texas, a package from Billy arrived. It was a copy of the Living Bible. He had inscribed it and included a reference to Philippians 1:6: “And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.”
God’s work within me began in earnest with Billy’s outreach. His care and his teachings were the real beginning of my faith walk—and the start of the end of my drinking. I couldn’t have given up alcohol on my own. But in 1986, at 40, I finally found the strength to quit. That strength came from love I had felt from my earliest days and from faith I didn’t fully discover until my later years.
I was also fortunate to witness Billy’s remarkable capacity to minister to everyone he met. When I was governor of Texas, I sat behind Billy at one of his crusades in San Antonio. His powerful message of God’s love moved people to tears and motivated hundreds to come forward to commit themselves to Christ. I remember thinking about all the crusades Billy had led over the years around the world, and his capacity to open up hearts to Jesus. This good man was truly a shepherd of the Lord.
Perhaps his most meaningful service came on Sept. 14, 2001. After the 9/11 attacks, I asked Billy to lead the ecumenical service at Washington National Cathedral. It was no easy task. America was on bended knee—frightened, angry, uncertain. As only Billy Graham could, he helped us feel God’s arms wrapped around our mourning country.
“We come together today,” he began, “to affirm our conviction that God cares for us, whatever our ethnic, religious or political background may be. The Bible says that he is ‘the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles.’ ” God comforted a nation that day through a very special servant.
In a difficult moment, Billy reminded me—and us all—where we can find strength. And he helped us start to heal by offering three lessons: the mystery and reality of evil, our need for each other, and hope for the present and future. “As a Christian,” Graham said at the 9/11 service, “I have hope, not just for this life, but for heaven and the life to come.”
A final story: One night while dad was away on a trip during his presidency, mother and I had dinner at the White House. Eventually we got to talking about religion and who gets to go to heaven. I made the point that the New Testament says clearly that to get to heaven, one must believe in Christ. Mother asked about the devout who don’t believe in Jesus but do God’s work by serving others. She then took advantage of one of the benefits of being first lady. She picked up the phone and asked the White House operator to call Reverend Graham.
It wasn’t long before his reassuring Southern voice was on the line. He told us, as I recall, “Barbara and George, I believe what is written in the New Testament. But don’t play God. He decides who goes to heaven, not you.” Any doctrinal certitude gave way to a calm trust that God had this figured out better than I did.
Those of us who were blessed to know Billy Graham benefited from his deep convictions and personal example, his wisdom and humility, his grace and purity of heart. We knew that his life was a gift from the Almighty. And I rejoice that he is now in the company of God, whom he loved so much and served so well.
Mr. Bush was the 43rd president of the United States.
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Print • Read Online
The Gift of Forgiveness
By Yisroel Susskind
"Resentment is an acid that damages its container."
From my perspective as a family therapist, the greatest treasure in our Torah-inheritance is the instruction to free ourselves of anger and resentment, especially in dealing with close relationships. Literally hundreds of sources in Jewish writings over the ages warn us that sustained anger is forbidden, destructive and ultimately irrational. The Biblical injunction is found in Leviticus 19:17-19: "You shall not hate your brother in your heart…You shall not take revenge and you shall not bear a grudge."
Suddenly, the relative dies, and the man's love, long masked by a veneer of anger, erupts into awareness...
The Talmud goes on to note that "anyone who foregoes revenge merits that G-d forgives all of his sins."1 It further advises2 that G d loves a person "who does not get angry … and who does not insist on his due measure." Maimonides goes further,3 requiring a person to "wipe the wrong from his heart entirely, without remembering it at all." A contemporary psychologist will paraphrase this as "The challenge of relinquishing anger presents an incredible opportunity for personal growth."
Does this mean that we should be passive victims in the face of abuse? Absolutely not! The very same Biblical portion cited above tells us that we must verbally confront someone who has wronged us, in order to avoid hating him in our heart. We must do so directly and emphatically, but without hatred and without destroying the relationship. Similarly, we have an obligation to protect ourselves and not put ourselves in a vulnerable position where the offense may be repeated. At the same time, we need to do so without speaking hostilely or taking an action that goes beyond self-protection, without vengeance, or withdrawing into a cold, judgmental contempt, or prolonged silence.
Many counselors report a recurring tragic family scenario: Over the years, a man has maintained an angry distance from a relative (a parent, child or sibling). Suddenly, the relative dies, and the man's love, long masked by a veneer of anger, erupts into awareness and the man is racked by regret and guilt. "How could I have wasted these years, when I could have….?"
Traditional Jewish philosophy offers us some protection from such tragedy. Torah says: 1) Do not believe that you cannot forgive…it is always your task to achieve forgiveness; 2) understand that anger and resentment are sustained by irrational thoughts…if you deeply examine your anger, you will identify and correct these cognitive distortions; 3) there is a negative force in the world that seeks to destroy closeness…that force is the source of those irrational thoughts; 4) in personal relationships, underneath anger there is hurt, fear and most importantly, a need to love and be loved.
Consider reaching out to someone in a spirit of loving forgiveness. May it be that, in the merit of your doing so, G d chooses to reach out to us with the ultimate gift, bringing in the era of Moshiach.
FOOTNOTES
1.
Tractate Yoma 22b-23a.
2.
Tractate Pesachim 113b.
3.
Laws of De'ot 7:7.
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https://www.elephantjournal.com/2018/04/a-new-definition-of-god-that-will-change-how-you-think-about-religion/?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=The%20Daily%20Mindful%20April%2026th%20-%20Academy%20Banners&utm_content=The%20Daily%20Mindful%20April%2026th%20-%20Academy%20Banners+Version+B+CID_b2802c6e4c9f5c5d6cc3c5b8c72ef721&utm_source=Email%20Marketing&utm_term=READ
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https://allpoetry.com/Desiderata---Words-for-Life
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https://ericconn.com/hard-men-world-softness/
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I realize most of the posts are in relation to scripture but I thought this may be worthy post in regards to the power of words.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGEeJy18elE
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https://ericconn.com/hard-men-world-softness/
Love this article.
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C-Kumu:
Scripture not necessary for posts on this thread, your post is perfectly in keeping with the concept of this thread.
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From a letter by the Rebbe:
I do not accept your assertion that you do not believe.
For if you truly had no concept of a Supernal Being who created the world with purpose, then what is all this outrage of yours against the injustice of life?
The substance of the universe is not moral, nor are plants and animals. Why should it surprise you that whoever is bigger and more powerful swallows his fellow alive?
It is only due to an inner conviction in our hearts, shared by every human being, that there is a Judge, that there is right and there is wrong. And so, when we see a wrong, we demand an explanation: Why is this not the way it is supposed to be?
That itself is belief in God.
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December 23, 2022
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Two Holidays
By: George Friedman
Editor’s note: As we approach the end of the year, now is the perfect time to reflect on what the holiday season means to us – and to so many others. Wherever you are and whomever you're with, we hope the following piece, which originally published last year, finds you happy and healthy. From all of us at GPF, happy holidays to you and yours.
This week we are celebrating two holidays in our house: Hanukkah and Christmas. In the United States, Hanukkah has become an elongated Christmas focused on gift-giving. The true meaning of Hanukkah is lost, with most not understanding that they are celebrating victory in a brutal war between the Seleucids, heirs of the Alexandrian Empire, and a faction of the Jews who also engaged in a civil war against other Jews. This happened almost two centuries before Christ (167-160 B.C.).
There was a war between Damascus and Jerusalem. The Seleucids wanted to control the Mediterranean, so they needed to take Egypt. In order to do that they had to take today’s Lebanon and Israel. They succeeded, but the further expansion of the empire fell victim to a Jewish rising. The Seleucids had imposed laws on the conquest of Israel that required Jews to adopt Greek culture, and that included placing a statue of Zeus in the temple. Many Jews, preferring to be left alive, adopted these customs, some retaining hidden Jewish beliefs, others leaving it all behind.
But a faction led by a charismatic figure called Judah Maccabee (Hebrew for “hammer”) was revolted by this. Maccabee launched a war against the occupation and simultaneously against Jews who had capitulated to Greek sensuality. He waged a brilliant guerrilla war against the Seleucids, designed to cut lines of supply and communication between Damascus and Jerusalem. He also carried out a civil war against Jews who had adopted Greek beliefs. Maccabee was a charismatic figure who riveted the Jews, a superb strategist and tactician, and a fanatic waging a ruthless civil war against Jews who strayed from the path.
Hanukkah is the celebration of the defeat of the Seleucids and the occupation of Jerusalem. The story is told that, to purify and rededicate the temple, a lamp had to burn purified oil for eight nights. However, the Jews had enough oil for only one night. God wrought a miracle by allowing the lamp to burn for the full eight nights. Hence, the custom of lighting candles on eight successive nights.
The point is that the Americanization of Hanukkah adopted the custom of excessive gift-giving, and forgot that the holiday is a celebration of a particularly bloody war. Judah Maccabee is remembered for his strength. For example, the Israeli sports festival, the Maccabiah Games, is named after him. Others might call him a brilliant if bloodthirsty maniac, but I won’t. The Jews faced a geopolitical crisis as the Seleucids tried to recreate the Alexandrian Empire, and the Jews were in their path. Using superior knowledge of the terrain, and superb psychology to unite the Jews, the Jews stopped the Syrians (as they are called today) cold. Either version is defensible, but I like mine better, as it points to other battles between Damascus and Jerusalem, demonstrating my historical model. It also shows the power of America over the most stubborn of souls – Jewish ones.
In our home, we have another religious festival: Christmas. I was 38 years old when first I lived in a house that celebrated Christmas, filled with pagan symbols of the winter solstice, like Christmas trees, boughs of holly and fake snow. My wife was raised a Seventh-day Adventist. People of this faith celebrate their Sabbath on Saturday and lay claim to being the heirs of the Jews. This is, of course, impossible because the Adventists have not waged any serious military operations at this point and no one is boycotting them.
I was in a sense horrified at the sight of the tree, awaiting the wrath of the Maccabees, or at least a jagged comment from my mother, who liked my new wife but would have been appalled at a Christmas tree. I made my peace with the matter by quoting Henry IV (who doesn’t quote him?). He said Paris was worth a Mass, which meant that if pretending to be Catholic would get him Paris, it’s a cheap price. Since my wife would not countenance anything less than a full-bore Christmas, I determined that she was worth a tree.
We negotiated the matter. She could have her tree, but I would own the top and the bottom. On top would be a large Star of David. On the bottom, where Nativity scenes are normally found, would be something I could call a Syrian village, and on the bough above it, an Israeli F-16. This was not meant to reflect any contemporary conflict, but a celebration of Hanukkah, far more authentic than some candles aglow. It is a reminder that had the Maccabees failed (and they were indeed beaten in a battle near Bethlehem), the story of Christ would be far different. My argument was that by God empowering a particularly intense Jew, He set the stage for Jesus, who was born and loved on the ground the Maccabees fought for, and who purified the temple and expelled the apostates, just as Christ did with the moneychangers. Without Judah Maccabee’s divine madness, the village of Bethlehem would have spoken Greek.
And so, peace was made in our home, and our new marriage persevered and flourished. It united a man with a soul common to the Maccabees and a woman who, if not saintly then close enough for government work, performed a miracle – a marriage that celebrated the birth of Christ and effective guerrilla warfare. Indeed, I was introduced to Australian Christmas carols, which, if you have never heard them, are a must. Try “Six White Boomers” for a taste.
There are two deeper points I want to make. The first is that the intertwining of Judaism and Christianity is far more complex than many would appreciate. There is an inseparability that is noted but not really plumbed by either. The Jew sees the Christian as the assimilator of paganism. The Christian sees the Jews as the people who were given God’s gift and rejected it. It is like a bad marriage. Each of them sees the failures of the other without grasping how inseparable the two are.
The other point is about America, the country I always marvel at. The Jews were able to come here and redefine Hanukkah as a benign celebration of God’s gift of seven extra nights of oil. The Christians could come here and, despite their overwhelming power, make room for the people who rejected Jesus. The commercialism of America is decried for having eroded the precious past. Probably so, but it is noteworthy that it has also softened the differences. Hanukkah is about war and vengeance; Christmas is about God’s love for man, imposed by political force for two millennia. For Americans, the burning question is whether Amazon can get their gifts there on time. There are far more terrible things to obsess over.
We are celebrating the holidays this year with our daughter (a retired major in the U.S. Army) and her husband (a retired lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army). Paris is indeed worth a Mass
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Where Are You Going?
There is a classic Jewish tale about an old rabbi in Russia, who would visit a synagogue near the town square every morning. Not a day passed that he skipped this routine. An anti-Semitic policeman who hated the sight of the rabbi desperately sought to find a reason to justify imprisoning him.
One morning, as the rabbi approached the town square, the policeman walked up to him and asked, “Sir, may I know where you are going?”
The rabbi replied, “I don’t know.”
The policeman seized on this and said, “Old man, you are lying to me. I know you are going to that synagogue over there. I have seen you every day. I’m going to arrest you for lying to a member of the police force.”
The policeman took the rabbi to the nearest police station and put him in one of the cells. As he was locking the door, the policeman proudly remarked, “Now you foolish man you will realize never again to lie to me.”
The rabbi replied, “My son, I have no idea why you claim I lied to you. I told you I didn’t know where I was going. Indeed I did not – I thought I was going to synagogue but, as you can see, it turned out I was going to jail.”
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At 40, Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, was walking through a park one day in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully.
Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.
The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter "written" by the doll saying "please don't cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures."
Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka's life.
During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.
Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin.
"It doesn't look like my doll at all," said the girl.
Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "my travels have changed me." The little girl hugged the new doll and brought the doll with her to her happy home.
A year later Kafka died.
Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka it was written:
"Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way."
Embrace change. It's inevitable for growth. Together we can shift pain into wonder and love, but it is up to us to consciously and intentionally create that connection.
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AMERICAN ESSENCE
The Famous Defense by Oklahoma Territory’s Silver-Tongued Attorney Temple Houston
BY J.D. HAINES TIMEJANUARY 17, 2023 PRINT
Oklahoma and Indian Territories were among the last frontiers of the wild and woolly American West. Hordes of legal fugitives and an assortment of unsavory characters flocked to the region when it was thrown open for settlement during a series of land runs. Col. D.F. MacMartin describes it best in his book “Thirty Years in Hell: Or, the Confessions of a Drug Fiend”:
“History has never recorded an opening of government land whereon there was assembled such a rash and motley colony of gamblers, cut-throats, refugees, demimondaines, bootleggers and high hat and low pressure crooks.”
With this population came an unprecedented wave of crime, which afforded criminal lawyers like Temple Houston ample opportunities for a steady clientele.
Houston was the youngest son of Sam Houston—the famous general, senator, and first president of the Republic of Texas. The young man distinguished himself as a cadet at what is now Texas A&M University, graduating at 17 as a second lieutenant. He moved on to Baylor University, where he completed a bachelor’s in philosophy in 1880, at the age of 19. He was admitted to the Texas bar soon after, two years before the required age of 21. Then, he embarked on a legal career in Brazoria County, Texas, served as district attorney, and was elected to the Texas State Senate in 1884, serving four years. He moved from his native Texas to Woodward, Oklahoma Territory, in 1893, shortly following the Cherokee Strip Land Run.
Finding His Place in the Oklahoma Sun
Temple grew restless and possibly felt that as long as he remained in Texas, he would labor in the shadow of his famous father. In Oklahoma Territory, he could carve out his own reputation, based on his own accomplishments.
In the courtroom, he soon did. There, Houston cut an imposing figure. Western writer Glenn Shirley describes his appearance:
“His auburn hair now swept his shoulders … his dress was a mixture of legal dignity and western informality, a white Stetson, a black frock coat [that] tended to accentuate his slender height, and shop-made boots with square toes and riding heels that made his feet look sizes smaller. He wore a black cravat and a miniature gold saber tiepin that had belonged to his father.”
He soon developed a reputation as one of the region’s most brilliant, popular, and eccentric lawyers. He defended some of the worst criminals in the territory, including murderers, stock thieves, and gunfighters. But it was Houston’s extemporaneous defense of Minnie Stacey that enshrined him forever as one of the great orators in American jurisprudence.
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Epoch Times Photo
One of the finest examples of American oration, the “Soiled Dove Plea,” delivered by attorney Temple Houston, left few dry eyes in the Oklahoma courtroom. (Biba Kayewich for American Essence)
Minnie’s Plight
Like most frontier towns, Woodward had its share of bordellos. To “clean up the town” in 1889, the civic-minded citizens of Woodard saw that charges were brought against Minnie Stacey for prostitution and operating a brothel; the good citizens further sought to confiscate her property and drive her out of town penniless. Minnie couldn’t afford a lawyer, and she prepared for the worst. On the morning of May 26, 1899, Houston knew that Minnie’s case was to be heard that day. After knocking back a couple of shots of whiskey in a Woodward saloon, Houston informed his drinking companion of poor Minnie’s plight. He concluded, “She doesn’t have any money to hire a lawyer, but I am going to defend her, and I’m going to raise the roof!”
When the judge called Minnie’s case, he learned that she had no lawyer and informed her that he would appoint one for her. Temple rose from his seat and announced, “Please your Honor, and I’ll defend the lady if she will allow me.” Minnie accepted Houston’s offer without hesitation. Houston bowed dramatically. The judge allowed a 10-minute recess for Houston to confer with his client and prepare his case. After a few minutes, he declared himself ready. The prosecution quickly outlined the case against Minnie. Houston offered no defense, which seemed out of character for him. The prosecution then moved for a conviction; to everyone there, it looked like an open and shut case.
But then Temple rose for his closing argument.
Sermon on the Bench
Houston briefly reviewed the legal aspects of the case and the evidence presented. Then, as a reporter for the Kansas City Star, who happened to be in the courtroom, and a court stenographer transcribed his words, Houston delivered a masterpiece:
“Gentlemen of the jury: You heard with what cold cruelty the prosecution referred to the sins of this woman, as if her condition were of her own preference. The evidence has painted you a picture of her life and surroundings. Do you think that they were embraced of her own choosing? Do you think that she willingly embraced a life so revolting and horrible? Ah, no! Gentlemen, one of our own sex was the author of her ruin, more to blame than she.”
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Houston surveyed the jurors, seeing that he had their full attention before he continued.
“Then let us judge her gently. What could be more pathetic than the spectacle she presents? An immortal soul in ruin! Where the star of purity once glittered on her girlish brow, burning shame has set its seal and forever. And only a moment ago, they reproached her for the depths to which she had sunk, the company she kept, the life she led. Now, what else is left her? Where can she go and her sin not pursue her?
“Gentlemen, the very promises of God are denied her. He said, “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.” She has indeed labored, and is heavily laden, but if, at this instant she were to kneel down before us and confess to her Redeemer and beseech His tender mercies, where is the church that would receive her? And even if they accepted her, when she passed the portals to worship and to claim her rest, scorn and mockery would greet her; those she met would gather around them their spirits the more closely to avoid the pollution of her touch. And would you tell me a single employment where she can realize “Give us our daily bread?”
“Our sex ruined her once pure life. Her own sex shrinks from her as they would the pestilence. Society has reared its relentless walls against her, and only in the friendly shelter of the grave can her betrayed and broke heart ever find the Redeemer’s promised rest.”
Epoch Times Photo
Temple, son of the famous Sam Houston, was one of the most eccentric lawyers in Oklahoma Territory. (Public domain)
Some of the jurors were shifting uncomfortably in their chairs, hoping that Houston was about finished. But he was just warming up.
“They told you of her assumed names, as fleeting as the shadows on the walls, of her sins, her habits, but they never told you of her sorrows, and who shall tell what her heart, sinful though it may be, now feels? When the remembered voices of mother and sisters, whom she must see no more on this earth, fall again like music on her erring soul, and she prays to God that she could only return, and must not—no—not in this life, for the seducer has destroyed the soul.
“You know the story of the prodigal son, but he was a son. He was one of us, like her destroyers; but for the prodigal daughter there is no return. Were she with her wasted form and bleeding feet to drag herself back home, she, the fallen and the lost, which would be her welcome? Oh, consider this when you come to decide her guilt, for she is before us and we must judge her. They sneer and scoff at her. One should respect her grief, and I tell you that there reigns over her penitent and chastened spirit a desolation now that none, no, none but the Searcher of all hearts can ever know.
“None of us are utterly evil, and I remember that when the Saffron Scourge [yellow fever] swept over the city of Memphis in 1878, a courtesan there opened wide the doors of her gilded palace of sin to admit the sufferers, and when the scythe of the Reaper swung fast and pitiless, she was angelic in her ministering. Death called her in the midst of her mercies, and she went to join those she tried to save. She, like the Lord forgave, was a sinner, and yet I believe that in the day of reckoning her judgement will be lighter than those who would prosecute and seek to drive off the earth such poor unfortunates as her whom you are to judge.”
Houston slowly walked over to where Minnie sat, her head down, tears streaming down her face. He paused for a moment and continued:
“They wish to fine this woman and make her leave. They wish to wring from the wages of her shame the price of this mediated injustice; to take from her the little money she might have—and God knows, gentlemen, it came hard enough. The old Jewish law told you that the price of a dog, not the bite of such as she, should not come within the house of the Lord, and I say unto you that our justice, fitly symbolized by this woman’s form, does not ask that you add ought to the woes of this unhappy one, one only asks at your hands the pitiful privilege of being left alone.”
Epoch Times Photo
Street scene of Woodward, Okla., 1910. (Public domain)
Handkerchiefs appeared throughout the courtroom as the sniffling sounds gradually increased. Houston sensed that the moment was right to conclude his summation.
“The Master, while on earth, while He spake in wrath and rebuke to the kings and rulers, never reproached one of these. One He forgave. Another he acquitted. You remember both—and now looking upon this friendless outcast, if any of you can say to her, “I am holier than thou” in the respect which she is charged with sinning, who is he?
“The Jews who brought the woman before the Savior have been held up to execration of the world for two thousand years. I always respected them. A man who will yield to the reproaches of the conscience as they did has the element of good in him, but the modern hypocrite has no such compunctions. If the prosecutors of the woman whom you are trying had brought her before the Savior, they would have accepted His challenge and each one gathered a rock and stoned her, in the twinkling of an eye.
“No, Gentlemen, do as your Master did twice under the same circumstances that surround you. Tell her to go in peace.”
When Houston took his seat, there were few dry eyes in the courtroom. Tears ran unashamedly down the cheeks of old Judge John H. Burford. Everyone in the courtroom was spellbound, aware that they had just witnessed an inspired delivery by Temple Houston that was nothing short of miraculous. Needless to say, the jury acquitted Minnie Stacey in a matter of minutes.
A friend of Houston’s, Logan Coffee, later stated that Houston’s speech had such a profound impact on Minnie that she moved to Canadian, Texas, joined the Methodist Church, took in washing for a living, and remained a Christian for the rest of her life.
The public response to Houston’s extemporaneous plea was overwhelming. Thanks to the Kansas City Star reporter who took down every word, thousands of copies were printed and distributed. Ultimately, a framed copy found its way to the Library of Congress, where it was displayed with the simple explanation, “One of the finest examples of American oratory ever uttered.”
Houston continued to practice law until he died suddenly from a cerebral hemorrhage in 1905. He was at the peak of his career and only 45 years old. One of the most colorful lawyers of the Old West had passed from the scene, but he lives on through his masterful oration defending Minnie Stacey.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
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is it possible to be righteous yet dishonest?
one synonym for "righteous" is honest
another is honorable
just wondering since so many who purport to be righteous also lie and are not honest
with others or perhaps even themselves
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Author Robert Fulghum tells this story of one of his professors, a wise man whose name was
Alexander Papaderos:
At the last session on the last morning of a two-week seminar on Greek culture, Dr. Papaderos
turned and made the ritual gesture: "Are there any questions?"
Quiet quilted the room. These two weeks had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for
now, there was only silence.
"No questions?" Papaderos swept the room with his eyes.
So, I asked.
"Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?"
The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go.
Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his
eyes if I was serious and seeing from my eyes that I was.
"I will answer your question."
Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very
small round mirror, about the size of a quarter.
And what he said went something like this:
"When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village.
One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been
wrecked in that place.
"I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the
largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone, I made it round. I began to play with it as
a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun
would never shine--in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get
light into the most inaccessible places I could find.
"I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments
and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was
not just a child's game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that
I am not the light or the source of light. But light--truth, understanding, knowledge--is there, and
it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.
"I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with
what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world--into the black places in the
hearts of men--and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise.
This is what I am about. This is the meaning of life."
And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight
streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the
desk.
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is it possible to be righteous yet dishonest?
one synonym for "righteous" is honest
another is honorable
just wondering since so many who purport to be righteous also lie and are not honest
with others or perhaps even themselves
God knows all.
Seek to be righteous before God.
Those who seek to be righteous before humans will fail both humans and God.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7RI9rWjJeiA
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A new phrase that amounts to be dumb
I find it annoying when some Leftist media says we need to have more conversations
about whatever the topic of the day is.
I have yet to witness a A SINGLE TIME WHEN I SAW OPPOSING VIEWS ACTUALLY EVER CONVINCE ANYONE TO CONCLUDE THEY WERE WRONG AND THE CHANGE THEIR OPINION. NOT ONCE ever
Leftist having a conversation with a rino or pseudo conservative or less frequently a true conservative ALWAYS ends in swaying the conclusions to their point of view,
or attempting to direct the "conversation" so it sounds like the conservative is wrong
When a leftist states they are having a conversation it always means one sided
or with their foot on the left side of the scale
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https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/white-house-official-breaks-down-after-cnn-host-describes-atrocities-in-israel/ar-AA1hYCeN?ocid=msedgntp&cvid=45256627b3b04cbcb70d1cc0690df9e3&ei=16
As much as I have always been suspicious of anyone who is technically a spokesperson for Biden
I found this to be very touching
His humanity on display, is a thumbs up by me.
Compare this to the goon Trump who pushes his chest out while holding chin up and to side telling us how none of this would have ever happened if he were the Prez - how obnoxious !
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"His humanity on display, is a thumbs up by me."
Agreed.
"Compare this to the goon Trump who pushes his chest out while holding chin up and to side telling us how none of this would have ever happened if he were the Prez - how obnoxious !"
He is right though.
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"He is right though."
not so sure of that at all.
no one can say......
glad he is not the subject of every single news report for at least a while......
I do not miss him.....
Kicked off Forbes list I read.
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When Einstein gave lectures at U.S. universities, the recurring question that students asked him most was:
- Do you believe in God?
And he always answered:
- I believe in the God of Spinoza.
Baruch de Spinoza was a Dutch philosopher considered one of the great rationalists of 17th century philosophy, along with Descartes.
(Spinoza) : God would say:
Stop praying.
What I want you to do is go out into the world and enjoy your life. I want you to sing, have fun and enjoy everything I've made for you.
Stop going into those dark, cold temples that you built yourself and saying they are my house. My house is in the mountains, in the woods, rivers, lakes, beaches. That's where I live and there I express my love for you.
Stop blaming me for your miserable life; I never told you there was anything wrong with you or that you were a sinner, or that your sexuality was a bad thing. Sex is a gift I have given you and with which you can express your love, your ecstasy, your joy. So don't blame me for everything they made you believe.
Stop reading alleged sacred scriptures that have nothing to do with me. If you can't read me in a sunrise, in a landscape, in the look of your friends, in your son's eyes... ➤ you will find me in no book!
Stop asking me "will you tell me how to do my job?" Stop being so scared of me. I do not judge you or criticize you, nor get angry, or bothered. I am pure love.
Stop asking for forgiveness, there's nothing to forgive. If I made you... I filled you with passions, limitations, pleasures, feelings, needs, inconsistencies... free will. How can I blame you if you respond to something I put in you? How can I punish you for being the way you are, if I'm the one who made you? Do you think I could create a place to burn all my children who behave badly for the rest of eternity? What kind of god would do that?
Respect your peers and don't do what you don't want for yourself. All I ask is that you pay attention in your life, that alertness is your guide.
My beloved, this life is not a test, not a step on the way, not a rehearsal, nor a prelude to paradise. This life is the only thing here and now and it is all you need.
I have set you absolutely free, no prizes or punishments, no sins or virtues, no one carries a marker, no one keeps a record.
You are absolutely free to create in your life. Heaven or hell.
➤ I can't tell you if there's anything after this life but I can give you a tip. Live as if there is not. As if this is your only chance to enjoy, to love, to exist.
So, if there's nothing after, then you will have enjoyed the opportunity I gave you. And if there is, rest assured that I won't ask if you behaved right or wrong, I'll ask. Did you like it? Did you have fun? What did you enjoy the most? What did you learn?...
Stop believing in me; believing is assuming, guessing, imagining. I don't want you to believe in me, I want you to believe in you. I want you to feel me in you when you kiss your beloved, when you tuck in your little girl, when you caress your dog, when you bathe in the sea.
Stop praising me, what kind of egomaniac God do you think I am?
I'm bored being praised. I'm tired of being thanked. Feeling grateful? Prove it by taking care of yourself, your health, your relationships, the world. Express your joy! That's the way to praise me.
Stop complicating things and repeating as a parakeet what you've been taught about me.
What do you need more miracles for? So many explanations?
The only thing for sure is that you are here, that you are alive, that this world is full of wonders.
- Spinoza
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The very famous image of the Afghanistan girl that adorned the cover of a National Geographic magazine in 1984
with follow up here . (I might be the only one old enough to remember the image on this forum :wink:)
I assume the image on the wall is a later image of the 12 yo girl now grown up.
I never read how her eyes could be green unless she is not fully Afghan.
Sad country .
Russian invasion
Taliban rule
US invaded due to harboring of AlQaeda
then Some peace during American occupation
then return of Taliban
very sad
https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/i-took-the-afghan-girl-picture-in-1984-i-couldn-t-have-imagined-what-happened-next/ar-AA1iHkWF?ocid=msedgntp&pc=DCTS&cvid=e5b7093a475e4266858e2e173b0f1c18&ei=119
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New word (phobia) of the day .
As a Conservative the below description fits for me:
Left-Hander Superstitions and Terms
Sinistrophobia is the fear of left-handedness or things on the left side.
Many people believe that the devil is left-handed.
The Latin word for left, sinister, also means unlucky, evil, and suspicious.
The French word for left, gauche, also means clumsy.
A left-handed compliment is an insult.
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ccp, funny with the left handedness. As a long time tennis competitor, (doubles only for me) half of my tennis friends and most of my doubles partners have been left-handed. When I greet them, I shake hands with the left, out of respect! )
10% of the population is left handed. Much higher for Major League Baseball. The uniqueness has advantages. As a point of trivia (from my formative years) a left-hander won the US Open 11 years in a row from 1974 to 1984.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_US_Open_men%27s_singles_champions
The Left win more than their share in politics as well.
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The following is extracted from “The Greatness of Simplicity,” as included in Self Control, Its Kingship and Majesty (1905) by the Victorian-era American essayist and rhetorician, William George Jordan. He’s no longer very well known, but my understanding is that back in his day he was a sort of Jordan B. Peterson for his era. This short book of his, which is now in the public domain and which can be found in various places freely online, is worth reading in full; Jordan was a great study of character, had a way with words, and was a particular master of crafting memorable maxims. -N.S. Lyons
No character can be simple unless it is based on truth—unless it is lived in harmony with one’s own conscience and ideals. Simplicity is the pure white light of a life lived from within. It is destroyed by any attempt to live in harmony with public opinion. Public opinion is a conscience owned by a syndicate—where the individual is merely a stockholder. But the individual has a conscience of which he is sole proprietor. Adjusting his life to his own ideals is the royal road to simplicity. Affectation is the confession of inferiority; it is an unnecessary proclamation that one is not living the life he pretends to live.
Simplicity is restful contempt for the non-essentials of life. It is restless hunger for the non-essentials that is the secret of most of the discontent of the world. It is constant striving to outshine others that kills simplicity and happiness.
Nature, in all her revelations, seeks to teach man the greatness of simplicity. Health is but the living of a physical life in harmony with a few simple, clearly defined laws. Simple food, simple exercise, simple precautions will work wonders. But man grows tired of the simple things, he yields to subtle temptations in eating and drinking, listens to his palate instead of to Nature—and he suffers. He is then led into intimate acquaintance with dyspepsia, and he sits like a child at his own bounteous table, forced to limit his eating to simple food that he scorned.
There is a tonic strength, in the hour of sorrow and affliction, in escaping from the world and society and getting back to the simple duties and interests we have slighted and forgotten. Our world grows smaller, but it grows dearer and greater. Simple things have a new charm for us, and we suddenly realize that we have been renouncing all that is greatest and best, in our pursuit of some phantom.
Simplicity is the characteristic that is most difficult to simulate. The signature that is most difficult to imitate is the one that is most simple, most individual and most free from flourishes. The bank note that is the most difficult to counterfeit successfully is the one that contains the fewest lines and has the least intricate detail. So simple is it that any departure from the normal is instantly apparent. So is it also in mind and in morals.
Simplicity in act is the outward expression of simplicity in thought. Men who carry on their shoulders the fate of a nation are quiet, modest, unassuming. They are often made gentle, calm and simple by the discipline of their responsibility. They have no room in their minds for the pettiness of personal vanity.¹ It is ever the drum-major who grows pompous when he thinks that the whole world is watching him as he marches at the head of the procession. The great general, bowed with the honors of many campaigns, is simple and unaffected as a child.
The college graduate assumes the airs of one to whom is committed the wisdom of the ages, while the great man of science, the Columbus of some great continent of investigation, is simple and humble.
The longest Latin derivatives seem necessary to express the thoughts of young writers. The world’s great masters in literature can move mankind to tears, give light and life to thousands in darkness and doubt, or scourge a nation for its folly—by words so simple as to be commonplace. But transfigured by the divinity of genius, there seems almost a miracle in words.
Life grows wondrously beautiful when we look at it as simple, when we can brush aside the trivial cares and sorrows and worries and failures and say: “They don’t count. They are not the real things of life; they are but interruptions. There is something within me, my individuality, that makes all these gnats of trouble seem too trifling for me to permit them to have any dominion over me.” Simplicity is a mental soil where artifice, lying, deceit, treachery and selfish, low ambition—cannot grow.
The man whose character is simple looks truth and honesty so straight in the face that he has no consciousness of intrigue and corruption around him. He is deaf to the hints and whispers of wrongs that a suspicious nature would suspect even before they existed. He scorns to meet intrigue with intrigue, to hold power by bribery, to pay weak tribute to an inferior that has a temporary inning. To true simplicity, to perceive a truth is to begin to live it, to see a duty is to begin to do it. Nothing great can ever enter into the consciousness of a man of simplicity and remain but a theory. Simplicity in a character is like the needle of a compass—it knows only one point, its North, its ideal.
Let us seek to cultivate this simplicity in all things in our life. The first step toward simplicity is “simplifying.” The beginning of mental or moral progress or reform is always renunciation or sacrifice. It is rejection, surrender or destruction of separate phases of habit or life that have kept us from higher things. Reform your diet and you simplify it; make your speech truer and higher and you simplify it; reform your morals and you begin to cut off your immorals. The secret of all true greatness is simplicity. Make simplicity the keynote of your life and you will be great, no matter though your life be humble and your influence seem but little. Simple habits, simple manners, simple needs, simple words, simple faiths—all are the pure manifestations of a mind and heart of simplicity.
Simplicity is never to be associated with weakness and ignorance. It means reducing tons of ore to nuggets of gold. It means the light of fullest knowledge; it means that the individual has seen the folly and the nothingness of those things that make up the sum of the life of others. He has lived down what others are blindly seeking to live up to. Simplicity is… the secret of any specific greatness in the life of the individual.
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possible the word fury comes from "furies" in English otherwise the word is Erinyees:
https://www.britannica.com/topic/Furies
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erinyes
What I found interesting is Shakespeare did NOT invent this general phrase. I don't know if since he is a white man and lifted this today he could keep his professorship of English at an Ivy league school:
https://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/hell-has-no-fury-like-a-woman-scorned.html
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https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/politics/speaker-emerita-pelosi-it-was-a-triumphant-evening-for-biden/vi-BB1jypzR?ocid=msedgntp&pc=DCTS&cvid=eefff606266d42ff82b87e8b33850abf&ei=25#details
emeritus
i-ˈmer-ə-təs
NOUN
plural emeriti\ i-ˈmer-ə-ˌtī , -ˌtē \
a person retired from professional life but permitted to retain as an honorary title the rank of the last office held
Funny, I never heard anyone refer to Newt Gingrich this way.....
The usual LEFTIST control of language that once used goes to every MSM outlet to be repeated over and over
Like "illegal" is the new "N" word.
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https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-trmw9-15d3ea2?utm_campaign=admin_episode&utm_medium=dlink&utm_source=episode_share
Putting this here for my future reference.